QCinema 2022: Triangle of Sadness (opening film)

 

In the middle of Ruben Ostlund's Triangle of Sadness, a wealthy guest of the multimillion dollar yacht where the film takes place tells the staff member attending to her to change places and luxuriate in the pool in her place. To the guest, it might seem like a gesture of magnanimity or altruism, but the strained expression on the staff member's face says otherwise. It is a hidden act of cruelty, even: an act meant more to assuage guilt rather than offer kindness. Because after experiencing the things people like her could only dream of, when the tables are turned and hierarchies are upended, they eventually return to their menial jobs, washing sails that don't exist or cleaning up someone else's vomit. This fantasy thus becomes a stern reminder: I will give you a taste of this life, but in the end, you should know your place.

Ostlund is no stranger to jokes, as a significant portion of his films riff on the inherent absurdity of human behavior. This film feels like a smorgasbord of his greatest hits: on the pretentiousness of art, where various nonsense words decorate the background of a fashion show; on the fragility of masculinity, either through who gets to pay for dinner or the act of 'hunting' a docile animal; on the concept of "equality," as viewed through the eyes of the privileged. There are hierarchies everywhere, ladders all the way down. As we go deeper into the depths of the yacht, we see the ship divided yet again, with the glaring whiteness of the upper decks all the more evident. Bodies are aesthetically judged according to their worth, yet even at the top, an unattractive body can bypass that given enough money.

Ostlund constructs his joke through three segments: the first two are just the setup for the punchline. In the first, Carl (Harris Dickinson), a male model reaching the absolutely geriatric age of 26, negotiates through his relationship with his supermodel girlfriend with the grace of a drunk hippopotamus. Their relationship seems to have some level of intimacy but there is a transactional aspect of it, to (in their words) increase their Instagram follower counts. Carl is obsessed with the notion of equality, in this first part we see or hear of equality in one form or the other like it is a mantra. In the second half the food chain is established: at the top there is absolute power, where even in the face of irrationality, it all can be overridden with enough money. "Equality" has no place here.

And indeed, Ostlund's punchline is there can be no true equality in a society like ours; despite whatever drunken ramblings on theory and half hearted protestations about the sorry state of the world, theory and praxis are entirely different things. During the film's exquisite third act the scenario from the first part of this review plays itself out again, but there is a sense of permanency this time. There is no going back to cleaning vomit or washing the decks after the joyride. In the previous example, there is the conscious notion of a return to "normalcy," or whatever insanity represents the status quo. In the third act of the film, that notion does not exist for one of the characters, while for the others it is merely a temporary arrangement until they can go back to their privileged lives. I don't see it as an act of opportunism, but an act of claiming what one feels is rightfully theirs. And even here, in a society where each is judged according to their useful contributions to society, some people are still more equal than others.