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But for the rest of us its a comfort.
Evil abounds; justice is scarce.
In this context, the promise of otherworldly damnation is a solace.
The fantasy is symptomatic.
The true villains of our time are ensconced in cocoons of comfort, immune to accountability.
To see them suffer, we have the cinema.
Not that I begrudge anyone their fantasies.
(Somehow, hostility to the ultrarich has become a marker of modish cultural literacy.)
(HBOsWhite LotusandSuccession, which Mylod frequently directs, manage this dance particularly well.)
But if OstlundsTriangle Sadnessand MylodsThe Menuare explicit in their class sympathies, they are still confused in their politics.
The targets are cartoonishly deserving, but even caricatures can bleed, weep, and shriek.
InThe Menu, Slowicks kitchen staff burns alive along with his patrons.
Rather, they stage a much more disturbing and ambivalent showdown: between service workers and their clients.
What distinguishes this encounter is its intimacy and its confusion of hierarchies.
Slowick describes his violent pageantry as a revolt of the shit-shovelers against the takers.
I know a fellow service-industry worker when I see one, he tells her.
And yet, we already know Slowick is dissimulating, that his murderous rage has another origin.
As he masturbates, he tells her, Im a good father.
Parks chagrin) smells because it doesnt exist.
It is, however, unstable.
It functions only as a closed system, a single inviolate organism.
But it was never so.
The official, but spurious, separation between family and work generates a great deal of confusion.
