Emerald Fennell’s “Saltburn” arrived with a wave of anticipation. Whispers of dark comedy, twisted social satire, and visual opulence had us all primed for a cinematic cocktail, ready to be both shaken and stirred. But after savoring the last drop, I couldn’t help but feel…flat. Was it just me, or did “Saltburn” promise a banquet and deliver a stale canapé?
Let’s start with the undeniable: visually, “Saltburn” is a stunner. The recent history of the early 2000s brought to life with music from The Cheeky Girls and of course Sophie Elis Bexter was shot beautifully.
I struggled to find a single soul in “Saltburn” to root for. Each one is a grotesque caricature, teetering between unhinged and apathetic. Their privilege oozes like overripe fruit, their actions driven by a blend of ennui and self-indulgence.
For some, the aesthetic indulgence might be enough. But for those seeking a truly impactful cinematic experience, “Saltburn” leaves a distinct hollowness in its wake.
Now, it’s important to remember that these are just my own, admittedly disappointed, reactions. I encourage you to see “Saltburn” for yourself and form your own opinion. Perhaps the decadence will intoxicate you, the satire resonate, or the characters spark a different kind of engagement. But for me, “Saltburn” was a beautiful shell filled with an empty void, a shimmering mirage in the cinematic desert.
