Tag: Triangle of Sadness

The 10 Best Satire Films of the 21st Century

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Comedy gets the short end of the critically acclaimed stick. Best Picture winners tend to be the heady dramas and the tearjerker biopics – what makes us laugh just isn’t valued as much as what makes us cry. So what’s comedy to do? Walk its clown shoes down the road to the bus stop and hitch a ride to Artistic Irrelavence-Ville? No, the answer: rebrand. Comedy might not get any respect from the critics, but satire? That’s another matter entirely. Perhaps it’s the cynicism and darkness of the genre that feels in the ballpark of the tragic greats. Or maybe it’s that labeling things as “satire” just makes critics feel smart? You can decide the answer for yourself with the 10 best satire films of the 21st century.

Don’t Look Up

(Netflix)

Adam McKay’s Don’t Look Up is the spiritual successor to Idiocracy, a parable about government incompetence and national stupidity for the modern era. A comet of human civilization destroying proportions is on a collision course with the Earth, and astronomer duo Kate and Randall are the only two people on the planet who understand the gravity of the threat – no pun intended. The pair attempt to rally humanity’s best minds to come up with a solution, but the only intellects they come across are below average at best. While the American government is at first gung ho at solving the problem with a nuclear bombardment, they’re convinced otherwise by independent billionaires who want to mine the planet-destroyer for rare minerals – oblivious to the fact that there won’t be anywhere left to spend the money after impact. It’s an examination of the stupidity of American oligarchy, how the powerful and the powerfully uninformed are often one and the same – with devastating consequences for the rest of humanity.

Sorry To Bother You

(Annapurna Pictures)

Boots Riley’s Sorry To Bother You takes place in a near future capitalist dystopia – and by near future, with the way things are currently going, that could mean a couple months from now at best. In order to make ends meet, Cassius “Cash” Green takes a job as a telemarketer for a powerful conglomerate – and discovers that he makes double the sales when he uses his “white voice” on calls. As Cash quickly soars through the company ranks, he learns that his higher-ups are have their fingers in quite a few morally dubious pies – weapons manufacturing, genetic engineering, and slave labor. It’s whacky sci-fi satire with teeth – an exploration of how far one can go to game the system before becoming part of that system itself.

Idiocracy

(20th Century Fox)

A sci-fi send-up of the Bush years, Idiocracy is an unflinchingly critical glimpse into 00’s America from 500 years into the future. Handpicked by the government for their perfectly average intelligences, Joe and Rita are placed in suspended animation by the U.S. military, reawakening in the 26th century. Things haven’t changed for the better, rampant consumerism and lowbrow cultural consciousness have caused human intelligence to reach its nadir. Now the two smartest people on Earth, Joe and Rita work to save humanity from its own worst enemy: itself. Newly hired by President Dwayne Elizondo Mountain Dew Herbert Camacho (played by Terry Crews in a career best performance) Joe and Rita are expected to solve America’s failing crops and stagnant economy – or face a public execution via monster truck rally. You thought the United States was bad in the 21st century? You ain’t seen nothing yet.

American Psycho

(Lionsgate)

Directed by Mary Harron, American Psycho is a satire done so well that of its fans unironically lionize the very things that the film critiques. A glimpse into vapid New York City culture in the 1980’s, the film follows Wall Street worker Patrick Bateman – who moonlights as a cannibalistic serial killer. Bateman is the poster-boy for the idea of the successful American male: he’s handsome, muscular, wealthy, powerful and he gets laid (when he pays for it). He’s also one of the most shallow, empty, vicious, pathetic, and depraved characters in cinema history. As the film oscillates between Bateman’s mundane appraisals of business cards and nightmarish butchery of human bodies, the central thesis of the film becomes clear: “you’d have to be crazy to work on Wall Street – just look at this guy.” Sadly, there’s a subsection of the film’s accolades that accept Bateman as an enviable success object on its face – rather than a depraved lunatic under the peel-off skincare mask.

What We Do In The Shadows

(Madman Entertainment)

The ultimate pop cultural sendup, Jemaine Clement and Taika Waititi’s What We Do In The Shadows lampoons a fan favorite stock character that lives rent free in the social psyche: the vampire. Dangerous, debonaire, sexy, scary, scintillating – this mockumentary’s suburban vampire subjects are none of these things. They take the public bus to their hunting grounds, they struggle to work computers, and they have petty rivalries with the local werewolf population. The ultimate cultural boner killer, the film demystifies the vampiric ideal from the reality. Aside from the blood drinking, the bat transformations, and the gauchely gothic sensibilities, they’re people just like us. Undead people, but people. Messy. Insecure. Probably a little more violent than the average person – but when your life depends on drinking others, you do what you gotta do.

