Ghostlight

 

Writer Kelly O'Sullivan

Co-directors Kelly O'Sullivan and Alex Thompson

GHOSTLIGHT                      B+                                                                                              USA  (115 mi)  2024  d: Kelly O’Sullivan and Alex Thompson

It seemed like you might like the change of being someone else for a while.                                —Rita (Dolly De Leon)

The film is about the perils of childhood and the devastating effects of losing a child, reminiscent of the horrific anger and grief expressed by Nicole Kidman in John Cameron Mitchell’s Rabbit Hole (2010), the heartbreaking trauma in Kenneth Lonergan’s 2016 Top Ten List #5 Manchester by the Sea, the masterclass on repressed grief in Robert Redford’s Ordinary People (1980), the lingering sadness that never heals in Atom Egoyan’s The Sweet Hereafter (1997), or more recently the introspective play-within-a-play which does with Chekhov what this film does with Shakespeare in Ryûsuke Hamaguchi’s 2022 Top Ten List #1 Drive My Car (Oraibu mai kâ).  Written by Kelly O'Sullivan, who studied theater at Northwestern University and is an alumna of the Steppenwolf Theatre Company in Chicago, she co-directs alongside her real life partner and producer Alex Thompson, both Chicagoans who have been part of the local theater community, yet what’s remarkable about this picture is hidden in its modesty, as it just seems so ordinary at first.  Defying all odds with an overly contrived synopsis description that does not exactly entice, this is a theater movie filled with authentic nuances, and also a heartfelt film about grief, family, guilt, and the healing power of art, where the underlying truth about what has actually happened is not revealed until the second half of the film, while the way these filmmakers prolong details is one thing they do extremely well, given extraordinary dramatic weight when combined with the tragic elements of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.  Also running through the film are songs from the musical Oklahoma! (the first written by the infamous composing team of Rodgers and Hammerstein, whose 40’s and 50’s musicals are considered the “golden age” of American musical theater, winning a special Pulitzer Prize in 1944), which are completely unexpected, yet profoundly influential in their recognizable warmth and humanism, opening and closing the film, with a truly wondrous karaoke version somewhere in the middle, which is like the engine that generates everything that follows.  They are a thread that runs through this picture, adding a layer of emotional depth that would not otherwise be there, as this film never follows a traditional path.  Inexplicably opening to Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin,’ 'Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’' | Gordon MacRae | Rodgers & ... YouTube (3:00), a song brimming with optimism, while a jackhammer is seen pounding through the asphalt on the street as a roadside construction crew is seen working.  This is our introduction to Dan Mueller (Keith Kupferer, from Stephen Cone’s Princess Cyd, 2017), a stressed-out, seemingly quiet, laid-back middle-aged construction worker prone to disturbing emotional outbursts at passing traffic coming too close, or shutting down emotionally in front of his family, someone who never talks about his problems, yet something hidden, buried deep beneath the surface, is clearly impacting his behavior.  His rebellious teenage daughter in high school, Daisy (Katherine Mallen Kupferer, who was in Kelly Fremon Craig’s Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret., 2023), mirrors his ill-advised behavioral flare-ups, inappropriately erupting at one of her teachers, as we see the school informing the family of the consequences, New Ghostlight Clip Highlights Real Family Dynamics In A ... YouTube (1:15), which leads to her getting suspended and sent to anger management therapy.  While the mother, Sharon (Tara Mallen, part of the international cast in Steven Soderbergh’s Contagion, 2011, also the founder and artistic director of the Rivendell Theatre in Chicago), who teaches at the same school, appears to quietly endure the havoc around them, Dan, on the other hand, simply walks away from the confrontations, disappearing at a moment’s notice, never uttering a word.  Clearly they have issues that suggest family dysfunction.  Interestingly, the actors who portray the family in the film are in fact a family in real life, offering an unpretentious family dynamic that exudes unforeseen authenticity, shot in the Chicagoland area, including the Raven Theater in Chicago and the Three Brothers Theater in Waukegan.    

