In a brilliant class struggle satire, a group of extremely wealthy guests arrive at a party, and then are unable to leave, resulting in the group regressing to a primordial savage mob in an increasingly desperate desire to survive. In another such satire, a group of the uber-wealthy repeatedly arrive at a dinner party, and are repeatedly unable to sit down to eat due to a number of increasingly implausible disturbances. In both pictures, the petty vicissitudes of the rich are skewered both with the outrageous and subtle to a masterful effect. Those films are Luis Bunuel's 1962 masterpiece "The Exterminating Angel" and his equally biting 1972 film "The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie." They are films made with wit, style, and a sharp eye for the material. "Triangle of Sadness" is none of these things.
In "Triangle," a group of the super-wealthy (along with two poseur wannabes) take a luxury cruise on a mega-yacht, where the class (and, frankly, racial) lines are clearly defined from the outset, where their every whim is catered to by the plebeian below-deck staff. A night of rough seas and an attack by pirates then upsets the entire social construct, resulting in an Act III in which the survivors of the prior night's events wind up on a deserted island, and are forced to rely upon the wiles of one of the below-deck crew (the Filipino toilet manager, just in case anyone missed the point) to survive, inverting the entire social balance.
The problem with Ruben Ostlund's "Triangle" is that he wants to be Bunuel, but his scriptwriting and directing skills in this film lack any subtlety whatsoever. He forgets that in order for real satire to land, you need to have characters you can identify (either from parts of oneself or of those one knows), rather than simple stick figures, and situations that don't simply double down on one another in succession. For example, in one scene, one of the passengers insists that one of the above-deck crew must go swimming - when the crew member does so, and is taken to task by her supervisor, the passenger then insists that every member of the crew must use the water slide and swim in the ocean, bringing things to a standstill. Östlund doesn't spare the audience one second of this display, and then tops it off with the ensuing scene in which the yacht is tossed by torrid waves, resulting in more projectile vomiting than in the Mr. Creosote scene in "Monty Python's Meaning of Life."
As a result, for the first NINETY MINUTES of the movie, we wind up with no relatable or even identifiable characters beyond mere stereotypes, and even in the last hour on the island (far and away the best part of the film), the only character who's given any chance to show herself is the surviving crew member, Abigail (well-played by Filipino actress Dolly DeLeon). Of the remaining cast, the only ones that really make any kind of impression are Zlatko Buric as a Russian oligarch who at least has something of an unbridled acceptance of any kind of conduct (regardless how depraved) - he actually has the closest to a Bunuelian moment, mourning the dead body of his wife washed up on shore, while making sure to remove and stow away her valuable jewelry - and Iris Berben as an incapacitated German woman whose lost her husband during the voyage.
All of which really is a shame, because the subject of tone deafness to real-life class and social differences is one that could use a lot more effective examination in the cinema, and the cast is a good one that deserves a lot better. That the Academy recognized this in its Best Picture, Best Original Screenplay and Best Director nominations - and that this film actually won the Palme D'Or at Cannes - is kind of depressing. Here's to hoping that there's another filmmaker out there like Bunuel who wants to take the subject matter on.
In "Triangle," a group of the super-wealthy (along with two poseur wannabes) take a luxury cruise on a mega-yacht, where the class (and, frankly, racial) lines are clearly defined from the outset, where their every whim is catered to by the plebeian below-deck staff. A night of rough seas and an attack by pirates then upsets the entire social construct, resulting in an Act III in which the survivors of the prior night's events wind up on a deserted island, and are forced to rely upon the wiles of one of the below-deck crew (the Filipino toilet manager, just in case anyone missed the point) to survive, inverting the entire social balance.
The problem with Ruben Ostlund's "Triangle" is that he wants to be Bunuel, but his scriptwriting and directing skills in this film lack any subtlety whatsoever. He forgets that in order for real satire to land, you need to have characters you can identify (either from parts of oneself or of those one knows), rather than simple stick figures, and situations that don't simply double down on one another in succession. For example, in one scene, one of the passengers insists that one of the above-deck crew must go swimming - when the crew member does so, and is taken to task by her supervisor, the passenger then insists that every member of the crew must use the water slide and swim in the ocean, bringing things to a standstill. Östlund doesn't spare the audience one second of this display, and then tops it off with the ensuing scene in which the yacht is tossed by torrid waves, resulting in more projectile vomiting than in the Mr. Creosote scene in "Monty Python's Meaning of Life."
As a result, for the first NINETY MINUTES of the movie, we wind up with no relatable or even identifiable characters beyond mere stereotypes, and even in the last hour on the island (far and away the best part of the film), the only character who's given any chance to show herself is the surviving crew member, Abigail (well-played by Filipino actress Dolly DeLeon). Of the remaining cast, the only ones that really make any kind of impression are Zlatko Buric as a Russian oligarch who at least has something of an unbridled acceptance of any kind of conduct (regardless how depraved) - he actually has the closest to a Bunuelian moment, mourning the dead body of his wife washed up on shore, while making sure to remove and stow away her valuable jewelry - and Iris Berben as an incapacitated German woman whose lost her husband during the voyage.
All of which really is a shame, because the subject of tone deafness to real-life class and social differences is one that could use a lot more effective examination in the cinema, and the cast is a good one that deserves a lot better. That the Academy recognized this in its Best Picture, Best Original Screenplay and Best Director nominations - and that this film actually won the Palme D'Or at Cannes - is kind of depressing. Here's to hoping that there's another filmmaker out there like Bunuel who wants to take the subject matter on.