Thank You For Smoking

(Fox Searchlight Pictures)

Jason Reitman’s Thank You For Smoking is the story of Nick Naylor, a spokesman for the “research” organization The Academy of Tobacco Studies – which is really just a tobacco company lobby in disguise. Peddling the lie that there’s no link between smoking and lung disease, Nick and his friends gleefully manipulate the public into a false sense of cigarette security. While Nick knows that he’s not telling the truth, he simply doesn’t care – so long as it makes Big Tobacco more money. It’s a send up of one of the most famous modern conspiracies: tobacco company efforts to convince the public that smoking isn’t a health hazard. It’s peak black comedy – the same shade as your lungs after a lifetime of inhaling what these sheisters peddle.

Borat

(20th Century Fox)

One of the most infamously quotable films of the century is Borat! Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan – directed by Larry Charles and starring Sacha Baron Cohen. A mockumentary on American culture from the point of view of a woefully uninformed Kazakh journalist, Borat is a scandalizing look into the culture of the early 2000’s. Using fearless Socratic irony, Cohen’s Borat asks his interview subjects questions from a place of feigned cultural ignorance, with cringe-inducing results. While claiming that America is “greatest country in the world,” Borat unwittingly exposes the United States to be the exact opposite – putting its close-minded nationalism and cultural bigotry on full display. Contrary to its main character’s catch phrase, this jaw-dropping satire proves that America is often anything but “very nice.”

In The Loop

(Optimum Releasing)

Directed by Armando Iannucci, In The Loop is a British black comedy criticizes one of the most controversial foreign policy decisions of the 21st century – the U.S. invasion of Iraq. It’s the story of bumbling U.K. politician Simon Foster, who makes an offhanded on-air comment that war with Iraq is “unforeseeable” – causing the U.S. to question whether or not it staunch ally actually supports its invasion plan for the Middle East. Invited to America and caught up in internecine government drama, Simon is dragged into a war between hawks and doves debating military action. It’s a story of the messy egos at the heart of the political system, and how petty personal grievances can influence national decisions – spurred on by the ineptitude of one man. Wouldn’t wanna be Simon.

(Searchlight Pictures)

Mark Mylod’s The Menu is a story of the insufferable: the whims of the wealthy, the struggles of the working class, the ambitions of the pompously artisitic, and the culture that creates it all. Wealthy Tyler brings his date Margot to a private island owned by a celebrity chef for the meal of a lifetime, and the pair discover it might just be their last. As Chef Julian Slowik rolls out the courses for his VIP clientele, they get the sneaking suspicion that they themselves are on the chopping block. The Menu is a metaphor for the inherent classism of the service industry – one whose business model depends on catering to the caprices of the rich and powerful. After a lifetime spent in service to creating great culinary art, Slowik is sick of cooking for people who don’t appreciate it. Margot meanwhile would appreciate directions to the nearest exit – chef’s got murder in his eyes.

Triangle of Sadness

(Neon)

Ruben Östlund’s Triangle of Sadness is The White Lotus meets Survivor. After being invited on a trip to luxury cruise, influencer/model couple Carl and Yaya struggle to survive after the ship encounters Bermuda Triangle levels of bad luck. The Russian oligarchs, wealthy tycoons, and beautiful models are helpless to protect themselves from mechanical failures, food poisoning, and pirates – causing their cruise to collapse under the weight of its own ludicrous luxury. With no one else to turn to, the passengers select Yaya to be their de facto leader, and the carefree model is forced to shoulder the weight of useless group. How can people worth so much be capable of so little? That’s exactly the question this satire seeks to answer.

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Sarah Fimm

Sarah Fimm (they/them) is actually nine choirs of biblically accurate angels crammed into one pair of $10 overalls. They have been writing articles for nerds on the internet for less than a year now. They really like anime. Like… REALLY like it. Like you know those annoying little kids that will only eat hotdogs and chicken fingers? They’re like that… but with anime. It’s starting to get sad.

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Sarah Fimm

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September 29, 2025
‘Triangle Of Sadness’ Producer Says British Indie Film Industry Is “On Its Knees” Due To Hollywood Prices

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The British producer of Ruben Östlund’s Triangle of Sadness has sounded the alarm on the state of the UK’s independent film industry.

This comes as the UK enjoys a boom due to respected British craft skills and tax incentives. The recent box office behemoth Barbie was made at Warner Bros studios near Watford, north London, and those studios are being expanded. Netflix is also planning to expand its studio space at Shepperton, south of London. Such investment from overseas translates into a huge boon for local economies and for training, and bringing new talent into the business.

However, veteran producer Mike Goodridge, who made the recent hit Triangle of Sadness, told the BBC’s Today Programme:

“The industry is essentially on its knees. On the upside, British actors, crew, are working at the highest level, but all for American companies. Theoretically, that’s wonderful, however, on a more philosophical level, British stories are not being supported.”

That’s great for the craftspeople, crew and actors being employed, but the independent sector is starting not to be able to afford these people. The prices are being driven up by the American companies.

He reported a conversation he has every day with his crew:

“Shall we shoot in Belgium, or Iceland, anywhere there’s an amazing tax credit? It’s not what we want. We are a nation of storytellers who end up going to Hollywood or struggling to get our films made through the independent system.”

Triangle of Sadness, a comedic satire targeting the thoughtless rich, was made on a production budget of $15.6million, and went on to garner $32.9million in ticket receipts.

