The Platform 2019 A Social Experiment

Imagine a giant, magical elevator that doesn't go up or down, but sideways. Not in a literal, sci-fi kind of way, but in a way that messes with how people connect. That's kind of what The Platform, a 2019 Spanish flick, felt like. Now, hold on, before you think this is some dry, super-serious think piece, let me tell you, it’s anything but. It’s a wild ride, a bit gross, a lot clever, and surprisingly funny if you’ve got a dark sense of humor.

So, what’s the deal with this "Platform"? Think of a vertical prison, stacked endlessly. In the middle of each level, there’s a big, open hole, and on top of that, a platform descends. This platform is laden with food – a glorious buffet for those lucky enough to be on the upper levels. But here's the kicker: the platform only stops for a short while on each level. And when it moves on? Well, you can guess what happens to the folks below. It’s a brutal, edible game of musical chairs, but with much higher stakes.

Our main dude, Goreng, wakes up on level 48. Not exactly a penthouse suite. He’s there voluntarily, believe it or not! He’s a reader, sort of a romantic, and he thought signing up for this "Vertical Self-Management Center" was a way to get a degree. He packed a copy of Don Quixote, because, you know, you never know when you'll need some chivalrous inspiration in a food-fighting dystopia. Bless his heart.

The first meal Goreng experiences is a shocker. He’s sharing his level with an older gentleman named Trimagasi, who’s seen it all. Trimagasi is the kind of guy who tells it like it is, often with a grim chuckle. He explains the rules of the Platform, the hierarchy, and the basic survival instinct that kicks in when the cake starts running out. Goreng, being the idealist he is, can’t quite stomach it. He tries to be polite, to share. Trimagasi just laughs, a dry, rasping sound. "Sharing? You share the scraps, kid. The rest is a fight."

And oh, what a fight it can be. The descriptions of the food on the platform are… vivid. One moment, it’s a king's feast, glistening and abundant. The next, after it's been pawed at, spat on, and generally defiled by the people above, it’s a terrifying mess. Imagine a Thanksgiving dinner after a horde of ravenous toddlers has attacked it – and then imagine trying to eat it. It’s enough to make you want to chew on the concrete.

What’s truly fascinating, though, is how quickly people adapt. Or rather, how some people refuse to. Goreng’s initial horror gives way to a desperate pragmatism. He’s faced with impossible choices. Does he hoard the little food that reaches him? Does he try to reason with the people on the level above? Does he, dare I say it, eat something he shouldn’t? The film doesn't shy away from the truly uncomfortable. There are moments that will make you squirm, moments where you’ll want to cover your eyes, but also moments of unexpected humanity.

Then there are the other residents. Each level has two people, and the pairings are as bizarre as the setup itself. We have the stern, almost military-like Imoguiri, who has a peculiar fondness for her dog, Babe. Yes, she brought her dog into this nightmare. Babe’s existence is a tiny, furry beacon of normalcy in a sea of despair. And then there's the serene, almost unnerving Baharat, who has a rather unique way of dealing with the platform’s descent – he ties himself to it. You can imagine how well that goes.

The film’s humor isn't laugh-out-loud, belly-aching stuff. It’s more of a wry, knowing chuckle. It’s in the sheer absurdity of the situation, the characters’ deadpan reactions, and the occasional, surprising moments of kindness that shine through the grime. You find yourself rooting for Goreng, even when he’s making questionable decisions, because his struggle feels so raw and real. You feel his hunger, his fear, his desperate hope.

The Platform isn't just about survival; it's about the systems we create, the way we treat each other when resources are scarce, and whether we can ever truly climb out of the holes we dig for ourselves.

And the ending? Oh, the ending. It’s the kind of ending that leaves you thinking for days. Did Goreng succeed? Did he actually manage to send a message? Or was it all just another tragic cycle? The beauty of The Platform is that it doesn't spoon-feed you the answers. It throws you into the deep end, lets you thrash around with the characters, and then leaves you to ponder the meaning of it all. It’s a social experiment you can’t help but participate in, even from the comfort of your couch.

So, if you’re looking for something that’s going to shock you, make you laugh uncomfortably, and maybe even shed a tear for the sheer, messy, complicated nature of being human, give The Platform a watch. Just maybe… don’t watch it on an empty stomach.