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Tag: movies about rich people

  • If You Can Afford It, The Punishment Doesn’t Have to Fit the Crime: Infinity Pool

    If You Can Afford It, The Punishment Doesn’t Have to Fit the Crime: Infinity Pool

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    “Let’s get away,” he said. “Find some inspiration,” he said. A few days in Li Tolqa (a fictional town that serves as Anywhere, Vacationland) cures James Foster (Alexander Skarsgård) of such notions. Staying at a posh resort with his wife, Em (Cleopatra Coleman), the contention between the couple is tangible from the outset of Brandon Cronenberg’s Infinity Pool, with the audience seeing nothing but the pitch-blackness of their room as Em asks James, “Why are we here? It isn’t helping. You’re so frozen these days. I can’t even tell if you’re sleeping or awake.” The only answer James might be able to vaguely provide is that he’s looking to cure “writer’s block” (but really, just being a bad writer) with a change of scenery. Instead, they gloss over the tiff and go down to eat breakfast, whereupon Em half-heartedly hopes they might be able to catch the omelet chef.

    A wide shot of James in an empty dining area sets the tone for the overall ominousness of the resort, with Cronenberg’s ensuing tilted shots of the resort’s amenities circling around slowly (as though mimicking the motion of water going down a drain) as we see scenes of the beach, the tennis court and, of course, the infinity pool. An image that will be returned to again and again throughout the film. Cronenberg (determined to top his father, David, in the genre of “weird shit”) then cuts to one of the resort’s employees, Ketch (Ádám Boncz), wearing an eerie, disarming mask (called an “ekki” mask, and, naturally, available for sale at the gift shop) while he explains how it’s about to be the monsoon season in Li Tolqa and that, “This period before the storm is known as ‘Umbramaq,’ or ‘The Summoning.’” Apropos, of course, considering that, in coming to Li Tolqa, James has unwittingly summoned the likes of Gabi Bauer (Mia Goth), an actress on vacation with her husband, Alban (Jalil Lespert). James encounters her within seven minutes of the film’s opening, as a local on a motorbike tears through the resort’s beach, causing fear and panic among the privileged vacationers.

    When James asks (in the robotic manner his wife can’t stand) to no one in particular, “What’s going on?,” Gabi, watching the scene unfold calmly, replies, “Someone’s making a statement.” James looks over at her and says, “What do you think he’s trying to say?” Taking lascivious liberties (as we’re soon about to see her do in a big way), Gabi gets closer to him to put her finger at the center of his neck and remark, “He’s saying he’d like to put a long knife right through here. And after you die, he’ll hang your body at the airport to scare off the other tourists.” Titillated by her as it is, Gabi seals the seduction by mentioning that she loved his book, called The Variable Sheath, of all things. And yes, James’ “sheath” is about to become very variable. He just doesn’t know it yet…still lulled into a false sense of security by Alban and Gabi’s seeming harmlessness as the latter invites James and Em out to dinner at the Chinese restaurant in town that James had previously told Em he didn’t want to go to.

    At dinner, James and Em learn that Alban is a retired architect, while Gabi is an actress with a specialized niche in “failing naturally.” A.k.a. the type of actor one would expect to find in an infomercial about a product that can make the viewer’s life so much easier. As they get around to inquiring about what James does to pay the bills when he’s not writing, Em chimes in, “He married rich.” “Well, it’s good for an artist to have a patron, isn’t it?” Alban adds. Em quips, “Oh sure, I’m in danger of becoming a charitable organization at this point.” The tension, of course, is palpable—even if Em and James try to laugh the comment off as a joke. And then there’s the sexual tension between Gabi and James, mounting when the quartet goes out dancing at the nightclub afterward. Intoxicated by the sense of excitement Gabi brings (as well as the claim that she’s read his book), James talks Em into going on a picnic with her and Alban the next day, despite Em’s misgivings about leaving the resort. What with the guests being told that they’ll probably be mugged, raped, killed or all three at once if they leave the confines of the property. But James is determined to “go along for the ride” with the Bauers. Which seems like the right choice when Gabi effectively sexually assaults James with an unexpected hand job right as he finishes pissing in a secluded area. As men like to say of women though, he definitely enjoyed it. And he might have coasted on that “good time” feel for the rest of the night were it not for the quartet pulling an I Know What You Did Last Summer after James runs over a man crossing the road and Gabi then insists they leave the body there without calling the police.