When Dan is seen assaulting a rude yet reckless motorist, it is witnessed by a bystander on the street, Rita (Dolly de Leon, from Ruben Östlund’s Triangle of Sadness (Sans Filtre), 2022), a cantankerous yet diminutive figure who runs a storefront community theater group, encouraging Dan to come join them, something he literally stumbles into, with Rita leading him inside, only to discover he is auditioning for the part of Lord Capulet in Romeo and Juliet.  It doesn’t make sense at first, as he has no real interest in the play, comprised of a ragtag group that Rita proudly describes as an “island of misfit toys,” but he takes it more seriously after he’s suspended from his job, as his assault was captured on video and went viral on the internet, leaving the employer no choice.  Having nowhere else to turn, and with nothing to lose, he asks his daughter’s advice, as she was a theatrical star in her high school’s production of Oklahoma!, capable of lighting up the stage, and intimately familiar with the Shakespeare play, showing him a photo on her laptop of a young Leonardo DiCaprio as Romeo in Baz Luhrmann’s ROMEO + JULIET (1996), reciting the opening prologue by heart, leaving her father dumbfounded by how easy she makes it look.  The theatrical dynamic is a bit like a family, where Rita and the director Lanora (Hanna Dworkin) are insistent on making it a safe place, but that all goes to Hell when Tyler (Charlie Lubeck), rehearsing a scene as Romeo, refuses to kiss Rita as Juliet, suggesting she’s “too old,” which gets him a smack in the mouth, Ghostlight | Exclusive Clip YouTube (1:54).  Exit Tyler as Romeo, with 50-year old Dan suddenly thrust into the lead role, as Rita has helped nurture his trust, and they have developed a strong chemistry together.  But he has his own personal demons, struggling to connect with his own emotions and fears, feeling isolated not only from his family but from the rest of the cast, improbably finding sanctuary in this company of strangers.  He seems like the most unlikely, uninteresting hero, suddenly dropped into unfamiliar territory, a world he never imagined, which may have actually been the original source of inspiration behind this project.  Having never read the play to its conclusion, he is gobsmacked by how it turns out, utterly paralyzed by what happens, leaving him begging for them to change the ending.  Only then does the film shift into another gear, becoming a catalyst that actually transcends the theater format, keeping viewers invested with profound moments of humor mixed with small triumphs, deeply felt melancholic emotion, strong father/daughter moments, while slowly doling out pieces of information, where the drama onstage begins to reflect his own life, as Dan quietly and somberly confesses what amounts to the biggest tragedy of his life, expressed against a black backdrop with a lone Ghost light (theatre), the single bulb that theater companies leave on when a stage has gone totally dark, as the final scenes make him have to relive that horrible experience all over again.  The theatrical stage is an ambiguous, ghostly space where an illusory representation begins, but ends with a transformed reality, as theater can literally change people’s lives.  Most view Romeo and Juliet as one of the great love stories of all time, filled with youthful passion and supercharged poetry, but the tragedy of the finale just has deeper meaning when it actually hits home, where the film finds its own voice in expressing just how bone crushingly sad it really is.  It’s an utterly sensational way to bring new life and energy to a classic story, where it’s not just a play, but an emotionally taxing extension of real life, with its multitude of thematic parallels.  Much of the time spent is not actually rehearsing scenes, but doing theatrical exercises, meant to instill trust and intimacy with one another, where there’s even a momentary celebration where they let it all out, with everyone dancing awkwardly to Under Pressure, Queen & David Bowie - Under Pressure (Classic Queen Mix) YouTube (4:03).  

