I’ve put off watching this movie because I saw an absolutely scathing review of it in New York Times. But then it was all over the award shows, and curiosity got the best of me. I’m glad it did, too, because NYT’s notorious highb row can raise itself so far that it’ll slide right off its smug face. And most faces do not look good without eyebrows.
Anyway, the movie …yes, the movie was oodles of fun. Emerald Fennell, who became the new IT writer/director with Promising Young Woman, came back with its distant cousin, Promising Young Man aka Saltburn. Because that’s how the world works these days—in general, people are not imaginative enough to not want more of the same thing they’ve had before and enjoyed. Though to Fennell’s credit, she throws in enough variations, making her movie something like a cross between Talented Mr. Ripley, and American Psycho—the Crazy Rich Caucasians edition. The psycho in question is positively Dickensian-named Oliver Quick, and sure enough, ladies and gentlemen, this is a picaresque of sorts. Oliver becomes obsessed with Felix, a charismatic and gorgeous scion of a wealthy family, and strategically (by pretending to be a sort of Dickensian urchin) ingratiates himself into Felix’s and subsequently his family’s attentions. Once Oliver is invited to stay at the family estate, the eponymous Saltburn, all is right in his world, and relaxing, he starts to slip. And slipping, he starts to do other things. Soon, it’s tragedy after tragedy, with Ollie in the back with a knowing glint in his eyes. The curious thing here is that while on the surface the movie is an interrogation of rampant privilege, at its base, it’s actually a tale of a young psychopath. The ridiculously, laughably over-the-top wealthy aristocratic Catton family are indeed amusingly oblivious in their moneyed eccentricity but far from evil are actually warm and kind to Oliver. The more the story unrolls, the more you see that they are actually the victims of their good graces. And Ollie, humble, baby-blue-eyed Ollie, is the proverbial snake in the grass. Much like the Cattons, the movie can get over-the-top with some of its excesses, but always amusingly so, albeit at times also cringingly so. The actor who plays Oliver is remarkably committed, going to some outrageously wild length to convey his character’s particular brand of insanity. Rim job on the bathtub drain – sure. A full-on naked dance scene – absolutely. It’s most impressive, but then he has to work twice as much to make you forget how incredibly old he is for his role. The casting is the only aspect where the movie truly falters. Of course, movie business has for ages denied …well, ages. But the thing is, if art is meant to imitate life, then perhaps a bit more attention must be paid. Enough to make it seem credible … or at least, not distracting. The lead of Saltburn is distractingly old-looking for bis age. Oliver is meant to be college-age, early years. The dashing Felix—Jacob Elordi—passes the muster. The Cattons are played by Pike and Grant, with something like a two-decade age difference between them. Plausible, though in real life would be a stretch (teen pregnancy stretch for Pike to have mothered Ellordi). That neither the lead nor Pike have aged at all something like 14/15 years into the future is highly suspect. There are some peculiarly baby-faced actors out there who can probably pass for nineteen at thirty, but this movie did not cast any of them. Which is a fault, but boy, can he dance naked! Anyway. The movie is just over 120 minutes, but never lags or drags. It’s genuinely fun, the way movies about obsession tend to be, and well worth a watch. And just you try and not get “Murder on the Dancefloor” song stuck in your brain.
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