Triangle of Sadness, directed by Ruben Ostlund, serves up plentiful food for thought. Told in three sections (a triangle indeed), the film follows a young couple, both models, who first argue about monetary responsibilities, then join a group of wealthy vacationers on a cruise, then finally wind up marooned on an island. Together, these episodes form an intriguing examination of the slippery nature of power dynamics.
Ostlund’s message is best understood by following the trajectory of male model Carl (Harris Dickerson), the movie’s central character. At a casting call early in the film, a photographer tests Carl’s versatility by prompting him to alternate between smiling and frowning. The smiles, as the photographer reminds him, accord with ads for cheaper brands like H&M. The frowns, meanwhile, correspond with designer brands like Balenciaga. The reasoning: the rich look down on the poor, so a model for luxury brands should emote condescension and even annoyance toward regular people viewing the ads.
Perhaps worried by this uncomfortable message, Carl soon confronts his girlfriend Yaya (Charlbi Dean) about having to pay for meals at restaurants. Yaya makes more money than he does, so Carl feels that she should at least split some of the bills. But Yaya rebuts him, initially citing his responsibility as a man to provide for her—but later admitting that she merely plans to become someone else’s trophy wife and has no emotional investment in the relationship. The photographer was right: Yaya, the wealthier and more influential of the two, looks down on Carl. It isn’t about fairness, as Carl advocates for. Rather, it’s about power: since Yaya is more influential, she can use him as a ploy for Instagram clout and dump him when the time is right. She can even openly admit to this without fearing a breakup.
Carl insists that he’ll make Yaya change her mind and fall in love with him. But on a luxury cruise, things don’t change. Carl becomes jealous when a shirtless crewmember greets Yaya, and, pathetically, he whines about it to the staff and gets the man fired. It’s clearer than ever that Yaya holds all the cards in this relationship. In our society, after all, female beauty comes valued more highly than male beauty. Yaya’s social media following—much larger than Carl’s—has allowed the couple to board the cruise in the first place.
Variations and commentaries on the couple’s power dynamic abound on the cruise. The rich guests boss around the crew and staff. Two characters drunkenly argue about capitalism and communism. Amidst all of this, the ship symbolically begins to tilt in stormy seas: the power dynamics may be shifting. And such a shift would cause quite a shock, as evidenced by the memorable bodily reactions experienced by the pompous vacationers.
In the last section of the movie, this shift has occurred. Shipwrecked by a pirate’s grenade, the survivors, including Carl and Yaya, establish an island community. But wealth no longer holds sway in the new hierarchy. Instead, toilet manager Abigail (Dolly de Leon) takes command, as only she knows how to survive in the wild. And one of Abigail’s first orders of business is to request sexual favors from Carl in exchange for special treatment. He readily complies.
On the island, it seems, things have reversed: male beauty now has greater worth. Yaya tries to inflame Carl’s old jealousy to win him back, but her efforts are futile. Without her former influence, the old power dynamic between the two doesn’t apply.
Carl’s position on the island, though, is awfully similar to his old position. He has merely swung from being used by Yaya to being used by Abigail. Both women hold great power in different types of societies for different reasons. And Carl gains special treatment from each by supplying something that each of them needs: Instagram aesthetics for Yaya, sexual favors for Abigail.
So the movie ends with Carl running through the jungle to rescue…whom? Yaya? Abigail? Does it matter?
Ostlund won’t show us the rest of the scene because it doesn’t. Carl is no romantic, as he claims to be in the first section. Rather, he’s like everyone else: someone who exchanges what he has to get what he can. His supposed principles go overboard on stormy seas, leaving only a weak, common person, smiling up at the powerful—who frown in condescension back at him.
–Jim Andersen
For more movie reviews, see my review on The Banshees of Inisherin