    But even despite the man being a “nobody,” it doesn’t take long for the police to arrest James and Em after a guard at the resort gives up the information (compensated accordingly to do so) that they were locked off the property the previous night around the time the crime in question occurred. At the police station, Em easily confesses to what James did, and soon the officer in charge of delivering James’ punishment is telling him about the Revised Process of Doubles Act of International Visitors and Diplomats. In other words, to avoid the country’s usual penalty of death for such a crime, “For a significant sum, the state will build a double to stand in for your execution.” Stunned and practically speechless, James nonetheless finds himself signing the paper that will allow it all to happen, extracting the large sum of cash to pay off the authorities to do the job.

    When the execution they’re forced to watch is over, Em tries to pack their shit up faster than an ostrich can run so that they might get the fuck out of dodge. But something in James’ eyes indicates he has other plans in mind, coming up with the ruse of not being able to find his passport so he can stay. Clearly, he’s gotten off on the sight of watching himself being killed. But more than that, James finally seems to understand how real the statement “getting away with murder” is when you exist on the right privileged perch to do so. As Em reels in disgust over James’ blasé attitude about what just happened, he makes an excuse to go to the front desk, where he encounters Gabi again. She explains to him that she and Alban have been through the “process” as well, and that there’s really something quite exhilarating about it, isn’t there? In fact, that’s why they keep coming back to Li Tolqa every year.

    As James tends to agree, Gabi introduces him to a whole crew of rich folk who get off on the ability to commit crimes on their vacation with no fear of recompense. Well, apart from the literal payment required to get out of what would be the punishment for the “ordinaries.” As the group proceeds to tell James that pretty much everything is illegal in Li Tolqa, and that it’s a wonder anyone has remained alive at all in this country, one can see the faint joy in his eyes over having joined up with such an “elite” cabal. Especially with members that can so effortlessly compartmentalize between what happens “on vacation” and “in real life” (a chasm the audience will note in how casually Gabi is able to say her distancing goodbye to James at the end, as though nothing fucked-up happened at all).

    As for the vagueness of place that Li Tolqa and its extremely conservative laws represent, it allows for the milieu to double as so many potential countries. While most of the film was shot in Šibenik, Croatia, it feels intended to be “one of those” Asian or Latin American countries where lawlessness and abject poverty join forces to become any American tourist’s worst nightmare once they’re “off the property.” But initially, James sees this unexpected doubling process as a sweet fantasy. With Gabi opening his eyes to all the possibilities of being a depraved libertine. The inevitable problem with that arrives when he sees one fucked-up sight that he can’t unsee, and now, suddenly, he decides to dig up the passport he feigned losing so that Em would ultimately leave him on his own at the resort while he pretended to “sort it out.” But even for James now, the vacation has been tainted and is decidedly over.

    Unfortunately, he didn’t realize he needed Gabi and co.’s permission to leave as they show up in hot pursuit of his bus on the way to the airport. In a more sinister version of what goes on during the side-by-side cars driving scene of Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion, Gabi waves a gun at James and taunts him to get out of the bus and stop acting like the coward he is. More depravity ensues. Except, this time, James is far less of a willing participant, as though his eyes have been opened to how foul it all is. These people. Their “predilections.” But perhaps more foul still is the fact that he can’t deny he’s one of them.

    More than just a commentary on how money can buy your way out of consequences, it’s a statement on the Western tourist (primarily the American kind) who thinks that all the world is their playground, and that another country’s laws and customs don’t (and shouldn’t) apply to them. The rude awakening that comes when such a “theory” doesn’t pan out then tends to result in international news (e.g., the stabbing of Mario Cerciello Rega), followed by the guilty party selling the rights to the movie or TV show.

