Ruben Östlund’s Palme d’Or-winning 2017 film, The Square, is less a conventional narrative and more a searing, meticulously choreographed social autopsy of the contemporary art world and the liberal elite who inhabit it. Centered on Christian, the impeccably dressed and intellectually self-assured chief curator of a prestigious modern art museum in Stockholm, the film uses the creation and disastrous marketing of a new installation—a designated “Square” meant to be a zone of trust and altruism—as a Trojan horse to expose the rampant hypocrisy, ethical bankruptcy, and, most damningly, the profound artistic pretentiousness that undergirds much of the cultural establishment.

The film operates on a constant tension between high-minded ideals and messy, often humiliating, reality. The central art piece itself, The Square, is the perfect nexus for this critique. It is a four-by-four-meter chalk outline accompanied by a grandiose mission statement: “The Square is a sanctuary of trust and caring. Within it, we all share equal rights and obligations.” This statement, delivered with the gravity of a philosophical treatise, is the first layer of pretension. It attempts to imbue a simple geometric shape on a plaza with monumental ethical and social significance, elevating a meager physical object into a profound moral statement.

Christian embodies this pretension perfectly. He is the guardian and purveyor of these concepts. He champions works that demand intellectual gymnastics to appreciate and speaks fluently in the detached, esoteric language of cultural theory. Yet, his personal life is a catalogue of small moral failures. His refusal to engage with a homeless woman begging on the street, his hilariously awkward and ultimately exploitative sexual encounter with a journalist (Elizabeth Moss’s Anne), and his panicked, petty pursuit of justice after his phone is pickpocketed, all demonstrate the yawning gap between the lofty principles he curates and the pragmatic, self-interested choices he makes as an individual.


The Language of Meaningless Depth

Östlund is particularly keen on mocking the lingo of contemporary art. The film’s dialogue is peppered with the self-important rhetoric used to validate works that often seem deliberately obtuse. When presenting a work that consists solely of piles of gravel, Christian is expected to provide an intellectual framework, justifying the installation’s existence through a labyrinthine explanation of its socio-political commentary. The pretension here is the insistence that everything must have a deep, transformative meaning, a tendency that favors intellectual acrobatics over genuine emotional or aesthetic engagement. The gravel, like the Square, requires an extensive, convoluted textual explanation to become “art,” suggesting the meaning is not inherent in the work but is manufactured by the curator and the institution.

This manufacturing of meaning reaches its satirical peak with the museum’s disastrous marketing campaign. Eager to create a “viral” buzz, the museum hires a brash PR firm who devise a shocking, attention-grabbing video: a clip of a neglected, malnourished girl who is then violently blown up inside the Square. The museum staff, particularly the young, ambitious marketing executive, justify this morally reprehensible concept by couching it in the rhetoric of artistic provocation. “It’s about challenging the viewer,” they insist, and generating “necessary dialogue.” The true motivation, however, is not artistic integrity but pure, cynical commercialism—the need to generate clicks and relevance. The pretension lies in masking this crass commercial goal with the language of high art and social critique.

The Performance of the Art Audience

The film’s masterpiece of social satire is the disturbing dinner scene featuring the performance artist Oleg (Terry Notary), a man who epitomises both the brilliance and the terrifying potential of performance art when pushed to an extreme. Oleg performs as an ape, initially behaving aggressively but playfully among the tuxedoed guests at an upscale museum dinner. This setup is a microcosm of the film’s critique: the elite audience, trapped in their social expectation to be sophisticated and open-minded, perform their tolerance and appreciation for the bizarre spectacle.

They are conditioned to believe that this unsettling display is “challenging,” a necessary disruption of bourgeois norms, and therefore valuable. The pretension of the audience is their willingness to endure genuine discomfort and fear simply to prove they are culturally savvy enough to “get” the art.

The performance dramatically escalates when Oleg violently drags a woman across a table and appears to simulate a sexual assault. The silence that follows is deafening. The guests, who moments before were laughing nervously and applauding, are paralysed. They are incapable of responding as ordinary, empathetic human beings because they are trapped in their roles as art patrons. To intervene is to admit they didn’t understand the art, to break the carefully maintained decorum of the event, and to potentially risk being branded as philistines. Their ethical compass is overridden by their cultural anxiety. The moment requires a profound act of de-pretending to break the spell, which is eventually done by the one man whose lack of cultural capital—his being an outsider—allows him to act with simple decency. The scene is a perfect indictment of how artistic pretension can override basic human ethics.

The Isolation of the Ivory Tower

The Square ultimately argues that the world Christian inhabits—the sleek, minimalist museum, the self-congratulatory galas, the intellectualised conversation—has become dangerously isolated from reality. The art world, rather than acting as a mirror to society or a force for genuine change, functions as an elaborate echo chamber. The works discussed and celebrated become so esoteric that they require a specialised vocabulary (the pretentious language) to be appreciated, creating a closed loop that excludes the very public it supposedly aims to enlighten.

