Can't miss the point. Maybe even three of them

I'm fine with message films. In our current political climate, there should probably be even more of them, despite the fact that they likely wouldn't change the minds of those who need it most. Triangle of Sadness is just such a message film. The dominant theme of the picture is that rich people aren't simply self-absorbed and largely dehumanized by their wealth, but that they're also parasites on what would be an otherwise functional society. Anyone convinced of the concept of "trickle-down economics" or "job creators" or how money defines "success" need only look at the current debacle occurring with Elon Musk and Twitter to recognize that all of those concepts are not only flawed, but usually deliberate lies to cover up the actual reality. Triangle lays this bare in very, uh, pointed terms. The problem is that it doesn't create a very good film, no matter how much the message may be needed.

Similarly to my reaction to Don't Look Up, I tend to like my political films with a bit more subtlety. When they're constantly hitting me over the head with the message, I start losing interest because I want to see more of the "real people" within the characters that are supposed to be carrying said message. The heavy-handed approach often means that the roles become less characters and more caricatures. Triangle basically tells us that rich people are all assholes. HBO's Succession tells us the same thing. But the difference is that all of the assholes in Succession are quirky people with recognizable hang-ups and idiosyncrasies. In other words, they're human, which is what makes them compelling to watch in the same way that many reality TV shows are driven by the very strange, very normal people that they present. No one in Triangle feels like a real person. From the anguish of Carl (Harris Dickinson) remonstrating about escaping gender roles with his girlfriend, Yaya (Charlbi Dean), to Clementine and Winston (Amanda Walker and Oliver Ford Davies) getting wistful about how they made their fortune in the weapons industry, no one seems real. In fact, they're so into their assigned roles that it often becomes tedious waiting for them to get through the obvious cues. There's nothing wrong with absurdist characters. Some of my all-time favorites are the creations of filmmakers like the Coen Brothers. But even over-the-top characters like Ulysses Everett McGill or The Dude have enough humanity within them to make it plausible that you might know someone a lot like them. No one in Triangle fits that mold.

Appropriately enough, the highlight of the film is the one person who not only isn't rich, compared to his passengers, but also speaks out against the people that he's supposed to be entertaining. That's Captain Thomas Smith, played by Woody Harrelson. The funniest moment of the two-and-a-half hours was hearing The Internationale blasting from his cabin loudly enough that the kitchen staff could clearly hear it while they assembled whatever decadent masterpiece was to be presented later. There's a point where irony becomes so thick that it reaches the point of humor and this was one of them; not because it wasn't just as obvious as the rest of the plot (captain of the ship full of wealthy vermin is an ardent Marxist) but because it perfectly suits Harrelson's acting style of the genial, regular guy who seethes with hatred against the people he has to be nice to. The casting, in that respect, was perfect. Given that he was the perfect choice for it, does that make it just as obvious as the rest of the film? Maybe. When we get to the island and enter the Lord of the Flies situation, we've unfortunately lost Harrelson and are returned to the obvious message: Abigail, the only one who works for a living, is also the only one that keeps society running because she knows how to do things like fish and make a fire, while the wealthy parasites can do nothing but enjoy the fruits of her labor, straight out of Das Kapital. Abigail uses this opportunity to take control of the group and not only arrogates the upper end benefits to herself, but reduces Carl to the reversal of gender roles that would seem to be a "careful what you wish for", except that he was arguing for a removal of said roles, so maybe not quite the message that was originally aimed for.

I will say that director Ruben Östlund did a solid job, creating a real sense of chaos when the boat enters a storm that is then interrupted by a puking scene that is straight out of Stand By Me. He also did an excellent job with the ending, which is left to some degree of self-interpretation by the audience, since we aren't shown exactly what happens between Abigail and Yaya, but we can see how fiercely the former is ready to cling to her newfound position against the woman whose mate she's already effectively stolen. Is this where Östlund was trying to say that there aren't really any heroes or that the vermin sitting atop the money pile aren't any worse than those scrabbling for a piece of it? Again, a mixed message in the midst of a film trying to beat you over the head with one seems questionable, although I suppose it could just be my overall dreary feeling about the whole picture that's interfering with my ability to appreciate what he was trying to do. Part of that dreariness is the length. 150 minutes was simply way too long and the counterpoint to my previous thought is that I may have thought the ending was more interesting just because I was glad that it was actually the ending. There's just not enough material here, in addition to the complete void of interesting characters outside of the captain, to justify that running time. Of course, for all of my complaints, it won the Palme d'Or at Cannes, which could just be more one more plank in my disaffection with French cinema and its devotees. Or maybe it's just because I'm a Marxist and already knew all of this.