The Square (2017)

The Square is special because it turns a sleek, prestigious art-world setting into a wickedly funny, faintly horrifying mirror held up to all of us—our manners, our morals, and the stories we tell ourselves about being “good.” Ruben Östlund stages one exquisitely uncomfortable set piece after another, letting small social missteps snowball into crises that are hilarious in the moment and haunting afterward, with Claes Bang superbly unraveling as a curator whose polished confidence can’t survive real-world friction. The vibe is cool, clinical, and sharply observational, punctured by bursts of absurdity and dread, and it has the rare courage to let you laugh while you squirm. If you prefer tidy arcs and likable characters you may find it abrasive, but if you’re up for provocative cinema that lingers in your mind like a dare, this one is a must.

The Square is aiming to skewer the art world’s self-importance and modern liberal guilt with deadpan satire, using Christian’s unraveling life as a showcase for hypocrisy and performative morality. When it works, it’s sharply observed, often funny in an excruciating way, and anchored by a strong, controlled performance from Claes Bang (with Elisabeth Moss adding bite). But it’s also long, deliberately meandering, and stitched together like a series of escalating set pieces rather than a tight story, so if you need clear momentum or payoff, it can feel rambling and self-indulgent. If you enjoy uncomfortable social experiments, awkward humor, and provocative scenes that are meant to challenge you more than entertain you, it’s worth your time; if not, it may feel like a two-and-a-half-hour test of patience.