Having not yet processed Emerald Fennell’s latest feature film, Tessa Ndjonkou explores how it successfully merged into the gothic canon.
Put ‘Felix Amica’ on, empty your mind, maybe even run a bath (ifykyk) and start writing about one of the best movies you’ve seen this year. Seems simple enough. Sure. Not if the movie you’re planning to write about is Emerald Fennell’s latest. The award-winning director of Promising Young Woman (2020) returns with a contemporary ode to the gothic. Countless reviews and think pieces have been dedicated to her long-awaited take on the nebulous non-genre and nearly a month after its arrival on Amazon Prime, it deserves to be put on the table once more.
Although many speculate that the explicit content within the film is what makes it so deeply unsettling and memorable, it might be worth considering that such an analysis does a disservice to both the audience and the source material.
While the graphic scenes are a key component of the plot, what sets them apart from the rest of the film is the context they are shrouded in. “Made for shock value”, “Gratuitous” and “Overly visual” are all words that have been used to characterize these scenes and in doing so, have revealed an inability of contemporary audiences (and perhaps even critics) to approach film with the same reverence they would any other form of media. Books have summaries, exhibits have reading keys, movies have directors, and Saltburn is a prime example of why we should pay more attention to what they tell us. In recent years, it appears that studios are churning out anything that will keep audiences entertained and in doing so have given us the impression that movies are created solely for audiences. We would do well to remember that screenwriters and directors are first and foremost artists and that their work is more often than not cathartic in some way. In Vanity Fair’s ‘Anatomy of a Scene’ segment, Fennell stressed the importance of the gothic as a leading thread for Saltburn: ‘Saltburn is a tale of desire’.
The Cambridge Companion to Gothic Fiction states that while gothic film is not a genre per se, it is a coalescence of images, themes and styles heavily reliant on an emphasis on sexuality and audience response. In that same monograph, Misha Kavka states: “It tantalizes us with fear, both as its subjects and its effects but through spectacle” - think Rebecca (1940), Dracula (1931) or Suspiria (1977). Saltburn has no shortage of spectacle.
Homoerotic subtext, sexual vampirism, and the dark underbelly of the hedonism of the elite are all found under the umbrella of desire and explored with thoughtful nuance which makes Saltburn a well-paced and brilliantly-cast feature.
Homoerotic subtext, sexual vampirism, and the dark underbelly of the hedonism of the elite are all found under the umbrella of desire and explored with thoughtful nuance which makes Saltburn a well-paced and brilliantly-cast feature.
Of course, Jacob Elordi was cast as the old-money heartthrob and of course, Rosamund Pike and Richard E. Grant would play his dotting, out-of-touch parents. It’s almost instinctive. On that note, Barry Keoghan’s incredible though admittedly unhinged performance as Oliver Quick is one we won’t soon forget. Although Venetia (Alison Oliver) and Farleigh (Archie Madweke) tie off this ensemble cast, they stand out due to their earnest performances and their unexplored stories. Most notably, the topic of race is alluded to but treated somewhat clumsily during an altercation between Felix Catton (Jacob Elordi) and Farleigh (Archie Madweke). Despite this, the chemistry between the younger and older cast is palpable and paramount during climatic scenes.
To sum up, if you think you’ve ever seen a movie like Saltburn, I can guarantee that you haven’t. It’s not The Talented Mr.Ripley 2.0 or Call Me By Your Name for straight people - it’s much simpler than that. It is a gothic tale of desire that cannot exist without commentary on sex, class and beauty. Frankly, this is a story we’re all familiar with. So sit back, relax and enjoy a jubilatory dance (perhaps not a nude one) because weird cinema is back and we should all be grateful. No need to be sanctimonious about it.