Rácz Barbara - The Platform (2019) - Review

 For the trailer of The Platform, click here.

Survival of the Fittest: The Brutal Social Criticism of The Platform (2019)

    The Platform (2019) is a Spanish dystopian thriller, with sci-fi and horror elements. Having made shorts and less mainstream films, Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia’s turn to feature film won him the People’s Choice Award for Midnight Madness at the Toronto Film Festival, and received quite a few further honours at the Sitges Film Festival. The movie is, without a doubt, one of the most interesting and unsettling pieces of contemporary social cinema. It takes place in a vertical prison, also known as the “Vertical Self-Management Center” or “the pit,” in which the inmates get fed once a day by a slowly descending concrete platform gorged with different culinary masterpieces. The people on higher levels can eat all they want, meanwhile those below only get scraps or nothing at all. The prison is owned by the mysterious “Administration,” whose job is to recruit inmates and provide food for them each day. The viewers follow the story of Goreng (played by Iván Massagué), a voluntary inmate who was promised to get a degree after spending six months in the pit. Initially clueless of the awaiting horrors, his only plan is to quit smoking and read Don Quixote. During his stay there, he meets several other people, each of them having different attitudes and advices regarding their situation. The supporting characters are Trimagasi, Imoguiri, Miharu, and Baharat, all of them have unique ideas of survival in the prison. The plot revolves around Goreng’s transformation and him trying to find a solution for the fair partitioning of food. There is a quite obvious Christian symbolism embedded in the narrative as well, with Goreng depicted (and often referred to) as a Messiah-like character. The Platform is a thought-provoking film, and the gory and horror elements definitely help in conveying the message in a disturbing way.

Figure 1: Zorion Eguileor as Trimagasi

    One of the most important aspects of the film is its setting – the prison. Its structure is a vivid metaphor for social inequality. The pit mirrors class hierarchies: people on top can enjoy abundance, not caring about what happens to the ones on lower levels, who suffer and are basically forced into violence due to desperation. The inmates are placed randomly on their levels (two people per level), and their floor number changes each month. This system depicts the concept of privilege smartly, and mirrors how in real life, people cannot control whether they are going to be born into poverty or wealth. This randomness also exposes The Platform’s critique of meritocracy. The prison’s mechanics hint at the belief that people deserve outcomes through behaviour or effort. Surviving the day is a personal test rather than a structural problem. Access to food depends on level placement – discipline and morality are not valued. The monthly reshuffle supports this point, as the luck of the characters changes without relation to their merit. A few of the characters display meritocratic logic: according to Trimagasi, survival is a proof of superiority; he thinks violence is necessary and justified, because of their need for adaptation. His view relates to how in society success often signals worth. Goreng at first has a similar belief. For him, rational planning seems like the best solution. This sentiment does not last long though, because he soon has to realise that hunger works against cooperation, showing how limited individual responsibility is, especially in extreme circumstances.

Figure 2: The money shot of the film emphasizing its primary allegory

    

    Based on this, it is safe to say that the greatest strength of The Platform is its concept. The idea behind this futuristic and dystopian prison is simple, yet effective: a system built on hierarchy, in which the distribution of resources is ridiculously unfair. The movie makes it clear that the viewer is not watching a realist drama, but a symbolic, parable-like story. This abstraction lets the viewer project their own social circumstances (such as capitalism, class, consumerism, global inequality) into the narrative, making it an even more disturbing and gripping experience.

    Although The Platform was released some time before the COVID pandemic broke out, the latter resonated well with the issues raised in Gaztelu-Urrutia’s film and may have renewed interest in it. One of the most obvious connections is scarcity and fear. During the pandemic, food, medicine, and mask shortages occurred often, resulting in panic buying. The film depicts a closed system, where food grows scarce for the people on low levels. The ones on top eat as much food as they can, fearing that next month they will not get enough. Both of these situations show how human behaviour changes when resources are limited. The film and the pandemic also have isolation and mental strain in common. The lockdowns resulted in loneliness, anxiety, and even depression. In The Platform, characters are confined in cells with no escape. Stress soon leads to violence and lack of empathy. Another interesting connection is how authorities handle situations. Governments provided guidelines and rules during COVID, which was often followed by mistrust. In the film, members of the Administration design the system, yet they remain distant from it. Official explanations are unable to address the suffering inside the structure. All in all, watching the movie most definitely brings back memories from the difficult times of the pandemic.