Daisy and Sharon get the wrong idea when they see Dan and Rita hugging on the sidewalk, thinking he’s concealing an affair, but when Daisy confronts him about it, he brings her in to meet the rest of the cast, and they all love and adore her, especially after observing her extraordinary karaoke rendition of I CANT SAY NO - GLORIA GRAHAME YouTube (4:17), which is just a breath of fresh air, and one of the stunning highlights of the film, re-establishing her passion for theater, with the group immediately welcoming her into the fold, with Lanora willing to give her any part she wants.  She chooses Mercutio, no questions asked, fitting right in, becoming the heart and soul of the theater troupe, providing that youthful energy so desperately needed.  The narrative intertwines several interconnecting storylines, with extraordinary personal moments woven into the preparations for the upcoming theatrical performance, as small details snowball and eventually overwhelm with its sheer force of tragedy, where there’s also a lawsuit involved, adding a layer of conflict and complexity to the family’s struggle, where the editing scheme is extremely successful, building a volcanic emotional arc of suppressed feelings that are only unleashed through the dramatic power of Shakespeare, which is just a different and more heightened way of experiencing the play.  For instance, the choice of music interjects something new and warmly familiar to the theatrical marital scene, which we hear as vows are exchanged, Ben E. King - Stand By Me (Audio) YouTube (2:57).  Initially, the film establishes who the characters are, allowing viewers to become familiar with them, but by the end it’s just a phenomenal force to be reckoned with, as Dan and his family’s demons need to be exorcised through the collective power of art, but also the real life experiences they are already going through, still grieving over their terrible loss, which makes little to no sense, leaving a horrible void that cannot be processed or extinguished.  A film that showcases the behind-the-scenes stories of putting on plays, this community theater experience takes us back to Jonathan Demme’s Who Am I This Time? - made for TV (1982), which couldn’t be a more modest production, where theater provides an emotional catharsis, allowing audiences through the changing times to appreciate the value in these amateur productions, as they work to accentuate the absolute best of the human condition, getting us back in touch with long-repressed emotions, as there’s a therapeutic value of the play in processing our grief, which is at the core of what theater can do.  Not everyone is meant for therapy, as there are alternative outlets that include seeking refuge in theater, film, and other artforms.  Impossible not to think of John Cassavetes and the incomparable Gena Rowlands in Opening Night (1977), another troubled stage production that delves into the internalized anxieties of an actress who has doubts about playing the role, who thinks it’s all wrong, who wants it changed, even though it was written specifically for her.  While Cassavetes grounds his film on the beauty of live theater, where the agonies and self-doubts are brought into the rigorous rehearsals onstage, but the performance is the thing, bringing to life a living and breathing quality to every moment.  Uniquely authentic, without an ounce of histrionics or sentimentality, this beautifully written film is an original take on something written hundreds of years ago, yet it feels urgently contemporary, as we are constantly re-evaluating what matters in our lives, but this film explores some of the darkest places with wit and verve and the magic of theater.  The stark judgmental beginning of the film couldn’t be more different than the empathetic mood of redemption and forgiveness that we feel in the tear-inducing finale, as we’ve learned to appreciate things we don’t necessarily understand, which may be beyond our control, and accept that it’s part of our life experience, where the recognizable music over the final credits sends us dreamily into lofty heights "Out Of My Dream" scene from Oklahoma! (1955) YouTube (15:19).

Triangle of Sadness (Sans Filtre)

 

Director Ruben Östlund

Östlund with Woody Harrelson

 

 

 

TRIANGLE OF SADNESS (Sans Filtre)                  C-                                                           Sweden  France  Great Britain  Germany  Turkey  Greece  (147 mi)  2022  ‘Scope  d: Ruben Östlund

No, it’s not very complicated.  It’s not OK to exploit another human being and pay them a s*** salary.  And it’s not OK to make a huge profit, using other people.  It is that simple.         —Ruben Östlund defending his film in an interview from The Independent, Triangle of Sadness director Ruben Östlund interview 

Something has shifted in the cinematic priorities of this director as his films have become more prominently featured in film festivals, playing exclusively to the festival audiences, offering them smug satires on the rich and famous, allowing them to giggle with delight at the thought that someone is making fun of them.  It’s the European answer to Hollywood, where the Academy loves to reward films that comment on the industry itself, as if they need something to signify their sense of self-importance in the world, existing in a universe that typically revolves around themselves.  Östlund has gone from making small sociological observations that were largely nondramatic experiments with non-professionals, low-budget films like INVOLUNTARY (2008) or Play (2011), where the latter was particularly provocative, but were seen by very few around the world.  The worldwide critical acclaim for Force Majeure (Turist) (2014) changed all that, becoming an international breakthrough leading to much larger budgets, where his observational films have become festival spectacles, social media events, with audiences reveling at the way the director mocks contemporary society, developing a preoccupation with the upending of hierarchical social constructs, chastising the art world in The Square (2017), a wicked satire which won the Palme d’Or at Cannes, with a rollicking finale that made audiences squirm in discomfort, though does anyone actually remember what it was about?  And now, as the new media darling, he’s become a Barnum & Bailey showman, returning with another ostentatious parody of cultural self-infatuation, with its rush for instant stardom from social media postings on Instagram, YouTube, Twitter, TikTok, or Facebook, where taking selfies dominates the landscape.  As he twists the knife with savage takes on society’s latest misadventures, his sneering tone may be a comic delight to some, a welcome reprieve from the safety of convention, yet it may be crudely discomforting to others, particularly the gloating relish of Östlund’s smug, self-satisfaction, where what interests him is structural irregularities, placing the square peg in the round hole, a rationale that doesn’t exist, but his calculating theatrical expression depends upon it.  Constructed like a lab experiment, his comedy of Marxist farce and mocking contempt feels shamelessly pretentious, a sadistically overblown burlesque featuring thoroughly unsympathetic characters.  The problem with this kind of film is the utter superficiality of tone, where its featured topic du jour may be passé by tomorrow, so what are we really left with?  That, in itself, may well be the film’s defining legacy, an empty charade of obnoxiousness taken to the extreme, throwing caution to the wind with grandiose hyperbole, where posterity is an afterthought.  My guess is people won’t remember this film either.  Let’s not forget the Cannes Film Festival is set along the glamorous beach resorts of the French Riviera, the prestigious Côte d’Azur, and is the annual setting for celebratory, invitation-only VIP parties for the jet-setting, superyacht crowd in black-tie tuxedos and chic evening dresses, featuring celebrities, photogenic supermodels, and some of the richest people on the planet, where Jury President Steven Spielberg actually watched many of the festival films aboard his own prized superyacht, and that a Cannes Jury awarded the Palme d’Or to William Wyler’s FRIENDLY PERSUASION in 1956, a largely forgotten war film, overlooking Bergman’s The Seventh Seal (Det sjunde inseglet), Bresson’s A Man Escaped (Un Condamné à Mort s'est échappé), and Fellini’s NIGHTS OF CABIRIA, with Bergman and Bresson never receiving the top prize, which is hard to fathom.   

