By Zoë Paddock

On finishing Emerald Fennell’s Saltburn (Fennell,UK,2023) my friend turned and said to me ‘Good luck writing a review on this.’ It must be noted that as the credits rolled on this unfathomably shocking dark comedy, we were collectively stupefied. This, however,didn’t suppress the overwhelming compulsion to laugh. The title is apt, there was some sort of chemical burn - was it an assault to the eyes or to the brain ?

Distilling the plot into its basic components can be described as follows: Keoghan’s Oliver harbours an obsession with Elordi’s Felix when they meet at Oxford University.It is still to be discenred whether this is romantically, erotically or platonically motivated. The relationship plays out when Oliver stays at Felix’s house, Saltburn, for the summer. This distillation, however, does ommit some surreal and startling sequences involving vampiric activity, a bath, a grave and Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s Murder on the Dancefloor.These shots in particular could be what Vulture was referring to when it labelled the film as ‘All Vibes and Empty Provocations’.

The vibes in question are provided by uproarious dialogue, eccentric and deeply loathable characters and the aesthetically sumptous set piece of Saltburn itself. Some of the most quotable and out of pocket contributions come from Rosamund Pikes’ Elspeth, Felix’s mother. Though she is insensitively flippant, simultanoesly deep and vapid, her serene portrayal anchors the film. As with all of the characters inhabiting Saltburn, she walks the line of insanity in a guise of cool self assuredness. Alison Oliver’s portrayal of Venetia (Felix’s sister) typifies this, she is a more aloof, gregariously dressed Elspeth, clad in animal print and sequins. Towards the end however, her portrayal tips into drama school-esque melodrama which shatters the illusion of the nuance she previously set up. Elordi’s Felix is perhaps the only character who, though at times petulant like a spoiled man-child ,has the propensity for genuine kindness which he bestows upon Oliver. He captures the unmistakable upper class English drawl of languid, easy confidence. He is a deliberate stereotype, which is not to say Elordi doesn’t display nuance, but that Fennell positions him as an apt vessel for fascination and obsession. To describe Keoghan’s Oliver Quick is like describing Patricia Highsmith’s Tom Ripley , as many critics have highlighted, though he never displays the guise of affability that Ripley does. Rather he is a stalking predator disguised as fumbling prey.

The sticking point isn’t the performances , but rather the plot laden with the aforementioned ‘ Empty Provocations’. Though I cannot attest to ever being bored whilst watching it , on reflection I couldn’t tell you what Fennell was trying to say. She suggests that it’s an exploration of the ‘fetishisation of stuff’ , which does come to fruition as Oliver’s obsession transfers from Felix to the entity of Saltburn itself. However, a discourse on class and privilege was negated . Not every film has to have a moral core to be considered good , yet Oliver is fetishised for his troubled upbringing. Crucially,whilst though the viewer may be abhorred ,Oliver never is, as he leans into this fetishisation. Though it satirises the upper classes( the dialogue is peppered with remarks such as ‘that will be a perfect occasion to wear my suit of armour’) , it presents them as a worthy fascination, whilst not admitting the irony of Fennells undeniably privileged background.

The culmination of the plot is also where critics have taken issue with the film. I thought the pacing was remarkably better than had been insinuated, with its slow burning exposition seeming purposeful, so the eye can wonder at will. Admittedly, it does descend into chaos .I can’t decide whether its narrative twist affirms the genre conventions it teases, ending in a fireworks display of the macabre, or if it verges on the farcical.

Fennell presents a diegesis in which you don’t feel entirely comfortable , of which you could not assuredly say you ‘enjoyed’. Yes, there is an undeniable visual splendour in the lounging, languid bodies by the lake, spiral staircases and aeshetic billowy shirts, but I brand it indulgent, not enjoyable.