    The film’s visuals are also remarkable. The settings are cold and repetitive, giving the movie a claustrophobic atmosphere. The prison cells are poorly furnished, and there is not a single drop of colour in them. The minimalistic use of a monochrome space surprisingly does not get boring; it rather creates more suspense and enhances the sense of hopelessness the characters and viewers may feel. The often static camera further emphasizes the characters’ vulnerability. There are a few montages as well, which are executed skillfully. One of these shows the daily routine of Goreng and Trimagasi on floor 48, and how they eventually become friends. Another exquisite montage is used towards the end of the film, when Goreng and Baharat are standing on the platform, trying to reach the lowest level. The shots are less dynamic than in the other one, matching the hopelessness and brutality of the characters’ descent showing plenty of fellow inmates and empty cells. These montages (either with an upbeat music or a quiet, eerie tune) give the film character, and summarize the otherwise less exciting parts of the plot well.

Figure 3: Iván Massagué as Goreng

    The performance of the actors, especially in the case of the main character, is compelling. Goreng’s inner battles, ethical dilemmas, and gradual transformation is played out in a way that is convincing and disturbing. The character’s descent into starvation and eventually madness is portrayed outstandingly. Iván Massagué gained international recognition for his role in The Platform and stars in The Platform 2 (2024) once again in the role of Goreng.

    Curiously, the supporting characters are mostly two-dimensional. They usually stick to one opinion and go through little to no character development, which is most likely a deliberate choice by the writers. Not all characters are layered properly, which makes the film leave an intellectual effect, instead of an emotional one. Such characters are Trimagasi (Zorion Eguileor), Miharu (Alexandra Masangkay), Baharat (Emilio Buale Coka), and Imoguiri (Antonia San Juan). Trimagasi and Miharu prioritise survival at all costs, not shying away from murder and cannibalism. Imoguiri, a former recruiter for the prison, enters the pit with faith in administrative order and voluntary solidarity. Baharat is a believer of cooperation and shared responsibility. These ideological positions enhance the allegorical nature of the film.

Figure 4: Goreng and Baharat (Emilio Buale)

    In terms of thematics, one of the best things about The Platform is that it does not offer easy answers and solutions to the (often obviously depicted) problems of society. The questions of solidarity, greed, violence and cooperation are constantly clashing with each other. The viewers might feel much discomfort, as it is almost impossible to finish this movie without thinking about one’s own boundaries and morals. Each character represents a different view, and it is interesting to watch how these work against or with each other.

    However, despite the genius concept, one of The Platform’s weaknesses is that it is too didactic. During certain moments, it seems that the viewers’ intellectual abilities are not fully trusted, as the main message is spoon-fed to them. Instead of being natural human conversations, some dialogues turn into full-blown philosophical theses, breaking the immersion. Although the ending adds some ambiguity and uncertainty, in other parts of the story, the allegory is too stretched out. Not to mention that The Platform’s inventory built on provocation often seems pointless. The shocking and gory elements are certainly effective, but they do not necessarily deepen the message. They are rather repetitions of what the film made clear previously. Nonetheless, the blood and the cut-off or ripped body parts look quite realistic, and add to the absurdity of the whole scenario.

    The Platform is not an easy film, and it does not try to be one, either. With many shocking and often disgusting elements, it is a strong and depressive social allegory, which works with a plain, yet memorable setting and a unique concept. It is intellectually stimulating and provocative; however, it is often way too straightforward about the allegory it is conveying. For those who enjoy philosophical pieces of cinema with lots of blood, The Platform might just be an excellent choice, even if we do not get a satisfying answer to all of our questions in the end.