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Caroline Frost

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February 10, 2024
Are You Surprised A Visual Effects Extravaganza About Paying Your Taxes and Honoring Family Was the Oscar Darling?

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Triangle of Sadness never stood a chance as a major Oscar contender, of course. And as a skewering of the rich and a society that worships them, it was certainly not going to topple the likes of Everything Everywhere All At Once. Which, say what you will about it, is not some kind of “love letter” to moms (in the spirit of the 1942 children’s book, Runaway Bunny) or “ordinary people,” so much as a thinly-veiled push to accept your fate—no matter how mediocre—make the most of it and, obviously, never try to outsmart/dodge the IRS. Even though it seems like one ought to be able to mentally maneuver around somebody as toady as Deirdre Beaubeirdra (Jamie Lee Curtis, who swept up an Oscar for her part in the movie as well), Kafka long ago made it clear that bureaucracy always triumphs. And so do schmaltzy movies at the Oscars—regardless of such movies being masked as “profound” and “rooted in realism.”

That “realism” begins when Evelyn (Michelle Yeoh) is confronted at the IRS office by Alpha-Waymond (Ke Huy Quan), another version of her husband from the multiverse. But it’s difficult to focus on what Alpha-Waymond is saying to her about the collapse of every universe while the “voice of reason” throughout the film, Deirdre, a star IRS agent (with the butt plug-shaped Auditor of the Month awards to prove it), keeps trying to bring Evelyn back to “reality,” whatever that means. But to Deirdre, it means reminding this non-taxpayer that “hobbies” are not businesses, and that Evelyn is going to be in some serious trouble if she doesn’t get her story straight with regard to her tax return “narrative.” Notably, Everything Everywhere All at Once’s major sweep of the Oscars comes just in time for tax season—how fucking convenient is that, as Cardi B would say. Because yes, amid all the smokescreens about nihilism and how “nothing matters,” the Daniels (Kwan and Scheinert) ultimately seem to want to remind viewers that nothing is ever so chaotic in any universe as to excuse away not correctly filling out and filing a tax return.

In truth, the only way to gauge whether or not a bona fide apocalypse has occurred is if people stop paying their taxes and are able to “get away with it.” This tending to refer to something like a The Last of Us scenario wherein it’s irrefutably true that nothing matters, save for basic survival (thanks to the 28 Days Theory on Humans Enduring for No Good Reason Other Than It’s Encoded Within Them). Or, in the instance of Triangle of Sadness, you find yourself in a Lord of the Flies situation, stranded on a deserted island. That’s when humanity in its most unbridled form reveals itself. But naturally, the Academy doesn’t likely care to remind viewers of such “ugly” realities, like “buying sex with the common food” as Abigail (Dolly de Lion) does in her newfound role as leader.

In contrast, while she was a cleaner on a 250-million-dollar yacht, Abigail was “valueless.” In the rough of the wild, however, her skills (what the Daniels would bill as being part of “competency porn”) are worth everything to the passengers that now depend on her for survival. Paula (Vicki Berlin), the head of staff on the yacht, makes the mistake of trying to treat Abigail the same way she does on the boat, having the gall to ask her after Abigail does all the work to finagle them a fish dinner, “Why do you get so much food? Why?” This question forces Abigail, The Little Red Hen of the outfit, to spell it out by explaining, “I caught the fish, I made the fire, I cooked. I did all the work, and everybody got something.” In capitalist existence, this is simply called a laborer. In Lord of the Flies existence, this is called running shit and everyone else without any viable skills can shut the fuck up.

When Yaya (Charlbi Dean), the proverbial hot model/influencer of the yacht’s remaining passengers, ends up hiking with Abigail over a mountain to find that they’re actually on an island that houses a bougie resort, the look on Abigail’s face is one of sheer disappointment. She doesn’t want to go back to how it used to be. To the existence, or “universe,” as Everything Everywhere All at Once would bill it, where she’s a lowly peon whose skills are rendered useless again now that money as the sole source of clout has reentered the equation. In Everything Everywhere All at Once, the Daniels attempt to lift up the working class by spotlighting them as the “real superheroes” in this world. Of course, what would be far more uplifting to them is if they were paid accordingly. Not given some propaganda about accepting how shitty things are and, by the way, keep paying your taxes.

Perhaps the vastly opposing messages of each film, with Everything Everywhere All at Once disguised as something it’s not, proves that the only side people want to see of themselves is the rose-colored one. With “normal” Waymond saying such dialogue as, “The only thing I do know is that we have to be kind.” A more debonair Waymond in the universe where Evelyn is a film star and didn’t up marrying him finds her telling Waymond how bleak it would have been if she had opted for a life with him. As he leaves, Waymond ripostes, “In another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.”

This is what finally warms Evelyn’s heart back up to Waymond in the universe where they do just that, turning her back on the darkness that Jobu Tupaki a.k.a. her daughter, Joy (Stephanie Hsu), has infected Evelyn with on her journey through the multiverse. Although it seems like Joy might have won with her darkness (and the everything bagel that encompasses it), Evelyn chooses to employ Waymond’s combat style of “killing with kindness” (it was a grave error that Selena Gomez’s “Kill ‘Em With Kindness” was not used at any point during this scene). This, in turn, leads laundromat owner Evelyn to not let her daughter go even though she asks to be.