    Cronenberg takes the idea of the rich and/or the American assuming themselves to be above and better than everything (à la The White Lotus) and puts an even more macabre spin on how thrilling it can be for the rich to be able to commit gruesome crimes with no worry of consequence. And yet, that’s what happens all the time with or without the use of a clone to accept the punishment. All one really needs in “non-sci-fi” life is the best lawyers money can buy.

    It is often said that the first iteration of an infinity pool was the Stag Fountain at the Palace of Versailles. How fitting considering the French’s notoriety for revolting against the ruling class that oppressed them (which they haven’t done with half as much conviction since the French Revolution that eventually rendered the Palace of Versailles into a tourist attraction). Thus, it’s only right that Cronenberg keeps going back to the infinity pool shot, returning to it once more at the close of the film. And it makes sense to title the movie as such and wield it so strongly as a symbol beyond the concept of James’ new “infinity” of doubles. After all, infinity pools are most frequently attributed to the type of luxury resorts that only the affluent (or middle-class in debt) can afford. That it represents an illusion buttressed by hundreds of thousands of dollars funneled into its design also feels like a pointed dig at the rich themselves.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Triangle of Sadness Announcement: Having Money Is Not Actually A “Skill” or “Talent” That Will Serve the Rich Outside of Their Bubble When It Bursts

    Triangle of Sadness Announcement: Having Money Is Not Actually A “Skill” or “Talent” That Will Serve the Rich Outside of Their Bubble When It Bursts

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    The “chic” emphasis of late on how much rich people fucking blow (see also: The White Lotus, Hellraiser, Bodies Bodies Bodies) has been crystallized at perhaps its finest in Ruben Östlund’s latest film, Triangle of Sadness (a lovely shape-oriented title to follow up The Square). Wasting no time in getting to the point, Östlund sets the stage in the world of fashion. Specifically, male modeling. Wherein, for once, it’s the men who are underpaid and harassed (by the largely gay male population that dominates this facet of the industry). Including Carl (Harris Dickinson), a rather standard-issue vacuous model who stands against the wall and subjects himself to a reporter making a mockery of high fashion’s elitism by telling Carl to pretend he’s modeling for an expensive brand by looking as serious as possible a.k.a. looking down on the consumer (which, yes, every ad campaign from a luxury brand seeks to do with its stoic, often famous models).

    Carl appears like a fish out of water as the casting directors tell him things such as, to paraphrase, “Models are expected to have a personality now” (a load of bullshit designed to make the art of being thin and hot seem more “meaningful” than it actually is). Something Madonna’s daughter, Lola, knows all about. In addition to nepotism being a key to one’s success in the business (see also: Kaia Gerber). Carl, in contrast, comes across like he never left the 90s school of “thought” on modeling as he walks vacantly up and down the room, eventually resulting in him being told to get rid of that “triangle of sadness” he’s sporting… better known as the furrowing of one’s brow that makes such a formation at the top of their nose. So yeah, not the best audition (yet probably not the worst either).

    Later on, it doesn’t look as though things are going much better for Carl in his personal life as he dines with fellow model and influencer, Yaya (Charlbi Dean, who tragically died just before Triangle of Sadness’ international release). As she stares at her phone (the scene many a dinner companion is familiar with), she absently thanks him for getting the check. To which he soon spotlights (after Yaya pries it out of him) that she never leaves him much choice with regard to paying the bill—even though she makes more money than he does. Yaya balks at his complaining as the argument continues in the car on the way to the hotel and then at the hotel as Carl insists that he wants them to be like best friends, prompting Yaya to reply that she doesn’t want to fuck her best friend (though we all know Joey Potter did). And also: talking about money isn’t “sexy”—which is part of why “poor people” are so grotesque to the rich, who never have to discuss or question the spending of every little nickel and dime.