There isn’t a single authentic phrase uttered anywhere in this entire film, turning this mostly into nonsense, with some of it borderline unwatchable, becoming a venture into a grossly exaggerated and supremely artificial reality, creating a sociological dilemma that isn’t remotely authentic, with a contemptuous degree of overkill that can be brutal, where we’ve seen this sort of film made before in Lina Wertmüller’s Swept Away (Travolti da un insolito destino nell'azzurro mare d'agosto) (1974), an equally polarizing class exposé that shocked the feminist movement at the time, yet remains a substantial upgrade over this wretchedly awful film.  The irony is it’s not nearly as hilarious or as culturally impactful as Marin Ade’s 2017 Top Ten List #2 Toni Erdmann, which was overlooked and completely neglected at Cannes that year, receiving only a Fipresci prize, though it was the most powerful film of the entire festival, and arguably the best non-winner of the entire decade.  Moving from a ski resort, the contemporary art world, and now to a luxury cruise, this new film takes the cake for being grotesquely overrated, a disservice to the other filmmakers who made better films, though the cinematography by Fredrik Wenzel employs Haneke-like precision in his compositions, but Östlund has become a festival darling, awarded a second Palme d’Or at Cannes, while a director as formidable as Krzysztof Kieślowski never even received one, placing him in exclusive company, joining the ranks of Francis Ford Coppola, Michael Haneke, Shohei Imamura, Bille August, the Dardenne brothers, Emir Kusturica, Alf Sjöberg, and Ken Loach, while also receiving an 8-minute standing ovation at the end of the film, with his last three films all receiving awards at the prestigious Cannes Film Festival, ending his acceptance speech by leading the festival audience in a primal scream, a ritual he began with his first win.  While his sixth feature is by far his most expensive, it is also his weakest, as it thrives on our worst impulses, revisiting territory already explored in Bong Joon-ho’s Palme d’or and Academy Award winning Parasite (Gisaengchung) (2019), yet is actually more reminiscent of the stupidly infantile comedy of the Farrelly Brother’s Movie 43 (2013), which at the time was commonly referred to as the worst film of the year.  Any assertions that this is like the scathing satires of Buñuel in the 70’s, as some critics have suggested, are simply misguided, as this lacks the reflective depth and Surrealist drive “to explode the social order, to transform life itself.”  A more apt comparison might be the derisive tone found in the outrageous social satires of controversial Serbian filmmaker Dušan Makavejev (without the intellectualism), who irreverently skewered authoritarianism and sexual repression.  Hard to believe this one in particular has received so much success, as the centerpiece is an extended barfing sequence on a luxury cruise, where passengers are urged to keep feeding themselves to avoid the ill-effects of sea sickness, so they stuff themselves on champagne and caviar, resulting in projectile vomiting and exploding diarrhea, with toilets overflowing, flooding the passageways, where they are literally swimming in their own filth, a wretchedly chaotic sequence that goes on for half an hour, where at some point it’s difficult to keep viewing the screen, yet that is the intended result, described as the most disgusting film of 2022 by the BBC, while at press screenings the audience was reportedly offered barf bags, planting the seeds of nausea and tumultuous discord, where making the film as uncomfortable as possible is the goal.  Yet in order to film this scene, they borrowed the $250 million dollar superyacht Christina O that once belonged to Aristotle Onassis, who upholstered the bar stools in whale foreskin!, catering only to the obscenely rich since 1954, including the likes of Winston Churchill and Marilyn Monroe.  While Östlund is skewering the habits of the filthy rich, it’s a very curious tendency to rely upon exceedingly bad taste in order to make his point, and even more mystifying that audiences are lapping it up. 