Chasing after Joy outside the laundromat, Evelyn explains that she would rather be in this universe with Joy over any other. Joy counters, “[But] here all we get are a few specks of time where any of this actually makes sense.” Needless to say, Joy isn’t referring only to the literal way in which she and her mother have a tendency to tune their being into different universes, but the way in which none of life really makes sense to any of us. Except for those rare moments of clarity we’re meant to get by being surrounded with loved ones and friends during those precious, errant hours of time off from work. Work is what people do, after all, in order to support those around them. Including institutions that profit from (usually underpaid) labor. Especially the IRS.

“Then I will cherish these few specks of time,” Evelyn assures. As though to say that we all should do the same with vacation weeks and “leisure hours” spent recovering from the horrors of working so that said wage can be gutted like a fucking fish by the government. To act like the Daniels aren’t complicit in perpetuating this inherently flawed cycle, they have Joy announce at the end, “Taxes suck.” But, clearly, you still have to do them if you want to be considered a Viable Member of Society (meaning, ultimately, a law-abiding one—laws being a social construct created by—ding! ding! ding!—the government a.k.a. the rich people that control it).

Incidentally, the final line of the movie consists of Evelyn inquiring, “Sorry, what did you say?” It’s an appropriate question for those viewers who thought that they had heard something infinitely wise and profound when, at the core of Everything Everywhere All at Once is the longstanding societal reiteration that you must do your taxes and honor the family unit. Not just by never abandoning it, but by making sure that the same “beliefs” are imparted down the generational line. In other words, of course this would get the Academy hard as a rock compared to something as “Eat the Rich” in sentiment as the aforementioned Triangle of Sadness.

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Genna Rivieccio

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March 13, 2023
Loathing the Rich: Marx Madness in the Oscar Movies

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GLASS ONION

Zillionaire Miles Bron builds an empire on a lie and pressures a team of influencers to help him maintain it.

By the Numbers: 32 smashed glass treasures (not including the onion itself)

The Payoff: When Bron (Edward Norton) is confronted with deceits from the past, his world literally collapses, taking an array of priceless statues and eventually the actual Mona Lisa down with him.

Score: 🔪🔪

Courtesy of Netflix.

BABYLON

At a fancy luncheon hosted by bigwigs, our leading lady takes messy revenge on Hollywood’s chew-’em-up-and-spit-’em-out legacy.

By the Numbers: 12 seconds of vomiting

The Payoff: Babylon dives nose-first into the decadence of a Dionysian era. When rising star Nellie LaRoy (Margot Robbie) has swallowed too much, she returns it all to the industry elite in the most direct fashion possible.

Score: 🔪

Scott Garfield/Paramount Pictures.

TRIANGLE OF SADNESS

An exclusive cruise for the superrich capsizes following a bout of seasickness and a pirate attack.

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Jordan Hoffman

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March 10, 2023
Among the Ruins, The Mall Will Tell of What Society Used to Be (And Can’t Help But Remain)

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In episode seven of The Last of Us, “Left Behind,” Ellie (Bella Ramsey) is taken on a late-night expedition to see a relic and wonder of the past: the mall. Even in “non-post-apocalyptic” (so we tell ourselves) America, said milieu has become something of a relic, regardless of remaining a “novelty” to those who didn’t grow up with it as the end all, be all of hangout locations (see: Billie Eilish in the video for “Therefore I Am”). To Ellie, taken there by Riley Abel (Storm Reid), her best friend and former roommate at the FEDRA military school, it is just such a novelty.

Although Ellie is initially reluctant to accompany her bestie on this mysterious nocturnal journey, Riley soon makes good on her promise of it being “the best night” of Ellie’s life. Which, yes, is a testament to how bleak things have gotten. After the two sneak into the complex where the endless slew of shops is housed, Riley sets up the majesty for a first-time viewer of the mall by telling Ellie to go ahead of her and call out once she’s gone through the hallway and turned right. When Ellie announces, “I’m here, now what?,” Riley turns every light on in the place to reveal the beautiful embodiment of capitalism in all its decayed glory.

Ellie, usually unimpressed by just about everything, stares out at the commercial abyss in stunned wonder. A classic case of being glamored by the bells and whistles of capitalism. Almost like an Eastern bloc defector in the Cold War creeping into America to see what all the fuss is about. To paraphrase what Ruben Östlund said during most of his interviews promoting Triangle of Sadness, “Capitalism won over communism during the Cold War because it was sexier.” In short, Reagan had the snappier quotes (e.g., “Socialism only works in two places: heaven where they don’t need it and hell where they already have it”). And, talking of quotes, one thing Östlund actually did say during an interview was, “Capitalism is so good at exploiting all our needs and all our fears, where we live, our food, and makes money out of our creativity and everything we do.” In other words, it knows how to seduce better than Peitho.

