Ruben Östlund is one of our greatest living filmmakers, and someone whose artistic integrity and profound curiosity as a storyteller have allowed him to explore a wide range of complex themes. From his early works that were steeped heavily in social realism, to his depiction of a marriage in trouble in Force Majeure (his breakthrough as a filmmaker) to his subversive evisceration of the art world in The Square, which established him as a true auteur, he has proven his undeniable talents on numerous occasions. His most recent provocation is Triangle of Sadness, one of the most brutal satires of the past few years, and a work of unimpeachable brilliance. Just as ambitious as we’d expect from a director whose entire career has seemingly been fueled by his desire to challenge conventions in a way that is profoundly unsettling and wickedly funny, his most recent offering is an absolute triumph in both form and content, being drawn from the same place of immense audacity that inspired several of his works. It truly feels like he has finally consolidated himself as a major auteur – his talents were present from the start, but it always seemed like he was on the precipice of being fully embraced by audiences and critics in tandem. It may seem myopic to suggest that his English-language debut would be the film that truly brought him to the attention of a much wider viewership, but Triangle of Sadness is too bold to ignore, and its ability to be both accessible and subversive works to its favour, being one brilliant contradiction after another, curated by a director whose unconventional vision and ability to plumb the emotional depths of any story he chooses has stood him in good stead and allowed him to ascend to this position of being a filmmaker whose perspective, whether darkly comical or sobering (if not both) created a vivid satire that relies on a blend of outrageous humour and stark social commentary to deliver a continuous stream of bizarre situations, which the director effectively shapes into an unforgettable dark comedy that is even more jagged and psychologically intrusive once we’ve spent a bit of time exploring the world in which it occurs.

Credit must always be given where it’s due, and a part of the reason Östlund stands out as a filmmaker is not because of his artistic talents (which are certainly exceptionally strong and present throughout his work) but because he is not afraid to aim for the jugular. His interest is rarely centred around comfort – as far as he is concerned, the more unsettled the viewer is, the more effective the satire. Unlike the previous two films that make up this unofficial trilogy about the elite, the satire here is not exclusive to wealthy families that can afford to take expensive holidays in the Swiss Alps, or the self-loving art industry that believe that anything in a gallery with a label can be considered not only artistically resonant, but also commercially and culturally viable. This film takes a similar perspective in portraying the daily affairs of a group of people who have the ability to command respect based solely on their status, rather than for anything concrete that they have achieved – but it also spends quite a bit of time looking at those on the inverse, the “little people”, the invisible majority that seemingly doesn’t exist when they aren’t needed. Making a film centred on social media influencers in particular feels both obvious and revolutionary, at least in terms of the approach Östlund was taking with the story. The film has been promoted under the alternative title of “Sans Filtre” in some markets, which is a very intriguing way of framing the narrative, which essentially asks a simple but provocative question: what happens when the filter is removed, and these people have their true selves revealed? It’s not a question that Östlund necessarily conjures himself, but rather uses as the foundation for the film, shepherding many conceptions of fame into this revealing look behind the often manipulative and deeply inauthentic veneer of social media and the people who are supposedly anchors of the culture, given platforms to influence the public by simply existing, living lives of excess and luxury, giving plebeians something that they can aspire to achieve, but know they never will – one of the great contradictions of celebrity culture, and our bewildering admiration of those who are supposedly aspirational figures without actually doing anything to warrant much admiration in the first place.

If anyone was going to tell this story, Östlund and his distinct brand of unhinged humour seemed like the most appropriate vessel. Considering how Triangle of Sadness functions, we can easily say that there is a lot of virtue to a cynical kind of satire, one that isn’t solely intended on entertaining, but also provoking a deep sense of existential despair, especially since this film holds up a mirror to society as a whole, whether you are one of the elite who is in a position where you can influence others, or if you’re one of the multitudes that give them that power. Östlund continuously suggests that it isn’t only the elites that are responsible for the decay of society, but rather that everyone is complicit in their ascent to whatever bewildering position they hold, since even without actively supporting them, we all perpetuate the “us and them” mentality, which is what the director is aiming to subvert through this film. There’s a sarcasm at the heart of this film that gradually grows into outright disdain for the kind of people depicted in this story – Östlund isn’t interested in compassionate portrayals of the supposedly misunderstood elite class, and even though the most sympathetic character is the one who is the least traditionally important of the core group, she herself falls victim to the same moral and psychological corruption that has impacted far too many people, who have grown to be thoroughly dependent on matters such as social media engagement and follower counts, which essentially mean nothing when there is a complete lack of substance behind that keyboard – and Östlund refuses to pacify his clear hatred for these people and their perpetual search for validation from people who they will likely never encounter – not because they are supposedly immune from the proletariat, but rather because their inflated sense of self-importance has driven them to separate themselves from anyone they view as inferior, which are essentially the very people whose acceptance they strive to attain, albeit from a distance, and where the human element is entirely removed, the audience being reduced to nothing but a nameless and faceless number on a screen, designed to stroke the ego of the small but powerful group that apparently drive the culture, when in reality (as the director indicates), they’re likely responsible for its decline.