    In irritation, Carl says what he means by “best friends” is that he wants them to be like equals. Yaya, perhaps not so naïve about gender roles, regardless of the century, later confesses to him in the hotel (after he’s derided under his breath that women of the present are “bullshit feminists”) very bluntly: she needs to be with a man who can take care of her. Because what if, say, she gets pregnant and can’t model anymore? Carl admits she doesn’t seem like the type who could work in a supermarket. As it also becomes clear that both are only in this “relationship” to grow their social media following, Carl vows to make Yaya fall in love with him for real—none of this “trophy [wife] bullshit.” With the establishment of looks as about the only way to secure money (“beauty as currency,” as Östlund refers to it) if you’re not born into it already, Östlund takes us into a new phase of the movie.

    Divided into three parts, “Carl & Yaya” ends so that we might enter “The Yacht” portion of the film. And oh, how pronounced class is during this second act, with the truth about Yaya and Carl managing to get onto this yacht filled with primarily middle-aged and elderly ilk being that Yaya used her “hotness” to assure plenty of pic posting to make the cruise look as (literally) attractive as possible. In short, to mislead people into believing that anyone youthful and beautiful actually goes on these types of excursions when, in fact, it’s mostly people such as Dimitry (Zlatko Burić), an aged Russian oligarch who likes to quip, “I sell shit” in reference to being the King of Fertilizer throughout Eastern Europe and beyond. In point of fact, any rich person can describe how they made their fortune as, “I sell shit.” A lot of fucking useless bric-a-brac no one really needs and that daily decimates the environment. The same goes for Winston (Oliver Ford Davies) and Clementine (Amanda Walker), an old British couple who informs Carl and Yaya that they finagled their wealth by “defending democracy”—better known as arms dealing.

    While someone as gross as Dimitry has managed to secure companionship in Vera (Sunnyi Melles, a real-life princess of Wittgenstein), as well as a daughter (?), Ludmilla (Carolina Gynning), who comes off more like a mistress (think: the Ivanka to Dimitry’s Donald), app creator/tech “titan” Jarmo (Henrik Dorsin) is too socially awkward/incel-like to have much game with women. And what use is money to a man if it can’t be used to treat “the ladies” more freely as objects? This is why, when Yaya and Vera, who have taken a shine to one another in their social media-obsessed affinity, offer to pose with Jarmo to make another woman who didn’t come on the cruise with him jealous, he tells them how much it means to him. And then offers to buy them some expensive watches. Costly, shiny things being the only way to show gratitude among the rich and rich-coveting.

    Behind the scenes of it all is Paula (Vicki Berlin), the head of staff doing her best to keep morale up by assuring her crew members that they might get a very big tip at the end of it all…so long as they agree to pander to every absurd demand from the guests. This prompts the crew to start chanting excitedly (and crudely), “Money, money, money, money!” reminding one of Molly Shannon as Kitty Patton chanting, “It’s all about the money, money, money” in The White Lotus. What it all proves is that even (and especially) the non-rich are motivated by money, despite it being the very thing that renders them so powerless in this life. By playing into its worship, the lower classes only end up further enslaving themselves to the rich. Meanwhile, even further down below, Abigail (Dolly de Leon), “Head of the Toilets,” is miffed by the bizarre shaking and rattling of the “middle-class” crew up above. In this particular scene, there is something very Parasite-esque about the filming, designed to accent that beneath every “low” class is still an even lower one doing far more grunt (read: bitch) work.

    What’s more, in every instance of a rich motherfucker presented, none of these people actually “make” or “do” anything tangible to secure their bag. Yet somehow what they “do” is considered more “valuable” (based on bank account) in our society than those who actually buttress the entire operation of day-to-day existence. And this is where “The Island” segment of Triangle of Sadness comes in—to remind the rich assholes who end up stranded on it that they ain’t shit without “the help.”

    Having arrived to this point through a series of “unfortunate” (a.k.a. entirely the fault of the wealthy’s whims in demanding that all the crew members take a swim for thirty minutes) events, the main escalating factor is the improper temperature of shellfish ultimately served at the captain’s dinner. The captain being a reclusive and drunken man named Thomas (Woody Harrelson) that Paula, with the help of Chief Officer Darius (Arvin Kananian), finally manages to coerce into coming out for this accursed obligation. Until this rare appearance, we only ever hear his voice from behind the door, just like Paula. But it’s clear Harrelson took the role so that he could shine during a very “this is the Titanic sinking” part of the movie, during which he goes mano a mano with Dimitry about capitalism versus socialism (Thomas being an American socialist and Dimitry being a Russian capitalist) by quoting a series of “thinkers” to one another and their stances on the subjects.