Watching Ellie unwittingly absorb capitalism’s neon seduction without appearing to be aware of or understand its detriments makes it all the more facile for her to become enamored of “the way it used to be.” That is to say, before the overrunning of the Earth by fungally-controlled zombies. And, as Riley assures her, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” we can see that’s very true when Ellie is additionally wowed by the mere presence of a working escalator. Although Riley had only planned on billing four aspects of the mall as “wonders,” she chooses to call the escalator one as well, seeing how much it dazzles Ellie. The second is a merry-go-round, the third is a photobooth (typically overpriced at five dollars) and the fourth is the arcade—particularly meta seeing as how The Last of Us is based on a video game. But the game referenced in this episode is Mortal Kombat II, which Ellie has a poster of in her room at military school.

When Riley confesses that she’s leaving Boston that night for good (stationed elsewhere by the Fireflies she’s joined up with), Ellie, in her state of sadness and rage, nearly opts out of the fourth-turned-fifth wonder of the mall: the Halloween costume shop. Unable to repress her lovelorn feelings, she goes back into the bowels of the mall when she hears a scream she assumes is coming from Riley, only to find it’s a sound effect of one of the props in the costume shop. The two then proceed to find love in a hopeless place, as they both give in to the romance that only capitalism can furnish, even in its “dormancy.” Kissing each other after Etta James’ “I Got You Babe” ends, one might say it was all the proverbial “wining and dining” Riley did that got Ellie to finally surrender to her true feelings. For, even in the post-apocalypse, girls just wanna be shown you care through material things (like volume two of a pun book).

Which is perhaps why the most depressing aspect of “Left Behind” isn’t that Ellie and Riley will not have a happy ending after at last admitting their affection for one another, but that the allure of the mall (and all it represents), in spite of being theoretically defunct after an apocalypse, will not die. Its metaphor lives on (for you can’t kill an idea, etc.). This ultimate emblem of consumer culture can still manage to hypnotize and seduce people. Even if it’s a person who doesn’t know any better about the effects of capitalism—you know, the ones that ultimately lead to things like the level of global warming that can cause a fungal infection to adapt to body temperatures and become hospitable in humans, thereby creating the post-apocalyptic state in The Last of Us in the first place. That a ravenous zombie ends up attacking them in the final scenes feels only too poignant as well, considering that ravenous zombies were (and are) the primary clientele of the mall in its heyday.

Leading one to ask, from within the context of the show: was it really “better” then, when places like the mall functioned to make us all feel as though we were “civilized” members of a “society”? Or should the one benefit of a post-apocalypse be that you don’t have to feel like you’re still constantly being brainwashed to “want” useless things (like, as Ellie and Riley point out, lingerie)? Then again, considering Ellie still has to do pre-apocalypse shit like PE, it seems unclear what, exactly, is meant to truly differentiate our current climate of societally-imposed expectations and misplaced obsessions from a post-apocalyptic one.

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Genna Rivieccio

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February 28, 2023
The Rich Eat: The Menu

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At the crux of every basic class divide is food. It is the most essential unit of life, and yet, it took little time at all after the world became “civilized” for it to become the first source of division between the haves and the have-nots. Over the centuries, especially in America, it created the ironic phenomenon of poor people being, frankly, fat (“unhealthy,” if you prefer) and rich people being thin beacons of wellness. Because rich people can afford to sidestep the overprocessed foods that the broke can actually afford. Shoveling their faces with it every day to sustain themselves. What’s more, they would never dream of paying/wasting top dollar for minuscule portions at a fine dining restaurant, the cost of which is more than they make in a month.

With this sense of a historically-rooted class war in food, former The Onion writers-turned-screenwriters Will Tracy and Seth Reiss bring us The Menu. And no, it’s not entirely “coincidental” that the fine dining restaurant they use, called Hawthorn, as their backdrop for brutal “satire” (read: unbridled honesty) is located on a remote island. For the idea that planted the seed of the screenplay arrived when Tracy himself took a boat to a restaurant on an island off Norway (it could have been many establishments, but Cornelius comes to mind, though that’s probably too “gauche”). With that herculean effort (by restaurant-going standards), Tracy started to have some paranoid feelings about being on an island with only a handful of other diners, prompting him to wonder if this was the kind of extreme emotion worth writing about with his go-to partner, Reiss. Indeed, it was. Not to mention perfectly-timed for a market that has eating the rich on its mind. But if one was hoping for another cannibal movie (on the heels of Bones and All), don’t get your hopes up. This is not a literal “eat the rich” film, so much as a mock-their-absurd-self-importance-which-extends-into-food film. Timely, to be sure, for if it has been the year of anything in cinema, it has been the year of eating.