Despite the very deep and philosophically profound intentions behind the film, Triangle of Sadness is still exceptionally funny, and this is a work that is accomplished through the deft combination of humour and solemnity, which are essentially the two sides of the proverbial coin that the director is frequently using as currency to fuel this capitalistic nightmare of a film. Östlund has a wicked sense of humour, and his perspective is one that is both cynical and absurd, which are about as contradictory as anything else that propels this film. He has essentially redefined satire as something that not necessarily aims to only entertain and provoke thought when done well, but also presents a very disquieting image of a particular issue, and layering on the sad reality that we cannot change it, regardless of how much we try, when in reality, none of us will likely actually do anything differently after seeing this film – it doesn’t mean the director failed in his mission, but rather that we are proving his point entirely. Perhaps his intention all along was to make us aware of our own shortcomings, and that we ourselves are far from immune from criticism – using your audience as a pawn for your own artistic ambition is a bold choice, and not many directors could convincingly do it and bring a level of profound artistry to it than Östlund, whose entire career has often been seen as an elaborate piece of performance art in itself – he has developed his artistic point of view to reflect a particular character, one that certainly has a holier-than-thou attitude, but also the immense talents to justify spending nearly three hours of our time lecturing the audience about our own shortcomings in a film that is centred squarely on deriding the wealthiest and most powerful people – and to make it a comedy only emphasizes the point even more, turning Triangle of Sadness into a much more resonant satire than it appears at a cursory glance. This film is as much about the working class as it is about the elite, with the director ensuring that all of us are suitably derided for the different roles we play in contemporary culture.

It’s not enough for Östlund to depend on the strength of his story to propel the film forward, since Triangle of Sadness is a character-driven work, and thus depended on the actors taking on these roles. There’s an unspoken rule about satire that focuses on larger groups, whereby you need to have a two-pronged approach to characterization – one is creating a homogenous mass of characters that represent the invisible majority, which is rendered here as the nameless male models in the opening sequence, or the cruise ship employees, only one of each being actively defined, which leads to the second group, which is to have a smaller set of very strong characters, each one distinct and unique in their own way. This is done to allow the audience to almost view them as representatives of different groups, carefully placed into the film to act as surrogates for larger sets of people. Having too much crossover in terms of character quirks or archetypes can cause complications in the well-balanced approach to viewing the central story through their characters. Triangle of Sadness is built almost entirely on this concept, and a lot of the humour is based around the interactions between the characters. Nothing unites a group of people quite like a common struggle, and this film places these influential elites in a position where they are forced to abandon their delusions of being able to express their profound individuality, and where collaboration is merely a suggestion rather than a part of life. It’s hardly surprising that one of the centrepiece scenes of the film (and the catalyst for the rivetting third act) is composed as a heated but friendly debate on the merits of communism and capitalism, which can essentially be reduced down to the concept of individuality and community being constantly called into question – the richer someone gets, the more they are able to distance themselves from others, which is rapidly turned on its head in the third act, which sees Östlund gleefully taking these characters and plunging them into existential despair by simply asking them to put aside their delusions of grandeur and exist as part of a community, which can be seen as an enormous insult to those who have built a self-sustaining psychological empire where they reign supreme.

Yet, this characterization would mean nothing without gifted actors actively doing the work to bring these roles to life. Triangle of Sadness employs an ensemble cast, filling it with a blend of recognizable stars and more underrated actors or newcomers to the industry, all of which are plucked from different parts of the world, giving the film a very distinctly international worldview (and thus allowing the director to avoid criticisms that his story only looks at characters from a single western perspective), as well as allowing many talented actors to do strong work. The film is anchored by Harris Dickinson and Charlbi Dean, who serve as the de facto leads and the closes the story has to protagonists (despite them both playing pathetic and despicable characters). Dickinson has been steadily growing as an actor, continuously pursuing fascinating work that is often unconventional and daring, making him one of the most exciting young actors of his generation. Dean unfortunately had her career cut tragically short, passing away only months after this film premiered. She was an extraordinary talent, and her performance in the film reflects such a natural, outstanding charisma that comes very close to being the best performance in the film, her passing feeling like the extinguishing of a great light long before her time. However, the film eventually moves away from them in its efforts to provide context for a range of other characters, each one well-defined and interesting in their own right. Zlatko Burić, Henrik Dorsin and Vicki Berlin are all tremendous, playing various archetypes of either the wealthy class who can demand anything they desire, or those who have dedicated their lives to be in the servitude of such people to make sure they get it – and these actors bring so much nuance to characters that could have been viewed as purely one-dimensional if not for their solid work. Östlund is clearly having fun placing these characters in increasingly absurd situations, and the actors have to be admired for rising to the occasion and simply delivering spirited performances through nothing but fierce commitment to characters that would not work without immense amounts of dedication to seeing the broader picture and understanding that they are just pawns in the director’s perverse and deranged depiction of class warfare.

