Saltburn
DISCLAIMER: SALTBURN IS BEST EXPERIENCED WITH NO PRIOR KNOWLEDGE. BUT IF YOU NEED CONVINCING TO SEE IT, CARRY ON TO THE REVIEW.
There’s a house I yearn for in the suburban wilderness of Banjup. It’s not what the truly affluent would call fancy, but it certainly was for me. It belonged to my Pop, before he made the expected and very classist decision to sell it and move to Mount Claremont. I spent much of my childhood in this house and its two and a half hectare surrounds, rollerblading the length of its verandah, evading wasps beneath the surface of the pool and giving up on Hide and Seek due to its immense size. It was the setting for many tween sleepovers, my age inappropriate introduction to The Ring and the inspiration for my love of all things old and dusty. Attempts to recreate Kala (all grand houses have names) on The Sims were stifled by early 2000s graphics and, given the current economic climate, the likelihood that I’ll see her again is akin to ever paying off my HECs debt. So when I say that I kind of understand the motivations of the players in Saltburn, the titular house in Emerald Fennell’s beautifully depraved sophomore feature, I really, really do.
In a similar socioeconomic state to this writer is Oliver Quick (Barry Keoghan in all his glory), an Oxford scholarship kid with a tragic background and absolutely no mates. Turning up on his first day for the class of 2006 like a right briefcase wanker - blazer and all - he doesn’t make the impression he’d hoped on the Juicy Couture-laden rich kids. Despite changing into Oxfam casual, Oli remains generally unpalatable to almost the entire Oxford cohort bar a temperamental maths nerd (House of the Dragon’s Ewan Mitchell) and Felix Catton (Brisbane’s Jacob Elordi), the It boy who takes pity on him. When semester ends and Oli is faced with returning to his so-called life in Shitsville, Felix invites him to spend the summer at Saltburn, his familial country house in North Hampshire.
You can taste the 2006. [Image courtesy Warner Bros)
If Oli was expecting Downton Abbey or Mr Darcy’s Pemberley, the Catton family’s communal enjoyment of Superbad in the sitting room surely shatters his preconceptions about the aristocracy. It’s in this Bohemian scene that he’s introduced to Felix’s mother Eslpeth (Rosamund Pike in a standout role), father Sir James (the delectable Richard E. Grant), his wayward sister Venetia (Alison Oliver) and Elspeth’s friend and injured bird, Poor Dear Pamela (Carey Mulligan at her scene-chewing best). The exchanges are sharply comedic and our expectations for the standard of writing are set and upheld throughout the remainder of the film.
Oli settles into his role of novelty outsider, observing the interpersonal dynamics of the Cattons and trying to acclimate to their ways. He watches Felix exist beautifully through doors left ajar, inspiring lust, envy and potentially a bunch of other feelings that his houseguest finds hard to process. Oli tries his hand at shit stirring in mimicry of his bored hosts and discovers that he has a real talent for it. The more time he spends in the company of the 1%, the more he desires to be one of them. But the direness of his circumstances are the exact reason he’s welcome at Saltburn and it keeps him perpetually on the outside, like a moth at the window plotting its way in. Though the privileged and carefree Cattons don’t realise it, the trouble with inviting common folk into a castle is that once they develop the taste for blue blood, they will no longer want anything else.
Having tackled power dynamics in the righteously angry Promising Young Woman, Emerald Fennell established herself, for better or worse, as completely unafraid to go there. And while ‘there’ didn’t work for some, and was perhaps not executed as well in the final act as it could’ve been, it’s the exact film that Fennell wanted to make. To have such conviction and command over her first venture into feature filmmaking is admirable and with Saltburn, she’s only gotten better. With a clear vision for what Saltburn should be Fennell has selected the perfect cast to bring her whip smart dialogue to life, sourced a never-before-seen English country house (a very hard task) for the film’s most important character and plucked an extraordinary talent from the sinister entrapments of his Yorgos Lanthimos character and said “fuck it, I’m going to make him even more iconic.”
She came from Greece, she had a thirst for knowledge. [Image courtesy Warner Bros]
On her intent with Saltburn, Fennell says:
“I wanted to explore our fetish for British country houses, and the sado-masochistic relationship with the things we want but can’t have. I want to look at that tension between disgust and desire. The sticky part in between something that makes us feel good and bad.”
For me, Saltburn achieves its director’s intent and then some, even if it is a bit of a mess in parts. Debauchery redefined for a generation who will likely never enjoy such luxurious delights in real life, the film sets its story in a specific pre-social media era that is just far back enough for both nostalgia and cringe.
Framed in a 1.33:1 aspect ratio to give the illusion of “peeping in” to 2006, Saltburn enjoys a semi-period drama feel while nailing the kind of country gothic aesthetic that would do well on the ‘gram. The production design of the house’s interior, with its carefully selected modern flourishes blended with black tie dinners and dead relly paintings in gold frames, fits perfectly with the director’s decision to paint a picture of wealth that’s relatable but still out of reach. That the Catton crew are all reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows for the majority of their summer is a genius way of connecting the audience with these silly posh twats whose lives, apart from this one common thread, in no way resemble our own. It makes the lifestyle seem attainable for Oli and for us, before we’re callously reminded that summer will end and the curtain of class will once again descend and separate the haves from the have nots.
All hail Barry Keoghan. [Image courtesy Warner Bros]
Citing The Go Between, Brideshead Revisited and Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca as influences, Fennell manages to also whisk in the likes of The Talented Mr Ripley, Cruel Intentions and, by extension, Dangerous Liaisons in her contemporary tale of rich misbehaviour and how it looks from the outside. I was also reminded of Andrew Gaynord’s recent black comedy All My Friends Hate Me, an equally satisfying slice of the British upper class and their uncomfortable games.
Saltburn is darkly hilarious and a feast for the senses, but it will undoubtedly lose some people as it becomes entangled in its own glorious filth. They may dismiss certain moments as excessive and ridiculous, but these people also don’t see the appeal of drug fuelled raves and Sophie Ellis-Bextor, so make of that what you will. Fennell has no interest in leading her viewers back to comfort and nor should she; the strength of her film lies in its ability to make its guests overstay their welcome and smile as they watch their hosts squirm. And if you go in with the mindset that there really aren’t any victims in this story, you can more easily enjoy the tea.
Verdict
Laura ☆☆☆☆
Alex. ☆☆☆☆
Saltburn is in cinemas now and is best enjoyed in a recession.