Whether that meant “keeping it down” or not. For there was the now-legendary vomiting scene after the passengers consume improperly-refrigerated shellfish in Triangle of Sadness (The Menu’s less-than-“distant” filmic cousin, complete with a captain that reminds one of our chef in The Menu). Then there was the cannibalistic notion of an “eater” in the aforementioned Bones and All. And, released the same day in U.S. theaters, The Menu. Maybe it’s because, somewhere in the subconscious of the average person, an awareness is dawning about food scarcity. Another food irony (in addition to the poor and destitute often being overweight) is that if this is the year of eating in cinema, it’s also “the year of unprecedented famine,” per the World Food Programme. An organization that also noted of alarming 2022 famine statistics, “The number of those facing acute food insecurity has soared—from 135 million to 345 million—since 2019.” At such a ballooning rate (thanks to climate change, war and a pandemic), the implications of what that could do to further cement class warfare imbue one with Children of Men-esque visions for the future. Visions that no doubt present a certain moral quandary to any chef that caters to an affluent clientele. Just as “celebrity chef” Julian Slowik (Ralph Fiennes, looking his most Liam Neeson-y yet) does.

Part of that celebrity comes from the fact that he charges thousands of dollars for the “experience” of taking a boat to the island where his restaurant is perched (Norway-style, so to speak). And blowhards like Tyler Ledford (Nicholas Hoult) are only too happy to pay the price. Unfortunately for this “foodie fanboy,” Slowik discriminates against single diners—meaning you can’t just sit at a table alone. So it is that he brings along a replacement “date” named Margot Mills (Anya Taylor-Joy) when Tyler’s original plus-one backs out. This resulting in a flinching reaction from the restaurant’s stoic maître d’, Elsa (Hong Chau), and even more of a grimace from Julian himself.

Margot’s presence has tampered with his last menu masterpiece. The one he wants to call “egoless” for the first time since he started his career (which commenced with slinging burgers for the plebes, a detail that Margot will use to her advantage by the end). But to do so would be another form of self-delusion, almost on par with the rich telling themselves they worked hard for the money (try claiming that to the actual working class performing their day-to-day job requirement horrors). Which is why Reiss commented that such a statement was about Julian “wanting to say to himself that tonight is completely egoless, but if we take a step back, how could this monumental night that you want to be your masterpiece, how could it not be ego-filled?”

The only egos that must ultimately be put aside by the end of the night are that of the patrons, including, in addition to Tyler and Margot, food critic Lillian Bloom (Janet McTeer), her sycophantic editor, Ted (Paul Adelstein), Hawthorn regulars Richard and Anne Liebbrandt (Reed Birney and Judith Light), George Díaz (John Leguizamo), a washed-up Hollywood star, his assistant/girlfriend, Felicity (Aimee Carrero), and tech business trio Soren (Arturo Castro), Bryce (Rob Yang) and Dave (Mark St. Cyr). With each part of the movie divided into courses, the food that gets served (or doesn’t… namely, bread—because rich people don’t deserve to enjoy what the poor have no choice but to live on daily) becomes increasingly part of something like performance art. Complete with Julian’s sous-chef, Jeremy Louden (Adam Aalderks), killing himself in front of the patrons to bring them a dish called “The Mess.” What Julian deems, more specifically, as being emblematic of the mess we all make of our lives as we try so hard and so stupidly to please people we’ll never even know (that goes for plebes in addition to famous people) and who will never actually care about all the work we put in to please.

By this moment in the film, it’s clear Fiennes is having the time of his life in the role, and it’s difficult to imagine anyone else playing it. Unlike Taylor-Joy, whose character was originally meant to be portrayed by the aesthetically and vocally similar Emma Stone. Talking of similarities, The Menu’s kinship with Triangle of Sadness is notable throughout (complete with the idea of filming the bulk in one location; in the latter’s case, that’s on a yacht). Both are an unshrinking attack on the rich, each premise toying with what can happen when that class’ money no longer has clout. In both cases, that transpires within the context of an island, where all “real-world” power can be stripped away. And oh, how Julian is happy to strip it. After all, chefs are the biggest power-hungry control freaks of anyone.

As for the original director attached to the film, Alexander Payne, Mark Mylod might have been destined to do it instead by sheer virtue of having previously worked with Tracy on an episode of Succession (one that fittingly centered on a dinner party) called “Tern Haven.” Tracy confirmed that reteaming with Mylod assured further seamlessness on set, noting, “…it’s just great to have someone whose tastes I trust and [whose] working process [I knew].” That sense of trust between writer and director is undeniably part of what makes The Menu come across as such a confident serve.

And what Julian aims to serve up by the end of the night (apart from tortillas etched with some highly specific and incriminating memories of each patron) is a clean, simple dose of karmic balance. With the rich even getting off more than just a little on being abused by the climax. For it’s almost as though they’ve been surrounded by obsequious “yes” people their entire lives and they just want to experience Truth for once.

To this end, Margot herself is the antithesis of a sycophant for Julian, undermining him at every turn with her “that don’t impress me much” expressions and commentary about the meal. It is through this “tell” that Julian can surmise she is not “one of them.” She bears the mark of someone who serves, not someone who is served; therefore, she is but a spy among the rich’s kind as opposed to being of their kind. And so, by the end of the night, per Julian’s insistence, she must take her rightful place on the side of the “givers,” not the “takers.” Or the cooks and the eaters, as it were.

