Emerald Fennell lured audiences to the theaters for her second feature film, “Saltburn,” with promises of a two-hour ode to Jacob Elordi. However, what follows the quiet academic tale and expectations of budding queer romance in the film’s first act is a series of increasingly outrageous displays of hedonism and excess. Elordi is magnetic as ever in his role as charming, uber-rich party boy Felix Catton in this languorous portrait of obsession; a far more swoon-worthy role, I would argue, than his recent performance as Elvis Presley in Sofia Coppola’s “Priscilla.” But perhaps an even more alluring force is Barry Keoghan as Oliver Quick, the quiet outcast who becomes enraptured with Felix from across the halls at Oxford.
In 2006, Felix and his wealthy, good-looking circle command the Oxford campus. Oliver, with his quiet bookishness and less-fortunate background, is essentially invisible. He watches Felix traverse their shared spaces with his larger-than-life persona, lingering on his rambunctious smile and the way the afternoon light washes over his body as he lies below a window. Oliver helps Felix get to class after his bike tire goes flat, a show of character that convinces Felix to begin to let this outsider into his world of carefree, cool-guy debauchery. Their relationship grows more intimate, and after learning of Oliver’s difficult home life, Felix invites him to spend the summer at his sprawling English estate, Saltburn, alongside his eccentric family and the scary butlers who roam the halls.
Fennell takes her time lavishing in the beauty of Saltburn’s grounds, its endless halls of artifacts and champagne-soaked evenings; but critics have widely rebuked her attempts to answer the questions her examination of wealth poses. Vulture critic Allison Wilmore goes so far as to say that “all [Fennell] can serve up is a twist that’s less eat the rich than be the rich.” It is true that Fennell’s critique fails to go much further beyond the sentiment that rich people are bad people. She forces us to sit with the discomfort of watching Felix and his family act completely detached from the real world, always nonchalant about even the most serious of matters. It becomes particularly eerie as they remain sitting straight-backed and smiling in their formal evening wear amidst the increasing intensity of violence and deceit as the film draws to a close.
I agree with the critics that Fennell fails to bring her class critique home in the resolution of the film. She misses a number of opportunities, most notably when Felix’s cousin and Oliver’s tutorial classmate, Farleigh, invites Felix to acknowledge the race of his butlers—a subject that she never revisits. Where “Saltburn” excels, however, is in its depiction of desire and obsession, which is enough to make it a worthwhile watch. This is to say that “Saltburn” is not devoid of meaning; while it is undeniably impeccable in its aesthetic choices, it is not a film that is empty beyond its looks.
Obsession is a hallmark of gothic literature, which is currently having a renaissance. Many reviews cite “Brideshead Revisited” as a clear reference for “Saltburn,” though Emerald Fennell also stated in an interview that she took inspiration for one of the film’s most striking scenes from “Wuthering Heights.” It is no coincidence that Fennell felt inspired to draw upon these novels when the most popular contemporary literature in recent years has maintained a similar gothic sensibility: stories of obsession (all with the same homoerotic undercurrent as “Saltburn”) including Melissa Broder’s “Milkfed,” Jen Beagin’s “Big Swiss” and the widely beloved Otessa Moshfegh’s novels including “Eileen” with its soon-to-be-released adaptation starring Anne Hathaway.
With novels like these shaping the literary canon of today, it is only natural that films like “Saltburn” begin to delve into the gothic territory. There is a reason we tend to love these stories; they are some of the most revelatory about human nature, daring to explore its depths further than the mainstream is comfortable with. While the classic gothic novels scandalized and titillated audiences by suggesting sexual desire, the modern gothic takes it to a new level with increasingly graphic depictions of acts of violence and (usually queer) sexuality. The visuality of film serves to bring these representations of repressed desire out of the private conscience and into public consideration.
Just as “Wuthering Heights” reveals the intimate details of Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw’s yearning for one another and the devastation of their fate, “Saltburn” examines how desire shapes Oliver and his connection to Felix. Oliver is defined by his longing—for companionship, for understanding, for prosperity—which drives him to new extremes in gothic stunts (yes, even beyond Heathcliff digging up Cathy’s body). Barry Keoghan delivers an outstanding performance and leaves audiences stunned at every turn by morphing from the outcast we can all identify with into a cunning agent of chaos, driven by a hunger that might just be present somewhere inside all of us.
So, it is true—“Saltburn” does not reveal much about the class system—but it is a fascinating character study that is more relevant to us than we might think. It would be a disservice to Fennell to claim that her film has nothing to say when it presents such a poignant rewriting of the gothic imagination. It seems Fennell set a certain expectation for herself with her first film, “Promising Young Woman,” by making her political messaging the central focus. “Saltburn” reigns equally worthy of appreciation for its performances, its thematic significance and, yes, even for its aesthetics—we should be able to appreciate them even if Fennell does not say as much as she could about eating the rich. Hopefully the final dance scene set to Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s 2000s pop hit “Murder on the Dance Floor” featuring a nude Keoghan proves to be a spectacle we can all let ourselves enjoy.
Great review with fascinating insights.