The platform review

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The platform review

You can add Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia The platform to the growing list of universe management debuts showcasing anything but rookie skill sets. Like Bong Joon-ho Snowpiercer and Ben Wheatley High Urrutia so exquisitely embraces the curtain of humanity's cruelest impulses that she embraces dystopian monstrosity through elemental needs. Homo sapiens are polite beings when the benefits are personal and the stakes are lower, but pushed to survival despair? Writers David Desola and Pedro Rivero obscure their mealtime fulfillment with selfishness, vulgarity, brutality, and, most importantly, a suggestion that their neighbors would destroy his heart if it meant another day alive. Urrutia, fiercely, is an architect of horrible immorality with the calmest behavior.

In an alternative future, Everyman Goreng (Ivan Massagué) is enrolled in a research project with vague descriptions. Isolation is promised, an article (a Don Quixote novel) is allowed, and he will share accommodation with an unnamed companion. After conscious evaluations, Goreng sees the most drab open cell with a bathroom area, a rectangular cutout on the center floor, and his new roommate Trimagasi (Zorion Eguileor). Then, a levitating slab floats down, presenting a half-eaten feast that Trimagasi begins to devour as Goreng watches, sickened. Welcome to "The Platform", a compassion experiment that gets ugly as food is passed from top to bottom, on many floors. Those who are lucky enough to gobble up much more than their required "requirement" rations.

As filming tracks based on allegories, The platform exemplary Modernized gulag prison cells are stacked in infinite repetition, building a structural hierarchy that is simplistic in meaning and identifiably effective. Whether it's the inefficiencies of a dripping economy or the failed distribution of wealth across nations, Urrutia's visual narrative is sharper than samurai-grade sushi toppings. It's one of those conceptualizations that would make other creators green with envy, given the substantial comment that's been softened into a lean, fat-free cut of Grade-A cynicism. A blackened scab, if you will, but still bleeding ruby ​​when cut in half like the house of pieces or human body favorites.

I opt for foodie puns because that's the sparkle behind The platform. Do a three-time, daily activity common to most homes around the world, then search it against civilization. Meals are a source of comfort for most; eating was equivalent to sustenance and indulgence. Urrutia, vindictively, takes a delicious array of delicious chefs and then pound, macerate, and tear each plate as if they were Instagrammable sacrifices. The culinary arts are no longer a relaxing image, but are now an instigator of malicious intent.

As the table descends from "level one" down, Urrutia uses Goreng's consciousness to navigate the numerous atrocities at play. Do those upstairs benefit from hot baked crops? Gluttons who snort with piggish as much as they can depending on availability. Those unfortunately trapped in the basement levels? Powered by cannibalism, murder, and the worst, as completely dry corpses are all that remains. The characters desperately suggest rationing methods as enough dishes are provided to feed the entire complex in case the cooler heads prevail, but that's what The platform intends to expose. Fangs grinding, tempers burning. No mercy is granted even though the "managers" move the inhabitants from floor to floor, we will call them. "Mine is mine" without sympathy becomes the motto, men and women no longer treat others as they would wish jokes shown themselves.

Thus, it brings us to the Goreng experience, which is our cinematic perspective. The sap that grabs pages of paper and binds as his only "smuggling" allowance, while Trimagasi hugs his steel kitchen knife. Goreng refrains from digesting the backwash "leftovers" as a mid-level commoner, but then his situation sinks deeper and deeper. As hunger hurts, the pieces of cartilage become more appetizing. When dropped to a lower level, Trimagasi confesses the tasty fate of his former cellmate as someone has to eat. When given the position to the top, Goreng scoffs at Imoguiri (Antonia San Juan's) courteous attempts to convey a "rations-only" menu. Inmates are given full proverbial asylum, and lawlessness is the only rule. Urrutia does not shy away from the dehumanizing results that he would expect.

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Even better, The platform it's fucking ruthless. Excuse my language, but the barbaric treatment of edible perfection is only the first course in terms of disturbing contextual punishments. Characters accept their destiny when hope seems low by splashing, hanging, skinning, anything that makes your skin twist. Urrutia begs him to accept every decision, every raw cut of oozing meat, laden with worms, to the point where primality delegates the "participants" to a level of blood-soaked injustice. Life outside closed walls ceases to exist, only "The Platform" remains as a cyclical altar to be worshiped as its new God. Absolute madness? Undoubtedly. A unique and daunting catalyst for a nasty brand of social breakdown? Mesmerizing, frankly.

The platform You can put a layer of decadent buttercream frosting on sumptuous, damp spice cakes, but this isn't a sugar-coated presentation of man's best intentions. Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia aims to rally the troops, tired of being screwed up for too long (direct metaphor). Aggression and anguish soar as community well-being dissolves under intense light-red seepage, yet there is the positivity to hold on before the credits come. Yes, the film about beheadings and nuclear class wars and future hungry murders * still * retains a ray of hope to be recognized. Who says you can't have it all these days?



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