Watching ‘Triangle of Sadness’ served as a chilling reminder of my time working in a luxury resort

Official ‘Triangle of Sadness’ movie poster. Picture source: Lionsgate+ Official Press Pictures

WARNING: This article contains spoilers:

Ruben Östlund’s Triangle of Sadness caused a sensation when it premiered at Cannes earlier this year, receiving a rapturous eight-minute standing ovation from its venerable audience. The film would go on to earn the Swedish director his second Palm D’or, following on from his 2017 triumph for The Square – a satirical swipe at the art industry.

Triangle of Sadness continues in the same vein, with its scathing attack on the narcissism and detachment of the wealthy elite. Set to the backdrop of a luxury Mediterranean cruise, the film follows the vacuous nouveau riche as they fritter away the hours above deck, engaging in endless platitudes, whilst an army of crew work tirelessly beneath them.

Comprising of arms dealers, oligarchs, golddiggers, models, influencers, and shady businessmen, the guests are the epitome of greed and excess. The servile crew is subject to all manner of absurd requests, from cleaning sails that do not exist, to downing tools and diving into the ocean for the amusement of their capitalist masters.

However, the ship soon steers into trouble after a dinner party goes awry when some dodgy shellfish causes most of the guests to become violently ill. The ship then sails into a storm, causing further chaos, particularly as the alcoholic captain (played by a marvellous Woody Harrelson) is already 50 shades to the wind.

After the unmanned ship passes through the storm it is attacked by pirates and a handful of guests and crew members are washed up on a seemingly deserted island. Thereafter a Lord of the Flies-eque system of law and order ensues, as one of the crew members asserts control. The feckless guests possess none of the necessary survival skills to navigate their perilous new terrain and must rely on her if they are to survive.

For those watching, like myself, who have worked in such an industry, the film - despite its absurdities - is chillingly accurate, and an uncomfortable watch. For a brief time in my late 20s, I worked as a VIP concierge at a luxury resort in North America. Though my stint was short – quite simply because the guests were insufferable – it left an indelible mark. I often recoil in incredulity when I recall the sheer amount of deplorable behaviour I witnessed or was subjected to.

Among our guests, there were celebrities, millionaires, billionaires, and even royalty. Many of them spending sums of money that most people will never accrue in their lifetimes. With such purchasing power the staff, effectively, come included in the price too. We were instructed never to say no. No request was too unreasonable, no matter the time frame, no matter the feasibility, and no matter the cost. I can still recall a guest who had me reorganise an extremely complex excursion no fewer than 15 times over a three-day period. Every time the phone would jangle I waited with bated breath for her next absurd amendment.

In one scene in the film, the crew is given a ‘rousing’ pep talk by uptight manager Paula (played by the exceptional Vicki Berlin) which culminates in them chanting ‘money, money, money’ as they prepare to greet the guests. This was our de facto mantra at the resort: ‘bite your lip and think of the tip.’ It was employed in an array of situations, from verbally abusive clients, to errands that involved trekking through snow in - 20 weather to fetch a particular brand of water that a guest demanded. Whether the guests were mean, or the tasks obscene, imagining the potential tip seemed the only kernel of hope.

Paula’s neurotic character was a veritable doppelganger of our manager; browbeaten and crushed, yet always ready to serve with a smile – day or night. When the crew becomes stranded on the island, Paula continues to operate as if she is working. Still in uniform, still attending to the clients, still bustling with pseudo-positivity. This is what our management was like. They missed their children’s birthdays, whilst organising parties for the guest’s children. At times they went weeks without a day off, slept very little, and commuted for hours because they could not afford to live near the resort.

Picture source: Lionsgate+ Official Press Pictures

Many guests were truly appalling human beings, both in terms of their line of work (much like the couple in the film that manufactured hand grenades) or in character (much like the slimy oligarch in the film holidaying with his wife and mistress simultaneously). We turned a blind eye to mistresses, ladies of the night, and strange people bringing packages to the door at ungodly hours of the night - all because our clients were rich.

In the film, the crew above the deck is distinctly white, whilst housekeeping is almost entirely comprised of people of colour. Once again, this mirrored our resort. Front-of-house staff for the most part remained white, preferably European, while the vast majority of those in manual jobs behind the scenes were people from the Philippines or Central America.

While Triangle of Sadness is a stellar film, I found myself wincing at many points; its sharp shears of satire cutting deep into my stomach. I felt back there at the resort, behind that desk, quaking, awaiting a barrage of abuse. No one there to defend me; only the promise of a tip. As the film and my experience suggests: money truly does awful things to people.

Triangle of Sadness is in cinemas in the UK now.