    The idea that rich people truly believe their shit (and vomit) doesn’t stink quickly becomes manifest during the now iconic segment featuring the non-stop bodily “elimination” processes of the uber-affluent (most especially Vera). Still subject, in the end, to the limitations of their own bodies, no matter how much money they have. So sure, maybe “we’re all equal” at the basest level of “being human,” with this “we’re all equal” lie serving as a running phrase—whether written or spoken—throughout the film. Yet, obviously, it’s something the rich only wish to tell themselves as a means to shirk any sense of guilt about what they have (which, again, is why Vera demands that the entire crew takes a swim break). More precisely, the excesses of what they have.

    This is a topic that arises heavily during the “quote competition” between Dimitry and Thomas as the boat devolves into total shit-and-vomit chaos. With Thomas reciting such Marx aphorisms as, “The last capitalist we hang shall be the one who sold us the rope.” Dimitry ripostes with quotes from the likes of Reagan and Thatcher, the latter having once said, “The problem with socialism is that you eventually run out of other people’s money.” As their warring ideologies play out in “good fun,” the passengers endure their own added element to the bodily fluid-filled hellscape in that most of the volleying is broadcast over the intercom.

    As the absurdity of it all mounts, the only thing that was still missing was the arrival of pirates onto the scene. Which is how we come to find a select few of the passengers washed up on the aforementioned island. Where Abigail, the so-called lowest of the low out in the “real world” is suddenly Top Dog (or “Captain,” as she calls herself) in this setting. All because she has basic skills for survival that the rich never had to learn in their position of “power” that has now rendered them powerless. In spite of this reversal of circumstances, it’s apparent that Östlund wants to ask the question: is life without the social constructs of “civilization” any less savage? Not really, as Lord of the Flies already taught many high school students long ago. Indeed, in the end, Carl himself is the “bullshit feminist.” He doesn’t care about equality, he just wants his fucking meals fed to him in exchange for offering up his body. Beauty as currency, even here.  

    With regard to managing to keep the tone comedic amid the brutal subject matter/mirror held up to the audience, Östlund invoked the names of two very specific filmmakers past who also had the same ability as he commented, “I felt I wanted to make movies like [Luis] Buñuel and Lina Wertmüller in the 70s, where there was no contradiction between being entertaining and dealing with something that they thought was important.” And, now more than ever, nothing is more important than keeping the spotlight on the ceaselessly-increasing divide between the haves and have-nots. Particularly as we embark upon a new era of climate change apocalypse.

    And, speaking of that, a tongue-in-cheek moment that addresses this very inevitability arrives during a fashion show that projects on a backdrop screen something to the effect of, “We’re entering an entirely new climate…” The viewer is briefly inclined to believe this is another attempt at greenwashing until the phrase concludes, “…in fashion.” In other words, the rich really don’t give a fuck if the world is burning so long as they can still “make” (i.e., siphon) money during the decline.

    Despite Triangle of Sadness coming across as endlessly “cynical” (that word used to write people off who speak the truth), Östlund portrays all of this precisely because he still has some faint glimmer of hope for humanity. If he didn’t, he likely wouldn’t explore these “uncomfortable” topics in his films at all. And as for being deemed another “guilt-racked liberal” by wealthy conservatives that might happen upon the movie, Östlund remarked, “To call someone a hypocrite, it comes very often from the right-wing perspective: ‘You shouldn’t talk about a better society, because you’re a hypocrite. Look at yourself.’ We can’t separate ourselves from the culture that we live in.” And the culture we live in is the very symptom of our sickness—vomit and all. To which government and big business at large has said, “Lick it up, baby, lick it up.”

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    Genna Rivieccio

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