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Genna Rivieccio

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December 23, 2022
It’s The End of the World As We Know It, And White Liberals Feel Like Shit: Armageddon Time

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When one is a child, the world is seen at its clearest—its most straightforward. Because of their innocence and a lack of understanding the “need” to cater to artifice, it is the child who, so often, sees things as they are and for what they are. Paul Graff (Banks Repeta), the sixth-grader at the center of James Gray’s autobiographical coming-of-age story, Armageddon Time, is just such a kid. And what he sees all around him at his Queens public school in 1980 is discrimination. Specifically against a Black classmate he befriends named Johnny Davis (Jaylin Webb). Because Johnny’s already been held back a year, their teacher, Mr. Turkeltaub (Andrew Polk)—a last name that gets plenty of comedic mileage—is even more blatantly prone to not caring about his academic growth. Plus, he’s Black, so what does his education really matter, right? Paul himself is Jewish, susceptible to racial discrimination in his own right (cough, cough—Ye), but still somewhat relishes the perk of having white skin.

This is why, when Paul draws a picture of Turkeltaub’s face atop a turkey’s body and is forced to confess to it, he doesn’t really get in all that much trouble. Yet when Johnny is forced to join in the same punishment of wiping the blackboard in front of the class while Turkeltaub continues to teach, he’s the one automatically blamed for making the other students laugh behind Turkeltaub’s back when it is, in fact, Paul who does a whimsical, mocking dance to make them do so. It is subtle “nuances” like these (what are known as “microaggressions” in the present), building up slowly and cringingly, that all add up to one big racist shitshow throughout the film (and, of course, in life).

In the backdrop of it all, the presidential election is imminent, with Ronald Reagan campaigning openly as an “evangelical Christian”—at least, per the interview he gives to Jim Bakker, one that Gray opts to include at a moment when Paul’s family is watching TV. During it, Reagan ominously warns of how ceding leadership in the 80s to Democrats a.k.a. “non-Christians” will result in all hell breaking loose. Thus, his wielding of a favorite keyword when he tells Bakker, “If we let this be another Sodom and Gomorrah… we might be the generation that sees Armageddon.” Bakker couldn’t be more in agreement when he adds, “This is the most important election ever to face the United States.”

And, at that time, it was. For it would change the entire trajectory of American values for good. Where there might have been a chance to decelerate the coveting of all things material, the unabashed worship of capitalism. As Jimmy Carter tried to do in his famed “Crisis of Confidence” speech in July of 1979. Months before what he said was apparently too much for White America to hear when it opted to shift toward the other side of the political spectrum entirely.

All because Carter “dared” to say, “It’s clear that the true problems of our nation are much deeper, deeper, than gasoline lines or energy shortages. Deeper even than inflation or recession… Some people have wasted energy, but others haven’t had anything to waste.” This referring to the phenomenon so overtly presented in Armageddon Time—that those without privileges to begin with never notice much difference when it all goes to shit for “the elite” (which, obviously, it never really can—what’s losing a few hundred thousand to a millionaire, or a couple million to a billionaire?). Carter went on to gently chastise the nation for what it was solidifying into as he favored the “no candy for you” approach to speech-giving by declaring, “Too many of us now tend to worship self-indulgence and consumption. But we’ve discovered that owning things and consuming things does not satisfy our longing for meaning.”

Evidently, though, owning and consuming things was satisfactory enough for Reagan supporters who then vindictively took America into what would become known as the Decade of Excess. At least for white yuppies. For average Americans, most especially the Black population, the system patently working against them would only worsen. Yet simultaneously be all the more accepted, especially by people like Paul’s family, who condemn it amid finding their own ways to profit from it.

As Carter concluded the speech that would be too much for Americans who loved sugar-coating, it was plain to see that, like the Republicans and the evangelists they courted in the 1980 election, Carter believed, “We are at a turning point in our history.” An “Armageddon time,” if you will. Unlike the conservatives, however, Carter believed it was because “the path it leads to [is] fragmentation and self-interest. Down that road lies a mistaken idea of freedom. It is a certain route to failure.” And here America is some forty-three years later fulfilling Carter’s all too real prophecy. One that Gray himself is highly aware of, and is certain to make his viewers comprehend that part of why the nation is where it’s at today is because of the past. Appropriately, Paul’s beloved grandfather, Aaron (Anthony Hopkins), is the one to remind him that you should never forget your past, because it always ends up haunting you in the present. Which is precisely what has happened to the United States politically. Paying for the sins of the Reagan Era as it continues to embrace them. Including the election of Donald Trump in 2016.

On that note, while the Trump family is not as central to the story as certain reviews might lead one to believe, Fred Trump’s (John Diehl) peripheral presence at the private school where Paul ends up is a key aspect to absorbing the hypocrisy of an institution that calls its attendees future “leaders” because of all the “hard work” they’re doing and the ambition they have. Ambition that wouldn’t mean anything without the very privilege of their backgrounds. And clearly, Fred’s looming presence over the school had a pronounced effect on Gray, who incorporates a scene of Paul’s first day of school being vaguely tainted by Fred homing in on him in the hallway. As Gray recalled, “Fred was on the board of trustees of the school, and he would sort of stand in the halls, his arms folded. I walked in with my attaché case and he saw me as weird immediately. He had prospective parents to show the school to, and here was the little Jew with the suitcase.”

