How to Use Metaphor As a Screenwriter – Case Study: Triangle of Sadness (Part 1)
Introduction
Metaphor is always a tricky subject.
On some level, we’re looking at subjective interpretations of “what the author is trying to say,” which may well not be intended. That depends on the author, of course. Some writers plan everything to a ridiculous degree and you can basically assume that all this stuff is intentional.
Other writers might create scenarios unconsciously that are–with varying degrees of fidelity–metaphorically representative to others of some different situation.
Metaphor can appear on very different levels; science fiction, of course, is famous for using futurist metaphor to describe current problems. The entire scenario of a film can be a metaphor, or sometimes the setup of a particular scene can be a metaphor.
For some films, you’ll find metaphor all the way down. That is true of our case study in how to use metaphor, the epic farce Triangle of Sadness (2022).
Metaphor and Conspiracy Theory
There’s always a risk of interpreting something in an “incorrect” way, but to be perfectly honest, if it ticks all the boxes of what’s there–if you’re not bending the story to make an interpretation, I’d say it’s a fair read.
That’s why I used to be a casual fan of conspiracy theory; that is, before fascists ruined conspiracy for everyone.
I mean this in the Robert Anton Wilson sense–that is, as a way to stress test one’s interpretation of a certain situation by concocting the wildest explanations possible to surround a given set of facts–or, perhaps more aptly, the stuff you talk about in your friend’s dorm room in between pulls on an industrial-sized bong.
So the takeaway here is that you can have a different set of facts (a film) and reasonably different interpretations of what’s going on (different theories as to its overarching metaphor). Often, you’ll see that some interpretations hold more water than others–some simply match the facts while others don’t. That doesn’t necessarily mean they’re right, because who decides what’s right in the first place? Everything, in some sense, is an interpretation.
For example, a colleague (who really ought to know better) once tried to convince me that the ending of Donnie Darko is intentionally shit because Donnie’s own episteme is shattering in precisely the way that the narrative shits the bed. Or, as I argue, the writing just sucks.
Now I may be guilty of the same thing when I propose that Saltburn is really the story of Oliver acting out the British Middle Class’ unhealthy social climbing and ambisexual fetish for property. To wit, is Oliver trying to fuck Felix, the sister, the cousin, the mother, or the house? Posh woman Fennell isn’t quiet about this; in fact, she lets her answer flap about in the wind like Barry Keoghan’s semi. And yet most people somehow think the film is critical of the Upper Classes. [1] Spare me.
So that’s metaphorical interpretation for you. Point being, just as there’s no right or wrong in conspiracy theory, yet some theories track better than others, [2] we can say the same for metaphor.
With that in mind, let’s dive in to our case study in how to use metaphor.
Case Study: Triangle of Sadness (2022)
Carl and Yaya are full-time influencers and sometime-runway models. We meet them at a fashion show in Stockholm and follow them on a luxury cruise paid for by, one supposes, “influence.”
Midway through the cruise, however, the boat gets hijacked by pirates and the lucky few who survive–guests, crew, and below-deck workers alike, are forced to fend for themselves on what appears to be an unpopulated island.
Only then do we see whose life skills actually matter.
I won’t tell you much more if you haven’t seen the film. It’s rude, crude, over the top, and has enough scatological humor to keep twelve-year-old me entertained for hours. I’m pretty sure if this was a Vince Vaughn comedy I would have checked out before the midpoint; however, in the capable hands of Ruben Östlund, the film’s in-your-face satire, however extreme, seems fully on-point.
Different Types of Triangles
In one of the earliest scenes in the film, Carl is in a modeling casting. The agent tells him to relax his “Triangle of Sadness,” which is explained as that space between the nose and eyebrows that scrunches up as one exhibits tension.
This triangle might be the only one that’s actually mentioned explicitly, but triangles recur over and over throughout the film. Notice that the film is in three parts with three distinct locations; each of these parts has its own three-act structure.
Arguably, you can put three other triangles into a triangle of their own: Money, Class, and Love. Let’s dig into each of these in turn.
Money in Triangle of Sadness
Carl and Yaya have money problems. They are stuck in a situation where they themselves are living relatively modestly compared to the wealthy folks they often rub elbows with. Carl is practical and stressed out; Yaya appears to have no problem using her looks and status to have others pay her way.
Once Carl and Yaya are on the yacht, however, we are slapped with fairly insane demonstrations of wealth: getting Nutella delivered by helicopter, ordering the crew to “go for a swim” in the middle of the day, people gifting Rolexes to each other at the bar (as one does).
Of course by the time everyone’s on the island, money is totall fucking useless. Obviously a Rolex–or even a Patek!–means anything useful in this scenario. The only things that matter are in fact practical survival skills. Safety and physical aggression become currencies.
Even the theoretical approach to money in the film is triangulated: we have the Captain’s Marxist critiques clashing against Dimitry’s capitalist “I sell shit” manifestos, and how little each means in the face of Acts of God, as Thérèse’s cries of “in den Wolken!” might remind us.
Notice how each point of the triangle benefits from and reflects points from the other two; consider how the Captain accepts the irony that his vessel is a $250 million-dollar yacht, or how Dmitry, stranded on the island, is quick to quote Marx when it suits him to do so.
Witness how each of these points of the triangle fit together to engineer the worst possible outcome–and, particularly, the commentary from Östlund here. First, the Marxist puts off actually accomplishing anything by repeatedly delaying the proceedings; this places the dinner in the middle of the storm. The capitalists love a flex: making the crew go down the slide lets the oysters spoil. Then the Act of God: the pirates arrive.
Obviously Östlund isn’t directly saying any of this, which is precisely the point. He skewers the ridiculous behavior of Marxists as well as capitalists; the major theme that we end up with is that money is inextricably linked to shit. Dimitry runs a fertilizer business; as he tells us proudly, he “sells shit”; the Captain, obviously enabling the wealthy by the nature of his job, recognizes this and declares himself a “shit Socialist”; the oyster diarrhea, of course, explodes out of the yacht’s plumbing system. It is not by mistake that Abigail, the actual Toilet Manager of the boat, becomes the leader on the island.
Stay tuned for our discussion of Triangle 2: Class.
[1] That said, anything that pokes at the self-importance of the Middle Class is fuckin’ A welcome in my book.
[2] The joke has become that most of our favorite conspiracies of yesteryear have been admitted to by one alphabet agency or another; while humility is a virtue I strive for, I find this somewhat less likely for space lasers, paedophile pizza, etc.
[3] This isn’t actually a footnote; I’m just typing “how to use metaphor” for the overlords.
