One of V's most frequent complaints is about the inevitability of vomiting in contemporary cinema. At some point we were compiling a list of those rare movies that eschew the spew.
It's surprise, interruptive puking that V most objects to, and to be fair to Östlund, the chundering in this movie hardly strikes like a dramatic thunderbolt. And the sheer scale of it surely moves it into a wholly different category of plot development.
If you are in any way tuned into Scandi humour and lack the aforementioned reservations about bodily fluids on screen, then you will probably find Triangle of Sadness very amusing.
After it claimed a second Palme D'or for its director, critics rather split into two camps, one of which, the naysayers, complained that this time Östlund's targets were just a bit too easy.
Well yes, the ultra-rich do make for a broader form of satire, but there are plenty of more intricate little situations included here, especially during the luxury cruise scenes, to make the comedy feel clever enough.
My problem with the film is a little different; it is that overall it is just a collection of loosely interlinked situations. Östlund has conspicuously divided the action into three acts, but in truth it is precisely that familiar dramatic structure which is absent.
The first act introduces us to an awkward dynamic between two young models and although they later turn up on the cruise as social media freeloaders, the potential they represented as characters appears to have been squandered.
There is underlying note of sadness in the viewing of this film as one of its stars, Charbli Dean, playing the empty-souled model and influencer, died suddenly from a respiratory infection just as it was being released.
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