However, the standouts of the cast of Triangle of Sadness are very clear – Woody Harrelson has a small but impactful role as the cruise ship’s lush of a captain, who inadvertently creates the panic that unfolds into the central crisis that serves as the film’s thrilling and unconventional centrepiece. He is evidence that an actor can have mere minutes of screentime, but make a profound impression that lasts long after he has stepped away from the story. He’s one of our finest actors, and one who sadly doesn’t get enough opportunities to play a wider range of characters that are outside of the wheelhouse many associates with him. Its one of his best performances, a potent reminder that he is amongst our most interesting performers, and should be given more abstract and challenging work, since he seems to be willing to take on any character, granted it gives him something valuable to contribute to the broader production, even if only in a very small role. Dolly De Leon, however, commands the screen every moment she appears (and Östlund is smart enough to allow her to be the heart of the entire third act), playing the film’s most sympathetic character, but also the most impressive in terms of the emotional and psychological journey she goes on. There are not likely to be many better performances than the one De Leon gives in Triangle of Sadness, which is a testament to both her extraordinary skills, and the director’s realization that he was crafting a performance that would transcend the entire film and its message, becoming almost defining of the film as a while. Her chilling performance is also the most human, and she serves as the moral and existential heart of the film, which only makes her own descent into madness and greed even more terrifying, since it once again proves that absolutely no one is unsusceptible to the allure of power, whether authentic or provided by the illusion of success drawn from social media. Like the rest of the film, De Leon’s performance is one piece of a broader social and cultural puzzle, which Östlund carefully pieces together over the course of this sprawling existential narrative.

Östlund’s approach to filmmaking is not one that is conducive to anything less than the most passionate reactions. Few directors are as polarizing, and his work normally stirs a strong response, whether positive or negative. However, something that we can all agree on is that his work is best appreciated when one enters expecting the unexpected – and Triangle of Sadness is one of the most perfect examples of his deranged perspective and very peculiar approach to telling stories. Each scene builds on the previous one, being unsettling and darkly satirical in a way that is often difficult to describe without launching into a tirade about the frustrations and concerns we have with what we’re seeing on screen. This sounds like a criticism, but in reality it’s one of the director’s greatest strengths – he isn’t only telling a story, he’s manipulating the audience, putting us through an ordeal that is undeniably rewarding, but also deeply exasperating, since it reflects as much about the audience as it does the characters in the film. There’s a self-importance that defines all of the director’s work, and he almost seems to be building this film on the sensation of schadenfreude he gets from seeing wealthy elites fail, which we can all attest to feeling at some point, even if it does force us to confront the fact that we are capable of the same cruelty, with the only difference being that Östlund takes these abstract ideas and sensations and allows them to congeal under his careful but bizarre direction. His work is best described as the most beautiful kind of chaos, where nothing can be predicted, and where the only way to understand his perspective is to suspend disbelief and just follow him through the treacherous social landscapes that form the foundation for his work. Midway through Triangle of Sadness, there is a lengthy sequence where everything that could potentially happen transpires, and his ability to maintain a level of elegant humour while quite literally infusing the film with the most repulsive imagery is precisely the reason why this film is an acquired taste, but one that works when we realize that Östlund is not just using these images to shock us, but rather to depict the debauchery and lack of humility that can happen when hubris replaces common human decency, and where the demands of the elite backfire spectacularly into one of the most deranged portrayals of the downfall of the upper class ever committed to film.

It’s difficult to know where Triangle of Sadness is going to settle after some time – there’s very little doubt that this is a satire on the same level as Dr Strangelove or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (especially in how there is a terrifying bleakness beneath the outrageous humour), but it is also not a particularly easy film to digest, especially when it comes to looking at the more serious themes, which are still present and noteworthy if we look beneath the layers of intentionally putrid and subversive dark humour that encompasses the entire film. At a surface-level glance, this film seems to be very much aligned with other satires that take aim at the rich and famous, showing how even their lives are often mired with misfortune and mishaps, which are obviously entirely absent from their carefully-constructed narratives that are synonymous with the image they convey on social media (and if it wasn’t for tabloids, many of them would have been able to avoid scandals entirely) – and while this is undeniably the foundation of the film, Triangle of Sadness is far more interested in using this as the starting point for a much more expansive discussion of not only celebrity culture, but the entire concept of consumerism, whether in terms of the conflict between socialism and free market capitalism, or simply the manner in which we consume media, which rarely (if ever) provides an accurate depiction of the people we are conditioned to admire. Even the film itself is aware of the fact that it is a piece of media in itself, and the self-reflective nature of the story proves that Östlund may be somewhat pompous and bombastic in his outlook, but it is all intentional – he is constantly reminding us that we are watching a film, a work of persuasive, accessible societal propaganda that he gingerly puts together to stir up a reaction. The viewer is not exempt from his criticisms, and he makes sure that we are fully aware of this fact in his continual pursuit of that elusive detail that hides behind every work of satire and socially-conscious storytelling. Triangle of Sadness is an extraordinary film, functioning as one of the most grotesque and unsettling explorations of fame we’ve ever seen, cobbled together by a director who is rapidly ascending to a place where he could quite possibly become our greatest living satirist and social critic, a role that he both condemns and wholeheartedly embraces – and if that is not the perfect description for everything that Östlund represents, then absolutely nothing else can come close.