Swedish writer/director Ruben Stlund established himself globally with the intellectual satires Force Majeure and The Square, which were set in a ski resort and a pompous museum, respectively. With Triangle of Sadness, he transports viewers to another world of status and privilege: a luxurious boat on which the affluent congregate to sunbathe, feast and annoy the crew.
“Eat the Rich” comedy like Parasite, White Lotus, Knives Out, and Hustlers have a delectable schadenfreude built into them. These shows have aspects of a crime drama, but their storylines are conveyed with a snarling sneer that asks you where your loyalties lie. Do you feel sorry for the oblivious and prosperous or the evil and wealthy? We may feel a twinge of pity, but we mostly watch these films to see affluent people pay and to laugh — even giggle — at their anguish. With the audacious, vicious, and hilarious Triangle of Sadness, this type of fiery socioeconomic satire delves completely into gross-out jokes.
Swedish writer/director Ruben Stlund established himself globally with the intellectual satires Force Majeure and The Square, which were set in a ski resort and a pompous museum, respectively.
With Triangle of Sadness, he transports viewers to another world of status and privilege: a luxurious boat on which the affluent congregate to sunbathe, feast and annoy the crew.
On this magnificent ship, old money mingles with the 21st-century equivalent of new money, which means that British arms dealers as well as a Russian “shit salesman” rub elbows with a couple of models/influencers who don’t have money but enjoy the trappings of the high life (like a cruise!) in a swap for social media posts.
Regardless of their position in this arrogant hierarchy, each is liable to cause problems for the yacht’s crew. Their demands cause trained grins to waver, one hot crew member to be sacked, and the others to be thrown into a necessary enjoyment that appears to be anything but. In each case, it is not enough for Stlund to see the workers’ serenity waver in flashes. He firmly establishes us among the putridly privileged, exposing us to their self-important chatter, petty grievances, and stinking excess.
Triangle of Sorrow intends to make you uncomfortable
Stlund is no stranger to cringe comedy, smirkingly exposing humanity’s pettiness through extended bouts of severe discomfort. Every act in Triangle of Sadness is a new opportunity for second-hand shame, stomach-churning retaliation, or nerve-racking ambiguity.
Stlund follows the aforementioned models, Carl (Harris Dickinson) and Yaya (Charlbi Dean), as they dispute vehemently over who should pay a large restaurant bill in the first act. When other filmmakers could cut away from a particularly biting jab or the moment the toxically masculine male makes a fool of himself sufficiently, Stlund sticks with them. And so must we, as they address sensitive themes like money, gender, and the business of romance in public.
Act two places them aboard the boat, where Stlund constructs an uneasy obstacle course from one set piece to the next. The lavish captain’s supper, when the top of this crop gathers to be fed an assortment of delights and all the champagne their gullets can gulp, is the craziest portion. A developing storm, however, causes seasickness, transforming the sumptuous feast into an endlessly awful vomit fest.
Stlund is determined to offer us no easy way out. Close-ups of delicate seafood dishes collide with well-dressed guests’ projectile spewing bile that has been dyed a vivid orange by too much caviar. It’s like the high-brow equivalent of a low-brow joke, but it never stops.
So it’s amusing at first. Then it becomes disgusting. And you’ll be mistaken every time you think, “Oh, now we’ll go on.”
Triangle of Sadness writhes in this rich wasteland, coated in bile, pee, and feces. You may become unwell as a result of the extremely realistic human waste, the swaying of the yacht, and the sheer amount of time spent on this dreadful night at sea. Yet the grossness somehow returns to be fresh — well, maybe foully — amusing.
Stlund, on the other hand, isn’t done with his seasick socialites or opportunities for us to laugh at their misfortunes. In his final act, he expands on his “eat the rich” concept. Black comedy abounds within a terrifying fish-out-of-water situation that marches confidently and unnervingly towards a finale that, too, will not let you off the hook.
Triangle of Sadness has exceptional performances
As repulsive as many of the folks on this trip are, Stlund’s astute casting ensures that you can’t get enough of every member of his fantastic ensemble. Harris Dickinson, as a mercurial hunk, smolders and plays the fool in turn, injecting a sting of hilarity with every display of astonishment. As the resident influencer, the late Charlbi Dean is fantastic, digging for hidden depths below the Instagram posturing. Sunnyi Melles is achingly pitch-perfect as an utter nightmare of a wealthy bitch with zero self-awareness and a limitless capacity for the agony of others, while Zlatko Burii is chaotically exhilarating as an arrogant industrialist.
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If you’ve ever worked in the service industry, you may have a special fondness for those who play the crew, from a sexy deckhand (Timoleon Gketsos) to the gratingly cheerful manager (Vicki Berlin) who is a sharply delivered straight man to the drunken, bloviating American captain, played vividly by a crooked-grinned Woody Harrelson. Triangle of Sorrow would succeed or fail based on Dolly De Leon’s performance, which is electrifying in its surprise and subtle intensity. Without giving anything away, I’ll say she’s fantastic and might be a dark horse Oscar contender.
Triangle of Sorrow is a bodily experience as well as a watching experience, with performances that will make you cringe, gross-out humor that will make you laugh, and an unapologetic embracing of social discomfort that will have you wincing so hard you could cramp. Instead of going out laughing after that final breathless shot, you could walk out with your own triangle of melancholy engaged, forehead furrowed, mouth open, thoughts churning. Isn’t that type of adrenaline rush worth the price of admission?
