Its the moment of truth for Emerald Fennell, whose Promising Young Woman established the actor-turned-auteur (last seen playing pregnant doll Midge in Barbie) as a formidable new filmmaking talent. Building on the barbed sensibility she established with Killing Eve, the writer-directors zeitgeist-throttling feature debut lured audiences like a bright red candy apple, leaving them with plenty to debate after the cyanide-laced sugar high wore off. But what exactly did that pop provocation promise, in terms of where Fennells wicked-sinister imagination might go next? Surely something more satisfying than Saltburn.
But first the positive, as the shortcomings will swiftly make themselves apparent: A tall drink of Evelyn Waugh spiked with Patricia Highsmith bitters, Fennells sophomore feature boasts a distinctive, splashy look for its demented critique of pomp and privilege among Englands elitist upper class. Picture Brideshead reduced to ashes by Tom Ripley (Saltburn is the name of a terribly posh estate where half the film takes place). Presented in a nearly square Academy ratio that makes DP Linus Sandgrens garishly saturated colors and bold, Kubrickian visual sense all the more striking, the pitch-black satire announces its defiant slant via a homoerotic opening montage of one Felix Catton (Euphoria stud Jacob Elordi), stupid rich and patrician sexy (as in, all the debutantes want to do him).
Felixs introduction comes courtesy of Oliver Quick (Barry Keoghan), an instantly pathetic Oxford freshman infatuated with the popular upperclassman. Oliver insists that the story, which is bound to end badly, is more complicated than everyone has been led to believe. Except, it isnt. The story is actually infinitely more basic than Saltburn makes it out to be, and part of the films problem is that the ride is far more fun than the all-too-obvious destination. Even more than boogey-men, the 1% has to be the easiest target Fennell couldve possibly picked, and by the time the Cattons start to get their comeuppance, Felix has long since worn out his welcome (not with them but with us, the audience).
Oliver is a classic example of an unreliable narrator, and because hes played by Keoghan a squinty, slightly sinister-looking young actor whose very presence suggests layers of hidden intention no ones buying him as an awkward dweeb. Still, Fennell asks us to play along, as the cool (read: rich) kids tease poor Oliver. Hes ridiculed most mercilessly by Farleigh (Archie Madekwe), a relative of the Catton family who attaches himself to Felix like a barnacle. And so a rivalry is born, leading to all kinds of cutting glances between the two plus some spiteful gossip about Olivers drug-addict parents during which Felix does what he does best, which is beam like the golden trophy he is.
Somehow Oliver intuits that Felix has a way of adopting lost causes, and so he presents himself as such, winning Felixs favor in a most unconvincing scene involving a flat tire. The movies stylized enough to forgive certain contrivances, but that doesnt excuse Fennells preposterous disregard for psychology. As in Promising Young Woman, shes more focused on orchestrating shock attacks on the ruling class (there, it was the patriarchy, while here, its the aristocracy, guilty of being blithely oblivious) and cant be bothered with plausible human behavior.
By the end of the school year, Oliver has finagled an invitation to spend the summer at Saltburn, where he and Farleigh will be treated like needy pets for the familys amusement. Making excellent use of her opulent location (including an extended tour in which a blas Felix indicates portraits of dead rellies and other priceless props), Fennell paints the Cattons as garish caricatures the Royal Tenenbaums as Edward Gorey might have sketched them. Fortunately, she casts these roles with such colorful actors that its kind of a hoot to see how Rosamund Pike (who plays Elspeth), Richard E. Grant (Sir James), Allison Oliver (Felixs needy sister Venetia) and Carey Mulligan (whom everyone calls poor dear Pamela) inhabit characters exaggerated enough to suit the next Knives Out sequel.
Theyre the sort of shrill, spoiled creatures who pretend to be progressive around their new guest, but cant be bothered to bite their tongues, even when the target of their latest tirade is within earshot. After one of these gargoyles commits suicide, Elspeth dismissively remarks, Shed do anything for attention. The film does not hold life in particularly high esteem, leading to a rather predictable final stretch in which a succession of funerals is called for plus one entirely uncalled-for sequence in which Oliver strips off his clothes and desecrates someones grave. And that might not even be the films most outrageous scene, considering what Ollie does with Felixs scummy bathwater (a scene which reminds how much better The Talented Mr. Ripley handled the sexual tension between its titular sociopath and his upper-class prey).
Confronted with a sea of blandly indistinguishable content, Fennell wants to make an impression, embracing the bizart-house strategy (pioneered by boundary-pushing A24 movies) of baiting audiences with something theyve never seen before, and which theyll be obliged to discuss with others. Its all part of the meme-ification of movies, and Fennell seems fairly savvy about loading the film with salty one-liners and visual zingers. Such attention-grabbing devices are not enough to raise Saltburn to the level of the countless films it resembles, from Cruel Intentions to Six Degrees of Separation. But why did it have to resemble them at all? Fennells debut promised a fearless original voice and style. Saltburn certainly has attitude, but nothing new to say.