They’re rich, white and ridiculous. And they are us

This week the stunning pine tree-draped Somerville Auditorium on the campus of the University of Western Australia will overflow with folks enjoying one of the year’s most keenly anticipated movies, Ruben Ostlund’s hysterical Cannes-winning satire Triangle of Sadness.

Laughter will be uncorked early, along with the perfectly chilled chardonnay, as the audience meet a pathetic Zoolander-ish male model named Carl (Harris Dickinson) who is competing for a job against a group of equally attractive and similarly dim young men.

The super rich and their enablers in Ruben Ostlund’s hysterically funny Triangle of Sadness.

Carl also learns about his “triangle of sadness”, the area at the top of the nose and between the eyebrows which apparently can be corrected with a shot of Botox (it’s one of the great movie titles).

Later Carl’s influencer girlfriend Yaya (Charibi Dean) takes him on an all-expenses-paid Mediterranean cruise on a staggeringly lavish yacht where they meet, among others, a Russian oligarch who’s made a fortune selling fertiliser (a harbinger of truly gross things to come), an elderly British couple who made their money dealing arms and who lament the outbreak of peace, and a desperately lonely tech billionaire who offers expensive gifts to anyone who pays him attention.

As the passengers’ requests get more and more absurd – in one wickedly funny sequence the Russian crap king’s Marie Antoinette-ish wife demands that the crew put aside their duties and jump on the water slide – the Marxist captain of the vessel (Woody Harrelson) hides in his room drinking himself stupid and ranting about the inequities of capitalism and the coming revolution. That revolution comes when they end up stranded on an island and the upstairs and downstairs sides of the equation are reversed.

Triangle of Sadness is the latest in a series of movies and television series that mercilessly send up the elite, that narrow economic and social strand who dress exclusively in designer outfits, holiday in eye-poppingly beautiful resorts and eat in Michelin-starred restaurants.

White Lotus’ pleasure-seeking couples. Are they so different from us?Credit: HBO

There’s the recently ended second series of The White Lotus, about a group of indulged Americans ensconced in an artwork-laden hotel in the Sicilian beachside town of Taormina; there’s the feature film The Menu, in which a group of rich foodies dine in a restaurant located on an island off the coast of California presided over by a master chef on a murderous mission; there’s Succession, about a Murdoch-inspired media clan who behave like corrupted royals of another age; and, releasing soon, there is Tar, in which Oscar-bound Cate Blanchett plays a conductor whose book-lined Berlin apartment and to-die-for wardrobe showcases a life of breathtaking privilege.

While we relish in the punishments meted out to these entitled idiots – even Blanchett’s genius musician fails to see the asteroid heading in her direction – each time I read in a review of these marvellously provocative works that the characters are far removed from our reality, I flinch.

We don’t have the money of the ship of fools in Triangle of Sadness, the resources of the ill-fated foodies in The Menu or a boss who takes you along on her Sicilian sojourn, as Jennifer Coolidge’s sad, desperate Tanya does her assistant Portia.

But one of the reasons we’re engorging ourselves on this cycle of comedies and dramas about the lives of rich is that we too want a taste of the world they inhabit.

The sweet life. The audience at the Somerville Auditorium enjoying great wine and good food before a screening.Credit: Izzie Charlesworth of Rift Photography

My Facebook feed is filled with pictures of ordinary people in extraordinary locations, from uber-chic European capitals to luxury resorts of The White Lotus kind; there is an endless stream of food shots, and not a day passes without snapshots of beautiful people dressing up and partying.

On the surface it’s a good-natured sharing of experiences. But deep down we know the posters are seeking praise (“OMG! You look amazing!”) and provoking envy in ways not far removed from Triangle of Sadness influencer Yaya and her non-stop uploading of images to her various social media channels.

Amusingly, the Somerville Auditorium, where Triangle of Sadness is screening until Sunday, is located in the epicentre of Perth’s version of the privilege satirised by these shows and movies.

Each week during the summer film buffs from the western suburbs and beyond descend on this stunning outdoor cinema carrying bottles of wine and packed picnic baskets and have an experience as chic as you find anywhere in the world.

They eat and drink and take pictures which they send to all their Facebook friends. And why not? I can’t think of a Perth summer experience as gorgeous as a night out at the Somerville.

But it is not as far removed from the indulgences we laugh at in Triangle of Sadness and other movies and shows as you would imagine. We are not staying in hotels that costs many thousands a night or spending month’s salary on a meal. But compared to the rest of the world we are on that luxury super-yacht with Carl, Yaya and the Russian emperor of excrement.

Triangle of Sadness

Triangle of Sadness screened at the Somerville Auditorium as part of Perth Festival’s film season. It is at Luna Cinemas from Thursday (January 12),

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