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At a\u00a0Davos-like gathering inside a\u00a0cavernous marble mine, global elites in dinner dress enjoy a\u00a0tweezer-precise amuse-bouche and a\u00a0performance of Cerrone\u2019s all-time Italodisco banger \u200b\u201c<\/span>Supernature\u201d by Charli XCX<\/span>, when the performance is interrupted by a\u00a0cadre of pagan eco-warriors led by Anya Taylor-Joy with white Scandi sniper suit, assault rifle, and red headband over Greta Thunberg bangs, striding forward in the strobe light \u2013 it\u2019s a\u00a0radical-chic showpiece you\u2019d expect from the new film by Romain Gavras, who directed the music video for \u200b\u201c<\/span>Bad Girls\u201d for M.I.A. back before the nanoparticles got to\u00a0her.<\/span><\/p>\n Introduced lying on the ground listening to the earth (\u201cMother,\u201d she says in voiceover, \u200b\u201c<\/span>the volcano spoke to me \u2026 the world must burn\u201d), Taylor-Joy\u2019s Joan and her militants arm up and breach the summit by tasing one (1<\/span>) unarmed security guard. She believes in \u200b\u201c<\/span>the cleansing power of death,\u201d and seeks three human sacrifices to correspond to a\u00a0witchy but blandly universality cosmology. The Bride, the King, and the Hero will save humanity, by being cast into the raging volcano whose imminent apocalyptic fury is a\u00a0proxy for climate change. (Surely this messianic splinter cell would want their sacrifice to feed the volcano\u2019s rage and purge the earth of people, rather than pacifying it so business can continue as\u00a0usual?)<\/span><\/p>\n Raised in Greece by Swedish vulcanologist John Malkovich for co-financing reasons, the amateurish radical militants also include Joan\u2019s brother (Yung Lean, who suggests what the kids from\u00a0<\/span>Village of the Damned<\/i> would have been like on medication) and sister (Jade Croot, who joins the raid wearing LED<\/span> rabbit ears). They\u2019re there to pick out their sacrifices from the gathered ultrarich, who are there to attend a\u00a0silent auction benefitting an ocean-mining initiative spearheaded by one of the world\u2019s richest men (Vincent Cassel), who claims to have found a\u00a0renewable energy source down there, inspired by his pop-star wife (IRL<\/span> billionairess-by-marriage Salma Hayek Pinault), a\u00a0lover of pufferfish. \u200b\u201c<\/span>Make Earth Cool Again\u201d says the neon sign behind the step-and-repeat.<\/span><\/p>\n Their options include Charli\u2019s Essex-accented backup dancer (Ambika Mod), Chris Evans as Mike Tyler, a\u00a0Chris Evans-like blockbuster movie star in crisis, and Cassel, who sports a\u00a0bald Bezos dome, a\u00a0Steve Jobs turtleneck, and a\u00a0rather less single-sourced master-of-the-universe arrogance. Half a\u00a0composite, half a\u00a0fanciful archetype (why is he holding a\u00a0charity dinner instead of a\u00a0financing round? Why is it receiving Met Gala-level media attention?), the characterization is typical of the white-elephant vagueness of\u00a0<\/span>Sacrifice\u00a0<\/i>\u2014 this is a\u00a0film to make you appreciate that despite the global-English approximateness of\u00a0<\/span>Triangle of Sadness<\/i><\/a>, Ruben \u00d6stlund really does get a\u00a0clear sight at his targets. You will also appreciate \u00d6stlund more when the gathered masters of the universe greet Taylor-Joy\u2019s entrance with applause, taking it for part of the performance, as if the set piece in\u00a0<\/span>The Square<\/i><\/a>\u00a0<\/i>depicting the $10<\/span>,000<\/span>-a-plate bourgeois punishment ritual had gone straight for the punchline.<\/span><\/p>\n The Sacrifice\u00a0<\/i>is intermittently farcical, a\u00a0celebrity-led movie protecting its flashy revolutionary trappings from accusations of hypocrisy by making its characters into the laziest self-deprecating caricatures imaginable: the asshole billionaire, the clumsy zealot, the vain actor. Introduced worrying at his bald spot, repeating the mantra \u200b\u201c<\/span>You\u2019re young, you\u2019re sexy, you have a\u00a0secret\u201d before plastering on a\u00a0smile for the cameras, Tyler is deep in an existential funk, having just experienced a\u00a0viral crashout at a\u00a0movie premi\u00e8re, and questioning his vapid career; he rushes the stage at the fundraiser to decry flashy performative activism in a\u00a0speech, punctuated by a \u200b\u201c<\/span>do better!\u201d mic drop, quickly labeled \u200b\u201c<\/span>cringe\u201d by Twitter, but sells Joan\u2019s speech to the gathered military and media, and finds a\u00a0real purpose in Joan\u2019s quest to the heart of the volcano, into which he, the Hero, must leap of his own volition.<\/span><\/p>\n The intermittent slapstick of this aging himbo\u2019s conversion to the cause eventually gives way to a\u00a0puzzling and overwrought earnestness \u2013 \u200b\u201c<\/span>What\u2019s my motivation?\u201d is at first a\u00a0cheap dig at his self-absorption but becomes a\u00a0serious question, answered by the twin clich\u00e9s of a\u00a0love interest and Daddy issues, as limned in an overwrought dream sequence in which he moves through a\u00a0movie set, egged on by Furiosa fervor and memories of his late father. His hero\u2019s journey, straight out of Joseph Campbell and many screenwriting manuals, is framed as a\u00a0quest for authenticity, in a\u00a0movie far too ersatz to have an existence past the moment its cast poses for their last red-carpet photo.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n\nGet more Little White\u00a0Lies<\/h3>\n<\/p><\/div>\n