“All British Films Are About Class”
On the first day of my British Cinema class during my semester abroad in London, my professor told us that at the end of the day, in one way or another, all English films came down to class struggles and class divides. In the moment, I’m not ashamed to say I doubted him; it’s not difficult to doubt sweeping claims such as that one, because surely it can’t be true, right? Over the course of the semester and in the nearly two years that have elapsed since, though, I haven’t been able to get his words out of my mind, and while I’m sure there might be exceptions to his assertion (as there are exceptions to all assertions), I have found it to be consistently accurate. Often the thematic elements are hidden or allegorical, often they’re implied in the specificity of the British-ness of each film and therefore lost on a foreign audience. Often, they’re on purpose, as is the case with Emerald Fennell’s recently-released Saltburn.
Starring Barry Keoghan, Jacob Elordi, and Rosamund Pike, Saltburn follows middle-class student Oliver (Keoghan) after he’s invited to his magnetic, gorgeous, and rich classmate Felix’s (Elordi) home (if the mansion can even be called that) for the summer. By premise alone, this film is commenting on class, but where Saltburn differs from its other English counterparts is in its implied politics.
The film has been referred to as ‘psychosexual’ by numerous media outlets, and while visually this label rings true — a certain bathwater scene and a later incident at a grave come to mind — the nature of these scenes play as if they were included purely for shock. If anything, they’re present to highlight the level of Oliver’s obsession with Felix, but that tension is equally visible through Keoghan and Elordi’s performances and dynamic. Much like these scenes individually, Saltburn as a whole poses intriguing premises and questions, only to either let them fall away or answer them in the most bourgeois way possible. In the lead-up to the film’s release, Fennell’s latest work was repeatedly compared to Anthony Minghella’s 1999 thriller The Talented Mr. Ripley. But where Ripley succeeds in its critique of class hierarchies and expectations, Saltburn leaves you with a bad aftertaste and hanging questions about what it’s really trying to say.
Boiled down perhaps crudely, Saltburn plays as a story about a young man from a perfectly average middle class background — someone afforded a decent array of privileges when combining his financial status with his gender and race — who becomes obsessed with an obscenely wealthy classmate and then proceeds to lie and cheat his way into said classmate’s life to gain his trust and then slowly take over his family and home. As Oliver’s lies fall apart in the latter half of the film (a twist that is visible from a mile away), instead of spending time exploring the reasoning behind the facade, the film cuts away, leaving its audience to assume that Oliver is just like that for no particular reason — no reason, except perhaps his class, which is the only established feature about his background. While Felix is, granted, often seen through Oliver’s eyes, he’s still portrayed as relatively perfect; his treatment of his cousin Farleigh is a notable departure from his ordinarily easy going demeanor, but even then, the film doesn’t seek to portray his cruelty as cruelty. Instead, Felix’s insensitivity (and his mother Elspeth’s, for that matter) is depicted as almost necessary given their situations. Of course they have to kick people out of their house, of course they have the right to cut off an in-need family member, because after all, they’ve already performed enough charity for them, and really, shouldn’t they just be grateful for anything at all?
Films about certain societal inequities tend to be told from the perspective of those who fall victim to the structural differences, and for good reason; no average person wants to watch a film that tells them to feel sorry for the people with more than them. What then, does Saltburn have to offer, a film which seemingly argues in favor of class divides? Felix (et al) mistrusts Oliver for good reason, given Oliver’s actions against him and his family. Every year he invites someone from a worse-off situation than himself home for the summer, and every year something happens (though none as bad as Oliver’s year). Saltburn, through its gleaming costumes, genuine performances, and stunning cinematography, appears to advocate against the middle class from the upper class’s perspective. Almost as if it’s saying: Oliver is a good-for-nothing usurping bastard with no need for anything he doesn’t already have, and if you let him into your home he’ll eat your food and sleep with your sister and take your life. Don’t trust people like him if you’re someone with more, because any little crumb you give them will have them coming back for the whole loaf. For a film from a country which excels in its ability to depict class struggle through art, Saltburn spits on the names of the homoerotic class films that precede it, from Another Country to Maurice to Prick Up Your Ears. Filmmaker and critic Paul Schrader said it best:
“Saltburn flips the Talented Mr. Ripley formula in which the lower class arriviste undermines the establishment with his charm and beauty. In Saltburn the lower class boy is plain and the object he pursues is beauty personified. It’s an inversion which should not work. And it doesn’t.”