The private school in Armageddon Time is called Forest Manor, while the real-life one is Kew-Forest School. Where, needless to say, Donald Trump was also an attendee (until his father put him in a military academy at thirteen after he threw a desk in the middle of Jackie Robinson Parkway, called Interboro Parkway when Donald decided to tamper with it). So was his older sister, Maryanne Trump (portrayed briefly but effectively by Jessica Chastain). The alumna who shows up to give a speech about success to the current students, an event that Gray can confirm actually transpired while he was attending the school (basing Chastain’s monologue off of memory). And while Gray might not have fully grasped what was happening around him as a child, he did confirm, “I’ll tell you what was obvious to me at the time. When Maryanne Trump came to give a speech at school, I remember very clearly being like, ‘What the fuck? What is she talking about?’ Because I was like, ‘You’re really rich, lady. What’s the problem?’ I remember thinking that. The [old] joke, ‘born on third base and thinks he hit a triple.’”

Paul’s reluctance to attend the same private school as his brother, Ted (Ryan Sell), is, in large part, because of how much he values his friendship with Johnny. Yet, at the same time, he doesn’t value it enough to stick up for Johnny when he’s flagrantly treated “lesser than.” Even by people of his own race. An instance that occurs when Paul and Johnny are on the subway together and the latter talks of going to Florida to become an astronaut as he looks at the space-oriented collectibles he received from his stepbrother who lives there. Overhearing the conversation, a Black passenger leaving the train feels the need to inform Johnny of his NASA ambitions, “The won’t even your Black ass in through the back door.” But maybe he was only trying to spare Johnny the later pain of indulging in a dream. Dreams that only white kids get to have. This extending to Paul’s desire to become an artist.

Although “discouraged” by his parents, Esther (Anne Hathaway) and Irving (Jeremy Strong), Paul’s grandfather urges him to follow through with that dream, even buying him a professional paint set. By the same token, the burden of knowing that Paul’s still just another “Jew boy,” likely to be excluded once a certain “quota” is met, prompts Aaron to contradictorily advocate for Paul’s enrollment at Forest Manor. Especially after being caught smoking weed in the bathroom with Johnny, of whom Esther regards with ostensibly racist sentiments. Something Paul calls her out for. She, in turn, incites Irving to beat the shit out of him as punishment for his illegal activity.

At the core of the “unpleasantness” of it all is the fact that white liberals are as guilty as any conservative for allowing systemic racism to thrive. Benefitting from the “getting ahead” advantages of that system themselves. As Gray puts it, “…you can be both the oppressor and oppressed at the same time.” Paul becomes more than just “faintly” cognizant of that when he’s put in a position that finds him facing the ultimate moral dilemma by the end of the movie. And maybe, in his mind, he wouldn’t have been faced with that dilemma if he had evaded the clutches of Forest Manor. The first day he’s made to attend, he seethes to his father, “You just want me to be like you.” Irving responds, “No, I don’t want you to be like me. I want you to be so much better.” This is the very type of parental thinking that only perpetuates the system’s flourishment. For every generation of white liberals ends up succumbing to its seduction. The promise of, “Your kids can have what you never did. But you have to play the game.” And now, so do their children—permitting the cycle to persist.

Somewhere between The Squid and the Whale and Triangle of Sadness, Armageddon Time is in the middle of the Venn diagram. With the former still being among the greatest New York-based coming-of-age films and the latter being a scathing diatribe on privilege. With Armageddon Time’s integration of race and the varying strata of whiteness that allows for “success,” it can readily be classified as a unique and vital addition to the coming-of-age canon.

Moreover, it isn’t just Paul that comes of age (via a jaded comprehension of “how the world works”) by the end of the movie, but so does the America we know today. The one where “racism doesn’t exist” and “everyone is equal,” but the masses are tacitly attuned to the reality that it’s still a matter of working a broken and, yes, highly inequitable system if one wants to get that coveted “leg up.”

Encapsulating the commingling of Paul’s coming of age with that of neoliberal capitalism’s in 1980s America, Gray noted, “You can’t monetize integrity, and it’s become a catastrophe, because you find that someone like Donald Trump is completely transactional, right? ‘What can you do for me? If you do this for me, I’ll do it for you.’ Everything’s about the brutality of the exchange of goods and services. At some point, life is more than that. And I saw this story as being representative of something bigger.” That it is, dear viewer, that it is.

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Genna Rivieccio

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November 15, 2022
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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November 5, 2022
Video: ‘Triangle of Sadness’ | Anatomy of a Scene

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Film directors walk viewers through one scene of their movies, showing the magic, motives and the mistakes from behind the camera.

Film directors walk viewers through one scene of their movies, showing the magic, motives and the mistakes from behind the camera.

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Mekado Murphy

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October 19, 2022