There’s a scene early in Emerald Fennell’s new film, “Saltburn,” in which Barry Keoghan’s character Oliver tries to defend and prove himself to his wealthier Oxford classmates and professors by demanding that a peer critique the content of his essay rather than the style. In the context of the film, Oliver is imploring his more well-off peer to look beyond how he presents himself and see who he really is. However, it’s difficult to read it as anything other than Fennell preemptively shielding herself from criticism of her overly stylized but utterly meaningless visual choices. Even if we are to give her the benefit of the doubt and judge “Saltburn” based on its content and not its form, all that’s left is a thematically empty and dramatically inept work.
To her credit, Fennell’s technical ability as a director is strong. She knows how to use color to set a mood — romantic, sexy, creepy, or scary. She and cinematographer Linus Sandgren create striking images through harsh shadow and stark contrast. One just wishes any of it served a purpose. The images are trying so hard to be memorable that they lack an emotional context through which they will stick with the audience. The visual style doesn’t even fit the useless period setting. Films in 2006 were not shot in the Academy ratio, and shooting on film was on the way out. The film looks “good” in that it is aesthetically pleasing, but there doesn’t appear to be a practical reason for why it looks that way. The choices don’t stem from the material.
Fennell wants to balance camp genre films that garner cult followings and prestige social dramas that win big awards. “Saltburn” is neither fun enough to be the former nor enlightening enough to be the latter. Some moments might be shocking if you read about them — Oliver slurping up bathwater after Felix masturbates in the tub, Oliver having sex with Felix’s grave, a tracking shot that follows Oliver as he dances around his new mansion with his dick swinging about — but the sense of self-importance that the entire film carries makes these moments feel out of place and fall incredibly flat.
“Saltburn” lacks the freedom that truly provocative films have. Everything in “Saltburn” is too calculated. Maybe that overcalculation is the point, as we learn at the end that Oliver has been scheming his way into this family to kill them off and take their fortune. But the twist is so dumb and devoid of ambiguity that it ruins what little the film had going for it. It isn’t that the twist doesn’t make sense, but that it’s deeply unsatisfying. It’s not hard to see that the scheme has been happening, but at least the film had a sense of mystery until that point. The twist is Fennell reaching too far for a big, shocking climax that doesn’t really work for the story.
I can’t even say I respect Fennell taking a big swing because “Saltburn” doesn’t swing at anything. There is provocative material but no risk because the provocation doesn’t make you feel anything. The viewer never cares about anything happening on screen, so big reveals or shocking moments immediately wash over you. At least “Promising Young Woman” had something to say about rape culture and tried to subvert the revenge thriller in a pop feminist way. One could argue that “Saltburn,” instead, claims that lower-class people are just jealous of what the wealthy have and will do anything to get their hands on it. Not a great argument from a filmmaker who has tried to paint herself as a progressive ideologue.
