People’s taste in satire can be as acquired and specific as their taste in art overall; some favour scalpel-like precision (the television of Armando Iannucci), while others prefer more of a sledgehammer approach (the films of Adam McKay). Your appreciation for Ruben Östlund’s Triangle of Sadness will vary depending on your tolerance for sweeping observational class satire (and the onscreen depiction of bodily fluids), but for this reviewer, in this particular political and cultural moment, it hit the spot: a lavish, prestige arthouse offering from one of Europe’s most respected directors that defies all pretentiousness, diving headlong into outrageous farce and offering more viscerally confronting faecal gags than the last two Jackass movies combined. Astute but accessible, sage but absurd, Triangle of Sadness aims wide and low – and in doing so, hits almost every one of its targets.