Written by Andreas Babiolakis

This review is a part of the Palme d’Or Project: a review of every single Palme d’Or winner at Cannes Film Festival. Triangle of Sadness won the sixty sixth Palme d’Or at the 2022 festival.

The film was selected by the following jury.
Jury President: Vincent Lindon.
Jury: Asghar Farhadi, Rebecca Hall, Ladj Ly, Jeff Nichols, Deepika Padukone, Noomi Rapace, Joachim Trier, Jasmine Trinca.

Warning: this review contains minor and/or major spoilers of Triangle of Sadness. Reader discretion is advised.

Ruben Östlund is no stranger to the Palme d’Or: the coveted top prize of the Cannes Film Festival. He won back in 2017 for his artistic satire The Square, which polarized audiences (I personally adored it). Speaking of familiarity, something I’ve learned since watching (now) every single winner of the Palme d’Or is that the majority of the jury heads and members that voted on these films lean towards works that chastise the elite (particularly the priveleged), and that confirms why something like The Square would win. This leads into 2022’s winner, Triangle of Sadness, and Östlund has now won the award twice. Where The Square would land punchlines, Triangle of Sadness instead festers and allows its subjects to flail around; like gasping fish in dire need of spoils and attention. At a whopping two hours and twenty minutes, Triangle of Sadness can definitely seem like a bit of a slowly paced film at times, but I think Östlund’s exercising of patience and torture fits the film nicely enough that it makes sense. The picture doesn’t wander off course. It just strolls along, which may be even more insulting to its characters; there’s no urgency to either help them or even cut away from their misery. Triangle of Sadness is named after the illusionary shape that forms at the furrowing of one’s brow, and we learn this right at the start as model Carl (Harris Dickinson) is instructed to feign torment for a shoot. We will get quite acquainted with this expression from here on out, because Östlund relishes in the desparation of those that have had it great with zero consequences for their entire lives. Call him sadistic if you want, but this comes from a place of frustration in a world where fortune always wins.

Carl is shown in a heated argument with his girlfriend, influencer Yaya (played by the late Charlbi Dean; my heart breaks watching this film, knowing what future awaited her after this seemingly breakthrough performance). Carl tries to implement instructions he’s received from others on how to get the upper hand in this relationship: an interesting dynamic, considering both parties are people who have never been told no before, and are now having to combat each other over trivial situations. Their squabbles last for about a half hour before we are planted on the primary vessel of the feature: a yacht full of other wealthy narcissists, including oligarchs and arms dealers, and the crew members to boot (Woody Harrelson’s communist philosophizing captain, and a maid that has to deal with the proverbial and literal shit of everyone on board). The upper decks are full of space and freedom, as you can see the endless horizons that flow behind our characters; once we reach the interiors, you’ll see how claustrophobic Triangle of Sadness is. For the next hour, Östlund actually persecutes his characters in a myriad of ways. These eccentrics eventually begin to suffer blows to their egos, as they try to win invisible battles against others in terms of importance, wealth, and genius. As tensions bubble, so do the meals on board, resulting in a crescendo of nausea, fevers, and other bodily expulsions, framed within a camera’s frame that continues to rock back and forth like the yacht battling heavy waves; this leads to 2022’s sickest symphony of overflowing waste, and the drowning of snobs in their own pestilence.

Oh, but Östlund isn’t done yet, when he finally — finally — gets to the crux of the picture with about fifty minutes to go: the capsizing of the yacht, where the now disgruntled one percent of the world now has to fend for itself while starving and in agony (not exactly Instagram worthy at this point). You may argue that Triangle of Sadness has a smidgen of empathy for its suffering cast, but I’m also not entirely sure if it does, outside of the film exposing our own feelings for others when they have gone through enough. Your own threshold depends entirely on you, and Triangle of Sadness allows you to crack when you see fit. It’s a strong approach to the filmic satire by a director that is forever trying to find new ways to poke holes in the way things work in our world, but I can’t help but feel that it is a little held back by Östlund feeling the need to traverse through as many outcomes and statements as possible (down to the occasional on-the-nose moment, like the demonic chanting of the word “money” over and over again by the yacht crew members, which feels sour amidst the many parts of the film’s parodies that do work really well).

If not for these occasional wallows in the obvious or pre-examined, Triangle of Sadness would be a contender for the top tier of films of 2022 (and it may still be this way, should I feel differently about the film in a few months time), because I personally love the best aspects of this film and its scrutiny of the last dregs of humility and humanity in the lifeless corpses of the arrogant. There’s something indescribable about how we begin to feel holier-than-thou when staring in the faces of fortunate people at their absolute worst, and it’s here where Triangle of Sadness no longer feels mean spirited: the tables have turned, and we are now the guilty ones. We gaze upon them not through idolization but via scorn, and we feel seen as we look upon others with the same humility we feel like we face. It’s twisted and perverse, but it kind of works.

I can imagine Triangle of Sadness may be the kind of film that ages better than it instantly feels, especially since we’re all in a bit of a tough spot in this day and age (and additional cynicism may feel off putting). While it feels a teensy bit glacial at times and I was wondering where the film would go, I do reflect on the film on a nearly hourly basis. I can’t shake off its audacity, its buffoonery, and its callousness. It’s mean spirited, but it also possesses just enough care for humans as an animalistic species that I personally don’t feel like Triangle of Sadness is too awful to like. We’re also not exactly getting any new viewpoints from this satire. We know that people who think for themselves, well, think for themselves. What we do get is a space to expunge any negativity we may have developed over time with media, algorithms, and advertisements rubbing the successes of others in our faces and expecting us to be fully supportive and not feel awful about ourselves. In a space where everyone and everything is awful, we can grimace together, and feel the full scope of Triangle of Sadness: a state where everything sucks, but it has to suck for me the most (so thinks everyone involved). Misery loves company, and Ruben Östlund has made a film — and its characters — as miserable as he’s felt. It’s so desolate that it’s actually hysterical.

Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Toronto Metropolitan University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.