Christian’s life unravels when the real world—represented by the pickpockets, the angry little boy seeking retribution, the raw aggression of the ape performance—breaks through the polished façade of his professional life. His inability to deal with these genuine, unscripted problems underscores the fundamental weakness of the pretentious mindset: it is brilliant at theorizing the world but inept at living in it.

Ruben Östlund does not dismiss all art but he viciously skewers the system that sustains and celebrates the most hollow forms of it. The Square is a brilliant and uncomfortable viewing experience because it forces the viewer—especially those who identify with the intellectual elite—to question the authenticity of their own cultural values. It asks: when does an installation cease to be a profound statement and simply become a joke sustained by the fear of admitting its meaninglessness? Östlund’s answer is delivered with brutal, satirical precision: artistic pretension is not just a harmless affectation; it is a corrosive force that elevates the self-regard of the few while obscuring true human connection and ethical responsibility.

Christian (Claes Bang) in The Square movie by Swedish filmmaker Ruben Ostlund

Christian: The Curator of Hypocrisy

Christian, the protagonist of The Square, is a masterfully observed portrait of moral failure amidst intellectual success and a central pillar of the film’s critique of pretentiousness and social class. As the chief curator of a prestigious modern art museum, he embodies the liberal elite’s espoused ideals while consistently failing to uphold them in his personal life. He is the ultimate hypocrite, navigating a world where the idea of compassion is championed, but the act of compassion is either avoided or performed solely for self-gain.

His character arc is a relentless unraveling, triggered by an incident that brings the “real world” crashing into his insulated bubble: the theft of his wallet and phone.

The Disconnect Between Abstract Idealism and Selfish Action

Christian’s professional role is to promote art that deals in grand, abstract, and often humanitarian concepts—like the central installation, The Square, which is meant to be “a sanctuary of trust and caring” where everyone “share[s] equal rights and obligations.”

Verbal vs. Actual Morality: He speaks eloquently about the social importance and progressive ideals of his exhibits. However, when a homeless woman approaches him on the street, he attempts to use his wealth to buy his way out of the interaction, even showing annoyance when she makes a specific request (a chicken ciabatta “with no onions”). His initial charitable impulses are tainted by a desire to secure his own image as a “respectable man” and quickly be rid of the discomfort.

The Pickpocketing Incident: His reaction to being pickpocketed is a significant moral failure. Instead of accepting the loss, Christian becomes obsessed with tracking down his phone. His plan involves leaving a mass-produced, threatening letter in every apartment of a public housing complex in an unfamiliar, poorer part of town. This action, born of petty ego and paranoia, indiscriminately punishes an entire community for the crime of a few, an act entirely antithetical to the principles of trust and equality promoted by The Square.

The Exploitation of Power and Social Advantage

Christian’s position as a suave, successful, semi-public figure in the art world affords him a significant social advantage, which he uses self-servingly:

Sexual Conquests: His encounter with journalist Anne (Elisabeth Moss) highlights his exploitation of power. Anne eventually confronts him, suggesting that he uses his position to attract women, to make “conquests.” He is “grudgingly forced to concede that she has a point,” and the intensely awkward post-coital scene—where he is paranoid she might steal his sperm—shows his profound self-absorption and fear of vulnerability.

Workplace Bullying: He demands extra-curricular favours from his employees, using thinly veiled threats to ensure compliance. When trying to enlist an employee for his trip to the housing complex, he tells them, “As your boss, I’m curious to know if I can count on you,” clearly using his power to coerce their participation in his personal, questionable schemes.

The Consequences and Failed Redemption

The film’s focus on Christian is not merely to mock him, but to show how the moral vacuum he inhabits eventually generates tangible, real-world consequences.

The Boy’s Retribution: Christian’s reckless action with the mass-mailed letters leads to harassment from an angry young boy (described as a “young immigrant boy” in search results) who demands an apology, having been unfairly implicated and traumatised. Christian initially dismisses and threatens the boy, treating him as a problem to be delegated or ignored, much like the homeless individuals outside his museum.

The PR Disaster: His professional life implodes when the PR campaign for The Square—a cynical, sensationalist video—causes public outrage and humiliation. This chaos is the perfect reflection of the moral chaos in his own life, proving that the ideals he curates are hollow when pursued through unprincipled means.

The “Apology”: In the end, when Christian attempts to apologise, his speech becomes a rambling justification of his actions, shifting the blame to society and the general “messed up” nature of the world. Even his attempt at amends is a failed performance, demonstrating that he remains unable to take genuine, unreserved personal responsibility.

Christian is the ultimate symbol of the film’s critique: a successful man whose moral compass is perpetually skewed by his own self-importance and the institutional pretension that rewards theoretical virtue over ethical consistency. The story is a series of escalating scenarios designed to strip away his polished facade and expose the raw, self-interested individual beneath the tailored suit.