Saltburn
Emerald Fennell follows the tonal act she did on her Oscar winning movie “Promising Young Woman” with an even trickier and more ambitious spectacle in “Saltburn”.
“Saltburn” is, like the 2020 film which got her five nominations including Best Original Screenplay at the Academy Awards, successful in cutting our expectations of how people should behave in society. This is her own take on a story that has been told many times before she brings it down to earth with some uncommonly candid talk about what goes on behind closed doors among people who are supposed to know better.
An update of “The Talented Mr. Ripley” set in the mid-aughts, “Saltburn” is wickedly mean delicious and often surreal with great production values and performances that cut deep. As writer-director, she means to amuse us as well as provoke thought, and does both for much of the time. But this second feature finds Fennell frustratingly uncertain of how to end things gracefully. “Saltburn” lingers about ten minutes past where it needs to be, taking our hands and leading us through its protagonist’s machinations when a tantalizing sense of ambiguity would have served it much better.
Barry Keoghan gives another highly disquieting characterization here as Oliver Quick, a scholarship student who arrives at Oxford University as a freshman and gradually works his way into popularity. Dangerous, possibly psychotic weirdos are Keoghan’s stock in trade (e.g., “The Killing of a Sacred Deer”), but he can shift subtly from one thing to another within seconds; here he wants to be Felix Catton (Jacob Elordi), a beautiful god like aristocrat who ambles through life with cool detachment and an almost childlike sense of noblesse oblige. Needy and creepy though he may appear at first glance Oliver wants not just to be with Felix but to be him, and the patience of his sociopathic long game is something to behold.
Elordi was more than a little bit magnetic as Elvis Presley in “Priscilla,” and it is easy to see why both men and women would fall all over themselves for this guy. Among those who do is “Gran Turismo” star Archie Madekwe as Farleigh, Felix’s queer cousin, a bit of an outsider himself, he takes that much greater umbrage at Oliver’s designs upon the cool set. Madekwe has a way with bitchy blasé asides, his delivery a perfect match for Fennell’s material.
All these dissensions and interferences come to a simmer over the summer at Saltburn, Felix’s vast family domicile. The tour he gives Oliver upon his arrival “It’s like ‘Downton Abbey,’ ” she marvels; “I’ve never seen it,” he replies is well-paced, and the droll way Fennell introduces the rest of Felix’s entitled clan elicits wave after wave of laughter. Rosamund Pike is an absolute hoot as Felix’s glamorous mother, Elspeth, a former model with a penchant for melodrama and casual sadism. Richard E. Grant is sweetly vacuous in an almost childlike way as Felix’s father, Sir James. Alison Oliver is Felix’s chicly tragic sister, Venetia, her incisive, third act bathtub monologue could bring down the house. And Carey Mulligan returns from “Promising Young Woman” in a quietly uproarious supporting turn as the family houseguest, Pamela (or “Poor Dear Pamela,” as she’s billed), who is such a narcissistic drip that she has no idea she’s overstayed her welcome by weeks.
And then there is Farleigh (Billy Howle), who sees through everyone and everything but would never dream of jeopardizing his position.
The creamy visuals from Oscar winning “La La Land” cinematographer Linus Sandgren invite us to bask in all this old world grandeur until it curdles into something garish and sickening. Long, lazy days of poolside tipsiness segue into long nights of fancy dress debauchery, midway through one such dinner party, Fennell serves up what may go down as 2021’s most perfectly nauseating use of shellfish onscreen while meanwhile Oliver stalks his prey more or less one by one.
Some people will be shocked by what happens next, some people will giggle. But either way, the movie has laid its cards on the table and revealed who this central figure really is, in all her primal depravity.
Between languid afternoon viewings of “Superbad” and sunlit road trips with the Killers blasting on the car stereo, Oliver continues to insinuate himself further into the lives of Felix’s family and friends and as soon as you think you see where this psychosexual Grand Guignol is headed, Fennell veers it off in a direction darker than you could have imagined. Then she explains what she did, and why which isn’t necessary; Keoghan is disturbing enough in how he indicates his character’s lingering and longing, how desperately he seeks solace within this heedless world.
Fennell isn’t saying anything new about how the rich are different, she’s just saying it louder (with music supervisor Adam Willis’ eclectic soundtrack turning hip-hop classics into chamber pieces) and meaner (wait till you see what happens to those two poor parrots). For an hour or so of escape, that might be enough.
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