Saltburn

Oh no, I haven't ignored Saltburn among the year-end releases. I've just been waiting for Saturday, which is traditionally "Take Out the Trash" Day.

What This Movie Needs is a Good Autopsy

or

The Talented Mr. Rip-Off

 

"Let me tell you about the very rich. They are different from you and me. They possess and enjoy early, and it does something to them, makes them soft where we are hard, and cynical where we are trustful, in a way that, unless you were born rich, it is very difficult to understand. They think, deep in their hearts, that they are better than we are because we had to discover the compensations and refuges of life for ourselves. Even when they enter deep into our world or sink below us, they still think that they are better than we are. They are different."

F. Scott Fitzgerald

The observation of the rich is a deep well for writers to exploit, whether they're exploitative or not. Whether it's "Brideshead Revisited" or "The Great Gatsby" those of us with lesser means can always have a good chortle at the eccentricities and excesses of the very well-off (who are so well-off they don't give a rip what you think).

 

Saltburn, by the very talented Emerald Fennell (she made Promising Young Woman, which I liked) fits right into that category, while also pinging off a couple other sources that would spoil the movie before we even get started spoiling it good and proper.

It follows the adventures of young Oliver Quick (Barry Keoghan—who is becoming dependably reliable for a good performance no matter the movie), freshman at Oxford, who does quite well grade-wise, but is a bit of a dullard, socially. He's on a scholarship. His clothes are cast-offs and second-hand. He's not exciting and not fashionable. Actually a literal outsider, watching the "cool kids" and the "in-crowd" from an envying distance.

Until the day comes when preppy Felix Catton (Jacob Elordi) gets a flat in his bicycle tire when he's hurrying to a class. Oliver rolls up and offers young Catton his bicycle to make the time. And Felix is floored by his generosity. And kindness. And takes Oliver "under his wing", as it were. He's taken by Oliver's story about how he grew up in a home of abuse and addiction, and how he got a scholarship by the skin of his teeth in a chance to escape and make a better life for himself.

And at the end of the year, Oliver is stunned by the news that his father has died, and Felix, out of kindness and sympathy, invites Oliver to stay the summer at his family's estate, Saltburn, spend time with his family and maybe heal a little. Oliver gratefully accepts. I mean, who wouldn't?

Saltburn being the country estate of Sir James Catton (Richard E. Grant) and Lady Elspeth Catton (Rosamund Pike)—she being a former fashion model and he, well, he's a "sir." Also there are Lady Elspeth's friend, Pamela (Carey Mulligan, all too briefly)—in the credits, she's listed as "Poor Dear Pamela"—Felix's sister Venetia (Alison Oliver) and their American cousin Farleigh (Archie Madekwe)—who doesn't like Oliver and probably never will. Lady Elspeth immediately takes to Oliver and Felix's sister eyes him like he's a veal cutlet. 

 

And then, the fun begins.

Oliver, who had previously been something of a staid character, begins a campaign of either seducing family members or blackmailing them, whichever will be the most effective to get them on his side or out of the house. You start to wonder if he has an evil twin that took the bus-trip to Saltburn and replaces him, but, no, it's the same guy. He's just written differently, and if, within 15 minutes of his estate arrival you haven't figured out that Oliver is not who he pretends to be, you don't know many sociopaths. Needless to say, once the first change in behavior happens, nothing else should surprise you no matter how extreme.

It must have been awfully fun to write. However, somewhere along the way "structure" was dispensed with and then just tossed as "getting in the way." That would be in the same way that, once the bodies start dropping, a semi-competent medical autopsy would raise red flags and have the bobbies put an end to the movie right then and there with a proper "What's all this, then, eh?" No amount of "let's-put-one-over-on-the-rich" sympathy can obfuscate the "rules don't apply" cherry-picking of the script. Unless it's some political parable, but even then, the sheer blinkerdliness of what's prioritized makes one think that Fennell just wanted to make it easy on herself.

One can't fault her, however, for the direction (other than her persistence in lingering on things once the points been made). She gets lovely performances out of everyone—Grant's childishness, Pike's obliviousness, and Elordi manages to sell the worldliness/naivete combination—and Keoghan fully commits to the moment, depending on what moment it is. And her shot choices are lovely with a keen eye towards detail and, at times, brutally close in a way that could betray any mis-steps by an actor. There aren't any.

Because the writing of the thing isn't their fault. And it's what keeps Saltburn from being an upper-class melodrama rather than just a pretender.

Promising Young Woman

#Me3

or

";^)"

One thing I think everyone can agree on: Promising Young Woman would be a terrible date movie.

But, even as I say that, it might be a very appropriate date movie.

The debut film of Emerald Fennell, showrunner for the second season of "Killing Eve," is a black comedy fueled by rage, inspired by the sort of activity exemplified by the #MeToo movement, more so for the systematic ignorance that was exposed by it, rather than by any surprises that there is existence of sexual exploitation in the name of unequal power dynamics. It's an old story to women. What was new was that it would be called out, that what had been hushed up for so long would be made an open secret, and that, if there was any sort of justice, there would be consequences for it. Payback is a bitch, but the ones using it aren't.  

