Federico Fellini’s “La Dolce Vita” opens with a shot of helicopter flying through Rome toward St. Peter’s basilica. Suspended beneath the chopper is a large statue of Christ, his hands outstretched in benediction. Ruben Östlund’s latest film, “The Square,” a farcical take down of the contemporary art world, begins with a similar shot: a crane lifting a bronze equestrian statue from its pedestal in the courtyard of Stockholm’s X-Royal Art Museum and, as the tradesman responsible for the operation spectate, the straps securing the statue tear and it crashes toward the pavement. Both directors use symbolism to suggest a disconnection with history and irreverence for tradition: Fellini, through a parodic representation of Christ’s second coming and Östlund, by literally severing ties to history.

Don’t let the subtitles, the Swedish production, or the Palme d’Or at Cannes mislead you, “The Square” is an astoundingly funny movie—nearer a Todd Philips or Judd Apatow bro-comedy than your average European art-house award winner. The set up is simple: Christian (Claes Bang), head curator of the X-Royal, has his phone, wallet, and cufflinks stolen in an elaborate pickpocket scheme. Initially more bemused than irritated, he eventually decides to attempt to retrieve the stolen goods when he discovers the location of his phone broadcast online through a security feature.

Much like Tomas (Johannes Kuhnke), the protagonist of “Force Majeure,” Östlund’s previous film, Christian is entitled and self-assured, a man of dubious morality who seems to create his own problems—a Scandinavian Larry David, if one can imagine such a thing. Despite his prominent position, Christian appears entirely ambivalent toward art. Nevertheless, he’s a charming and witty conversationalist with a capacity to outmaneuver difficult questions that would make him the pride of most criminal defense law firms. In short, he’s the sort of lousy but charismatic character one can’t help but root for—a fitting Virgil for our trip into art world purgatory.

The film takes place in the days leading up an exhibition entitled “The Square,” in which—according to the museum statement, at least—the X-Royal will be transformed into, “a sanctuary of trust and caring, within which everybody shares equal rights and obligations.” The exhibition both satirizes “safe spaces” and hints at the ideological and conceptual emptiness of contemporary art more generally. A square, after all, is just a frame without a painting.

The architecture of the X-Royal reflects its politics. The museum is housed inside a stately Baroque palace styled after the official residence of the Swedish monarch. Perched atop this structure is a big black cube of glass and steel—ostensibly a recent addition, and one that clashes violently with the classical façade. The mash-up of architectural styles hints at a fundamental disconnect between the traditional and the modern, and suggests that the museum’s current leadership strives to be different for difference’s sake, without acknowledging their debt—physical, intellectual, and financial—to the past.

“The Square” succeeds as art-world satire because of the specificity of its references. The first piece we see at the X-Royal is a neon sign, styled after Bruce Nauman and Tracey Emin’s text-based work, that reads “You Have Nothing.” Elsewhere in the gallery is a piece composed of twenty-four identically sized piles of gravel—a strange sort of mash-up of Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ “Untitled” and Ai Wei Wei’s “Sunflower Seeds.” Absurd though the work may seem in the context of the film, similar pieces would certainly be found in actual contemporary art galleries and museums around the world. 

Though the “The Square” presents an unequivocal condemnation of the art world, the film cleverly includes an homage to creation itself. When Christian discovers the location of his phone, he and his assistant decide to compose a threatening letter to the alleged thief, demanding that the stolen goods be returned. Over a snack of roast chicken and red wine at Christian’s desk—tellingly, this is the only piece of work ever completed in the office—the pair set to work, joking and laughing as they debate the merits of various insults, sentence structures, and fonts. Their plan may be deeply flawed but the joy involved in its creation is infectious. The scene has little to do with the sequestered and anxiety-riddled creative process of the artistic genius, rather it is an ode to creativity of a more humble variety, the collaborative effort, something in line with a television writers room.

Over the course of its first ninety minutes, “The Square,” offers a relatively straightforward critique of the art world: that the entire thing is a fraud perpetrated by wealthy people and corporations in order to write-off taxes as donations so that institutions like the X-Royal can throw fancy parties in their honor in order to solicit even more donations. But the film’s climactic scene suggests something stranger and more complicated. Terry Notary, an American gymnast, stunt coach, and actor, best known for his motion capture roles in King Kong, Planet of the Apes, and Avatar, plays Oleg, a performance artist who performs as an ape and is enlisted to entertain the guests of a black-tie gala. The event quickly descends into violence and chaos as the lines between civilization and barbarity become blurred, then disappear completely.

Ultimately, however, the film’s moralizing second half is less successful and lags at times. Not only is it less funny, its arguments are not terribly convincing. Östlund has a keen eye for identifying the absurd, but his talents as a satirist don’t extend to those of a polemicist. Social commentary is often the basis of great comedy, but laughs are rarely an effective means of exacting social change.