Ruben Ostlund's Palme d'Or-winning social satire, "Triangle of Sadness," is many things: a cautionary tale about the perils of slurping shellfish on rough seas, a blunt (as in dull) critique of the one percent, a (wasted) opportunity to hear Woody Harrelson espouse the tenets of Karl Marx and a pessimistic suggestion that people — both the oppressors and the oppressed — share a fundamental willingness to exploit each other given the right circumstances. Strip away the Rolexes and scrub brushes, and we're all the same underneath — horrible!
Don't get me wrong. There are things to admire in Ostlund's overstuffed exercise in derision. Example: No film in history has boasted so many artfully composed shots of people in the throes of intestinal duress. Just how much vomit is there? Imagine the blueberry-pie-eating scene in "Stand by Me" on top of Mr. Creosote's explosion in "Monty Python's The Meaning of Life" mixed with the overflowing toilets of "Parasite," and you have an inkling of what Ostlund unleashes in a drawn-out second act set piece that might tax the patience of even those inclined to appreciate exercises in grotesque absurdity.
But let's put aside the puking (for now), as there's a bit more to "Triangle of Sadness." The movie is divided into three parts, along with its funniest moment, a cold open skewering of the high fashion world. It's here we meet Carl (Harris Dickinson), a good-natured model, a bit past his prime, who's told he might want to consider Botox to erase the wrinkles in his triangle of sadness, the space between the eyebrows. Though equally adept at giving off the right vibe for clothing brands both bougie and basic, it seems Carl might need to consider a career change soon.