Opening with the shallow lives of fashion industry models (Östlund’s partner is fashion photographer Sina Görcz), the story centers around Carl, Harris Dickinson from Eliza Hittman’s Beach Rats (2017), and Yaya (Charlbi Dean, a South African actress who tragically died shortly after the film’s release at the age of 32), as they bicker over the most mundane details, arguing over who pays the dinner check, turning it into a battle of the sexes power struggle, though Carl is clearly overcome by his male insecurities, returning to that familiar theme of toxic masculinity (his third film in a row), bathing it in the neutrality of fake etiquette, extending the argument well beyond the point of mattering anymore.  Yet what this establishes is that they view one another purely in economic terms, valuing who is worth more, and as a female model, she is paid considerably more, though her value increases on the arm of a handsome male escort, which becomes the foundation of their relationship, and then suddenly it’s the man pleading for equality.  What really matters, however, is their superficial attraction to one another, as it’s all based on physical appearance, the stock and trade of their industry, spending all their time attracting followers on social media, posting pictures of themselves, exaggerating the shallowness of a narcissistic culture that thrives on beauty, yet their Instagram influencer status wins them a free trip aboard a luxury yacht, providing they send photos of her posing with food that she won’t actually eat, which will be seen by millions of Instagram followers.  An exposé of wealth, privilege, and beauty, the voyage is a veritable ship of fools, defined by the self-indulgence of pampered billionaires, becoming an open critique of capitalism and its excesses, as the young couple mingles with much older business tycoons whose accumulated wealth is represented by an elderly English couple who turn out to be graciously polite arms dealers, the utterly harmless Winston and Clementine (after Winston Churchill and his wife Clementine), claiming their “products have been employed in upholding democracy all over the world,” where their best-selling item happens to be the hand grenade, lamenting the United Nations ban on landmines has deprived them of one of their most lucrative products, making a not so subtle dig that defense contractors are escorting us down the path to Armageddon.  While the captain would rather stay locked in his quarters and get blind drunk than mix with passengers that he despises, he can be heard cranking up the socialist anthem The Internationale, The Internationale "Интернационал" - Russian Version YouTube (3:59), every time a frazzled chief steward, Paula (Vicki Berlin), comes knocking on his door trying to sober him up, where she is left to run the show, painstakingly catering to the fruitless whims of their guests.  A sense of entitlement is the most prominent theme, with boring guests making the most outlandish requests, with one woman reminding the captain that the sails are dirty and need to be cleaned.  When he counters that it’s a motorized vessel and doesn’t have any sails, she will not let it go until he finally agrees that the sails will be cleaned immediately.  This smirking tone of absurdity defines this picture, as jars of Nutella are flown in by helicopter just because one passenger has requested it, while another keeps insisting that one of the personal attendants jump into the pool joining her, literally demanding that she enjoy herself, completely disregarding whatever she may actually need to do, and persists until the entire crew is seen taking the plunge, acquiescing to every ludicrous passenger demand.  

