Is social justice a utopia? Are inequality concerns exploited by populists? Many people today would answer yes. Society feels disappointed, and that disappointment often hides behind laughter. And as usual, cinema mirrors this tension. The theme of class and the tension between the powerful and the powerless remains deeply relevant in art. The satirical thriller The Perfect Liar has just released in Russia. It has barely appeared on screens, and audiences have already reacted with enthusiasm.
Critics quickly offer an interpretation: the film serves as a counterweight to a leftist agenda, suggesting that audiences are weary of moralizing rhetoric from certain political corners.
After reading such takes, curiosity drew many to the screening, including those who want to unpack its messages. The film proves to be striking, and its placement alongside Parasite and Triangle of Sadness is telling: it tackles similar themes, uses sharp irony, and leans into provocative trolling. Yet it does not condemn social justice concepts outright. Instead, it uses satire to illuminate how society misunderstands the issue of inequality.
Parallels appear clear. In Parasite, economic disparity shapes a family’s work life, with glossy compensation and a surprisingly cordial employer attitude. The workers sometimes bend the rules, deceive, or act out of sight of their hosts, culminating in a dramatic confrontation. In Triangle of Sadness, wealth intertwines with vulnerability as a shipwreck leaves millionaires in a precarious position while a cleaning expert manages survival. A surprising inversion follows: a nobody dictates events and forces the powerful to respond to his terms, even as they pay a heavy social price for their arrogance.
The new film shifts the setting to an island during a Spanish flu era lockdown, keeping the luxury villa as the stage. The villa owners, often framed as progressive and pro-people, write passionate notes in defense of the working class. The oppressed respond with a mix of defiance and prudence, asserting their dignity while navigating fear of infection. They demand more resources, seek better living spaces, and indulge in social gatherings as a way to assert control. The scene hints at a misfired experiment in what could be called a communal impulse, as if a small experiment in equality were unfolding before a watching world.
Spectators might try to pin the film with familiar slogans: do no harm and you won’t face harm; the famous line about feeding wolves echoes in contemporary debates; and threads of the BLM conversation surface in the background. Yet the film resists simple labels, inviting viewers to weigh how left-leaning rhetoric and charitable impulses interact with reality on the ground.
There is no clear consensus on the film’s political agenda. Still, the issue of social inequality remains unshaken. The dialogue suggests that injustice persists when wealth and influence shape outcomes, while calls for higher taxes or endless charity can feel detached from the lived needs of ordinary people. The narrative critiques virtue signaling and questions whether good intentions translate into meaningful change, especially when power dynamics are tangled with hypocrisy.
Some audiences, particularly those who can afford philanthropy, may be drawn into rhetoric that emphasizes moral superiority. Others struggle to understand how history and social development actually unfold. In this dynamic, progressives can be seen as eager to help while sometimes missing the mark in listening to those they aim to support. The result is a tension between empathy and strategy, a tension the film dramatizes with wit and bite. Critics argue this stance reveals a disconnect between professed ideals and practical outcomes, a discrepancy that fans and detractors alike can recognize in everyday life.
One recurring moment in the film underscores a broader truth about respect. A villa owner, who champions dignity in public statements, nonetheless lies in private life and expects his staff to conform to his own view of virtue. This juxtaposition breeds contempt among those who serve, highlighting how prestige and benevolence can coexist with moral inconsistency. The portrayal mirrors conversations in many societies about how respect is earned and how power can distort it.
Philosopher Francis Fukuyama is cited in review discussions for linking social conflict to the unmet need for respect. The film adds that recognition must go beyond empty talk. Real equality requires access to education, healthcare, and fair opportunity in the labor market, especially in peaceful, developed nations. The goal is not a sentimental charity but durable, material fairness that supports everyone in meaningful ways. The story invites viewers to consider what equality truly means in concrete terms, not just as a lofty ideal.
Another thread in the narrative concerns how some people overlook the hard-won gains of the twentieth century. When individuals choose riskier or less productive paths rather than developing marketable skills, responsibility shifts. The fortunate sometimes frame their generosity as a badge of moral superiority, subtly reinforcing a dynamic where aid can become a source of power. The result is a cycle of obligation that can feel heavy and even unjust to those on the receiving end.
Memorable lines stay with audiences long after the credits roll. The film suggests that the illusion of free happiness masks broader social tensions, and that the pursuit of justice can take on a distorted form when people misread one another. In this way, the movie mirrors life itself: imperfect, provocative, and generous with its questions rather than offering neat answers.
In closing, the piece presents a nuanced look at social inequality through sharp satire and keen offhand observations. Its treatment of respect, power, and practical fairness invites ongoing discussion about how societies can move toward genuine equality without losing sight of human complexity.
Note: this analysis reflects common interpretations and is one voice among many in the discourse around social justice and cinema.