Unsurprisingly, Saltburn has taken the internet by storm. The cast is hot (in all meanings of the word), the production design is gorgeous and detailed, the needle drops are fun and nostalgic.
The film stars Jacob Elordi, of Euphoria and The Kissing Booth fame, and Barry Keoghan, who was nominated for Best Supporting Actor in The Banshees of Inisherin at the 2023 Academy Awards.
Ostensibly set in 2006, the plot follows Keoghan’s character, Oliver Quick, a seemingly shy, timid, but exceedingly intelligent, boy who quickly becomes infatuated with his posh, upper-crust Oxford classmate Felix Catton, played by Elordi.
After Oliver confides in Felix, crafting an elaborate story about a drug addict mother and dead father, a sympathetic Felix invites him to his family’s titular estate. Once at Saltburn, Oliver infiltrates the Catton family, quickly revealing his true violent and depraved nature.
It’s a tale of lust, desire and psychopathy. It’s sexy, it’s daring, it’s twisty. Right? I’m not so sure…
As a card-carrying-fan of The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999) I couldn’t help but feel that Saltburn was simply a watered-down version of a superior piece of inspiration.
The Talented Mr. Ripley, set in the 1950s, follows Tom Ripley, played by Matt Damon, a young man who is sent to Italy by wealthy shipping magnate Herbert Greenleaf to persuade his son Dickie, played by Jude Law, to return to the United States. Ripley poses as a Princeton – Dickie’s alma mater – graduate, studies Dickie’s interests and mannerisms, and luxuriates in his beautiful Italian abode.
The two films are rife with themes of privilege and wealth, multiple instances of lustful murder, and obsessive, pathological lying. They are also both period pieces with extravagant sets and up-and-coming casts.
Yet one of them portrays its ideas with a deft and elegant hand, and the other seems intent simply on scandalizing the audience into oblivion while having nothing new to say.
Saltburn’s second-time director, Emerald Fenell, has denied its similarities to the work of Patricia Highsmith, who wrote the original novel The Talented Mr. Ripley as well as other oft-adapted psychological thrillers, including Strangers on a Train.
Yet the similarities between Saltburn and The Talented Mr. Ripley are far more than skin-deep, as there is a notable number of smaller details that both films share. Though these details may simply be coincidence, a fan of the latter will no doubt notice at least a few of them while watching the former.
Case in point, Saltburn’s now infamous “bathtub scene.” Since the movie’s release, TikTok and Twitter have been awash in posts extolling its shock factor. I won’t describe it here, but if you haven’t heard about it yet, it is a stone’s throw from most corners of the internet.
The Talented Mr. Ripley had its own bathtub scene 24 years prior, and did it better. In it, a bathing Dickie brandishes his sexuality like a weapon in front of Ripley. A game of chess between the two men represents the strategic game of emotions the two are playing with each other. The cinematography is gorgeous and sultry – but subtle.
My sentiments about Saltburn’s “bathtub scene” and its surrounding discourse, if it could even be called that, are a microcosm of my opinions about the entire movie. The scene is presented in a way that is meant to be appalling, kinky, and disgusting. But it falls flat, lacking any substance and failing to develop Oliver’s character in any meaningful way. This issue isn’t helped by a convoluted plot that only becomes less believable as the film nears its ending.
Other shocking scenes – or more aptly, scenes that the movie would like to tell us are shocking – most notably a period sex scene, are actively cringeworthy. In a film so intent on “pushing boundaries,” why is something natural and human being painted as an act of transgression?
The old fallacy of “style over substance” is a more-than-adequate description of Fennell’s directorial style. However, it seems as if she took it as a piece of advice, rather than a warning.
Fennell excels when she is able to show off her stylistic chops but is rarely able to do so without sacrificing story or meaning. Jacob Elordi in a v-neck sweater does not a meaningful movie make, as much as I wish that were the case.
Fennell also chooses to include characters watching Superbad and singing karaoke to Flo Rida’s “Low,” both of which were released at the end of 2007, not in 2006. While these anachronistic details are miniscule, they represent Fennell’s overall sloppiness and lack of attention to detail. Why make the active choice to set the film specifically in 2006 at all?
The first segment of the film, which is set at Oxford, is the clear standout in terms of pacing and enjoyment. Elordi has been saddled with a strangely-written part: the magnetic and gregarious, if entitled, Felix, who the audience is constantly told is manipulative and but never actually displays any of these traits. Yet, Elordi still succeeds in humanizing a character in a film full of caricatures.
On the other hand, Felix’s The Talented Mr. Ripley counterpart, Dickie Greenleaf, is presented as a complex individual almost immediately. We hear from his girlfriend Marge, portrayed by Gwyneth Paltrow, that he is known for casting a short-lived aura of irresistible attention before tossing friends aside like dirty laundry.
But we also see this character flaw in action when Dickie chooses to ditch Ripley for his obnoxious and equally wealthy friend, Freddie Miles, leaving Ripley to wander Rome alone. Freddie is played to perfection by the late, great Phillip Seymour Hoffman.
Elordi has more than demonstrated his ability to play pure evil as Nate Jacobs in Euphoria. So why doesn’t Fennell let him flex these muscles even once?
The final scene of Satlburn, the coda, is unsatisfying and puzzling. In it, Oliver, fully nude, prances through Saltburn’s lavish estate to Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s 2002 hit “Murder on the Dancefloor.” Disregarding the on-the-nose music choice, which I can often look past, the scene feels crafted in a lab for TikTok edits and a cheap way to get in some last few bits of nudity.
Ultimately, Saltburn is like a store-bought birthday cake. Exciting and eye-catching, it feels like an event. But when you bite into it, it falls apart, leaving you with a saccharine aftertaste and a vague feeling of nausea, hoping for something more.
Although I was clearly not a fan of Saltburn, I would still encourage interested readers to go out and watch it while it’s still in theaters.
Too often, it seems that today’s movies are made to appeal to the largest audience possible, rendering differing opinions and interpretations almost impossible. If anything, Saltburn is the perfect movie to argue about over the dinner table. Just maybe not with your parents…
Have you seen Saltburn?
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