Östlund’s first film spoken in English (his next will be as well), which means more viewers, it swept all the awards it was nominated for at the European Awards, Triangle of Sadness triumphs at the 35th European Film Awards, including Best Film, Best Director, Best Screenwriter, and Best Actor (Zlatko Burić), where Östlund’s defining feature is extending scenes well beyond the comfort level, which may explain the nearly two and a half hour duration, yet what passes for a satiric assault on the excessive indulgences of the super rich is really little more than window dressing, never getting below the surface or offering much to say, where lampooning the wealthy seems like an easy target.  When The Square was released, Östlund described himself in interviews as a socialist, claiming both his parents were Swedish Communists, bragging that his mother is still active in the Communist Party, while his brother is a right-wing conservative, suggesting there was plenty of dialogue around the family dinner table, expressing surprise that some of the most hostile criticism came from Libération, the French publication founded by left-wing figureheads Jean-Paul Sartre and Serge July in the wake of 60’s protest movements, Ruben Östlund: ‘I worry that left-wing people misunderstand Marx’: 

“They called the film right-wing and very conservative.  For me that is interesting because they are reading the images from a sentimental place.  They want a sentimental portrait of poor people.  They want more solidarity between poor people.  They want poor people to be a community. It’s almost as if certain left-wing people have forgotten about Marx.  They have a very upper-middle class way of thinking about poor people.  That they have a community and true values.  That’s bullshit!  Poor people are living in a tragedy.  And their awful circumstances can create bad behaviours.  I worry sometimes that some left-wing people misunderstand Marx.”

As if to remedy that unflattering portrait, this film goes even further, having already tackled modern art and social inequality, this specifically targets the absurd lives of the über-elite, suggesting the wealthy are so busy pampering themselves, forcing others to cater to their every whim, nothing else matters, as they lose all perspective, remaining oblivious to the needs of others, who simply don’t exist, while remaining incapable of doing anything for themselves, as they simply pay others to do what they need.  Their grotesque wealth is contrasted with the poor working stiffs in the bowels of the ship, a METROPOLIS (1927) inspired underworld characterized by the menial labor of cleaning workers and porters, mostly people of color, who are never allowed to share the same space with the white guests on the top decks, revisiting that Altmanesque Gosford Park (2001) upstairs/downstairs scenario.  The cooks are seen tirelessly working to piped-in music of The Internationale, a fantasy of working class solidarity, while one of the most ridiculous verbal exchanges is between the perpetually drunken ship captain (Woody Harrelson) and Dimitri (Zlatko Burić, wild-haired and overly flamboyant), an equally drunk Russian fertilizer tycoon (“I sell shit,” modeled after Russian oligarch and billionaire Dmitry Rybolovlev), playing drinking games as they trade lines quoting Karl Marx, Vladimir Lenin, Ronald Reagan, and Margaret Thatcher, among others, pitting the values of a Marxist American sea captain against a capitalist Russian oligarch, each in their own way regurgitating hollow catch phrases and political slogans that have been rendered meaningless by the utter absurdity of their drunken rampage.  Growing ever more delirious, they co-opt the ship’s intercom system, forcing the passengers (and audiences) to listen to this gobbledygook, extending into the surreal, reducing the profound to sheer nonsense, as they may as well have been quoting Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll.  By the end of the film the roles are reversed after a mysterious circumstance leaves a few of them washed ashore onto a deserted island, leaving a Filipino toilet scrubber (Dolly de Leon) in command, as the privileged are suddenly at her mercy, the only one with the skills to survive in the wild, becoming increasingly tyrannical and drunk with power, training them to bow down and capitulate to her, turning them all into her personal slaves, where they quickly relearn their roles in the social hierarchy, sucking up to her for special favors.  It’s a bizarre fantasy that revisits the Lina Wertmüller theme, but expands from an oddly dysfunctional couple into a small community, a shocking display of base human instincts, as expressed in the Darwinian universe of Lord of the Flies, veering into the reality TV show Survivor, where you can be voted off the island.  The best thing to say about this film is the clever use of a musical interlude, Sonnerie de Ste. Geneviève du Mont-de-Paris - YouTube (7:53), which by itself provides a wry commentary through its interesting use of counterpoint.  Designed as a scathing, over the top portrait of the filthy-rich global elite, it has no politics beyond mocking extreme wealth and power, with suggestions that all relationships are exploitive, whether business or personal, with Östlund presenting himself as the latest huckster and snake oil salesman selling us a bill of goods.  Yet there’s apparently an audience for this sort of thing, couched as a working class revenge fantasy, where it’s all about payback, getting back at tyrannical bosses and powerful figureheads making all the decisions without any of our input, always placing themselves in the most advantageous positions, rewarding their friends, while leaving everyone else out in the cold.  There’s no denying there are people like that, but this hollow comeuppance is not particularly funny, drawing on standard cliché’s, where there’s no weight behind the mockery, drowning in a garish caricature that can feel empty and exhausting instead of exhilarating.