It's a seizing of power that was assumed wasn't there, not unlike the 1969 Stonewall uprising when gays decided they'd had enough oppression and would not be relegated to the shadows of shame, and once they'd seen the light, saw, too, that they were disarming the very weapons used against them. That is the destruction of the fantasy of power. For power can only live up to its definition if it is agreed to by both parties: the ones inflicting it, and the ones subjected to it. Without that common ground, it does not exist. "No" is a very powerful and forthright tool against it, but only when it is backed up by resolute action.

Cassandra Thomas (Carey Mulligan) has an off-beat dating ritual. She'll go, unaccompanied, to bars and as the evening progresses, alone and drunk, she'll attract the attention of the leering lounge-lizards, hunting in packs. As in Nature, they'll figure out the weakest prey and go in for the kill. Cassandra is easy pickings. We see her, arms out-flung, steadying herself between the headrests of naugahyde couches, when the most aggressive of the pack (Adam Brody) approaches her and takes a charitable stance in her situation. She's obviously in a bad way—she's alone, vulnerable, and three sheets to the wind. He's a good guy and offers to take her home; a knight in shining intentions. He helps her navigate the stairs and into an Uber, and—as long as they're on the way to her place—why don't they stop at his for a little night-cap, hair of the dog?

When "Mr. Nice Guy" gets her behind closed doors, his intentions of getting her home have completely changed, and instead offers her some cumquat liqueur (has there ever been a more ludicrously suggestive-sounding booze?) which she gasps is "terrible," he kisses her—to which she does not respond...at...all—but when she suggests she needs to lie down, he's only too helpful. She's conked out, and right at the point he's taking down her knickers, her eyes pop open, she sits up, looks him right in the eye and says "Hey! What're you doin'?" He can only stammer that she seems more than sober. "I said...'Hey! What're you DOIN'!?"

Bait...and switch.

Run title sequence...set to "It's Rainin' Men."

Cassie, it seems, has been doing this a lot. She's 30 years old, still living in her old bedroom at her folks' (Clancy Brown, Jennifer Coolidge). She has a dead-end job at a coffee-shop and has no intention...actually has no interest...in moving out or moving on. She knows she's stuck—or rather is choosing to be stuck—and the only signs of life in her are her snarky sense of humor and her clubbing activities, which are never violent, but more concerned with teaching self-proclaiming "nice guys" that they're actually misogynistic date-rapists taking advantage of low-hanging fruit.* She's telling these opportunistic letch's that they're assholes. And she's been doing it...a lot.

Maybe for six years. We're looking at obsession, and with that knowledge, a visual joke of Cassie opening her notebook and marking down another notch—among hundreds—at first gasp is a laugh, but on second thought is troubling. Why is she this way? Sure, there's sympathy when she badgers the next guy "We've got a connection? What do I do for a living? What are my interests? What's my NAME?" But, what's the motivation besides an anti-misogyny mission. Is she trying to overthrow a paternalistic power-structure one guy at a time?

We get a little bit of her history when a guy walks into the coffee shop and recognizes her—they went to med-school together. Now, he's a pediatrician and she's...well, she's working in a coffee shop and spitting into his coffee because she dropped out of med-school (even though she was at the top of her class). He asks her out, but she re-buffs him—even though he knowingly drinks the coffee. He comes in again, and he's a genuinely nice guy. They have coffee. They have lunch. They go to a movie. They pass his place and he asks if she wants to go up for....and no. She refuses. Adamantly. He apologizes. She says it's not him, it's her. But she kicks a garbage can in frustration. All alike.

At this point, anything further as far as description will be full of spoilers. But, one can speak in general terms that her encounter with a former school-mate sets off a more specific level of activity, laser-focusing her ambitions to address the past, while also meting out some revenge-lessons to both men and women (she's an equal-complicity judge and jury—as the old Monty Python line goes "she's cruel...but fair!"). No matter the righteousness behind her actions, though, there is the persistent uncomfortableness of them and the fear that she will cross the line—although, any permanent damage she does is to complacency.

It does walk the tightrope, though, and leaves the audience there, as well, slightly off-balance. Fennell is as fearless, challenging comfort-zones, layering the soundtrack with sexualized songs (that contextualize the atmosphere of a predatory and demarcated culture) and pertinent classical pieces—there's also a couple of pointed references to The Night of the Hunter. If the film has a weakness, it might be her use of religious imagery, which she sneaks in subtly, but often enough that you notice, casting Cassie as a Joan of "Arc-hetype," intensifying the risk as she goes off to do battle in a good cause, even if that cause might abandon her. One line hits home hard: one of her victim bleats "It's every man's worst nightmare, getting accused of something like that." She replies "Can you guess what every woman's worst nightmare is?"

"Can you guess what every woman's worst nightmare is?"

Promising Young Woman gives you the same black-comic back-slap as Dr. Strangelove—of admiring the cleverness, but horrified at yourself for admiring it, not knowing whether to laugh or throw up. It's a comic tragedy. It's a martyr's farce. Everybody gets their just desserts in the end, but sacrifices had to be made, so there's no inclination to pump your fist in the air in triumph. The world still sucks, the problems are still there, and the only consolation is that this little film is smart enough that it might make some impact, be they as small as notches in a notebook.

Yeah, maybe it would make a good date movie. The after-film discussion would certainly clue one in as to whether should be another.

* Fennell's casting, like everything in this movie is fascinating. For her collection of assholes she's hired guys who've been TV heart-throbs in the past and probably had their posters on a lot of teens' walls. It's just that little added texture of twisting the knife for any thoughts of complicity.