In hindsight, Östlund's brilliant intro that shows Carl with the other male models is depicting its very own structure. All because of their facial gestures which shift between the two labels ("Are You 'Grumpy Brand' Balenciaga or 'Smiley Brand' H&M?") through a subtext that seems more than just a caustic joke. Their severely grim look for Balenciaga could be how some folks would perceive these narcissists, while their unrestrained laughter for H&M could be how some other folks would perceive these narcissists. The former, in dismally truthful fashion, has Yaya posing with an uneaten pasta to stay relevant for her Instagram followers. The latter, in brazenly vulgar fashion, reaches its crowdpleasing and crowdsquirming peak with a prolonged scene of seasick vomiting. Wherever you stand on this Palme d'Or winner is gonna elicit your own triangle of sadness. Cue at least one mini-frown between the eyebrows.

Part 1 - Carl & Yaya

After the awesomely anarchic opening credits, this settled into trenchant Force Majeure territory. There's a gender reversal now (with the male who blames his girlfriend), though the antics remains similar as they explain why their point of view is correct. More the case with Carl who's given a sidesplitting exchange of well-timed closing/opening elevator doors (and then keeps badgering on about why Yaya didn't pay the bill), surely not that far off from reality. (Harris Dickinson's nonstop petulance in response to Charlbi Dean's mocked exasperation is so riveting that I wish they were foregrounded later on. Supposedly she earns more than him.) My favourite section of the film, yes, far more promising than what this filmmaker did with The Square. Cutthroat arguments are both amusing and candid until they end with a sense of reassured closure. Fantastic.

Part 2 - The Yacht

Running at just over an hour (about 62 minutes to be exact), opens up the smorgasbord of wealthy guests. While they're a garrulous bunch with ample charisma, especially Dimitry and Jarmo, the pressurized dynamic that'd been built for Carl and Yaya is sadly forgotten. (Until The Island put them on a droll yet savage path when one of them receives a advantage of sorts.) Anyway, while I laughed throughout the whole puking fiasco and enjoyed Östlund's gradual anticipation (with classical music!), it would've been funnier if Woody Harrelson's drunken Captain didn't become a blunt mouthpiece. Zlatko Burić's nighttime intercom shtick is great, yet having that rebuffed by the Captain's pro-Marxism (which becomes the film's own anti-capitalist thesis) appeared like treading basic ground. Revealing how we get off the yacht is superb, though, in none other than an ironic comeuppance of an exploded hand grenade.

Part 3 - The Island

No doubt, this belongs to Dolly de Leon, who enacts the kind of Balenciaga-based scorn to everyone with weak survival skills. Östlund initially brings a simplistic portrayal to her as a plebian toilet cleaner (for his skin-deep classism theme), but vocalizing her own resourceful captaincy becomes much worthier when she wants to take control. Oddly, too, is that this segment is about 57 minutes, yet feels longer than The Yacht. I can see why: characters who are forced to be stagnant can lead to stagnant pacing, and it's possible that some extra frenzy on Östlund's behalf would've made a difference. At the same time, expressing a kind of selfishness for food rations is potent, as is Dimitry's gobsmacking behavior by stealing jewelery off a washed-up corpse, two moments which draw real fangs. Wasn't enough for me to ultimately become convinced this deserved the Palme d'Or (when Decision to Leave was the better film), but I can see why it did.

Why? Schadenfreude. The Cannes jury (and other patrons) got a real kick out of seeing how the affluent and egocentric are demeaned. It's often riotous, I'll say, but lacking in much depth until the power dynamics are changed. As is Yaya's surprising humanity in the final scene (followed by Abigail's sadistic anguish and then Carl's sprinting desperation) all three of them put on a mantle where they've never been before. (Much earlier, too, is Carl's pitiful plan to evict the shirtless Greek seaman he is jealous of. That kind of stuff can memorably sting.) Overall, I wouldn't say there's enough complexity for this movie to achieve greatness, but some glimmers are there in the triptych lunacy. "All these things that we took for granted", a lyrically and thematically matched part in the energetic outro, and Östlund's point has been made. This ended up being a solid, exuberant critique about how vanity and wealth can lead to disorder.