It was a steamy Brisbane January, and everyone was talking about the bathtub scene. I sat down to watch the film that I had heard so much about, but my laughter and eye rolls did not seem to be a response shared too widely.

*This post discusses the film in its entirety, it is best to save it for later if you wish to avoid spoilers*

Don’t get me wrong, I can appreciate many aspects of the film that were expertly accomplished. The screen was dripping with grotesque luxury, balancing the desirable and the grotesque is no small feat! The attention to detail with costuming, location, lighting, sound, and cinematography certainly paid off. The performances were superb, each actor cast perfectly for their character. The performances were brimming with confidence, sensuality and the veneer of civility.

I am a huge fan of Emerald Fennell’s work, having loved her critical exploration of society in both Killing Eve and Promising Young Woman. I have been recommending Promising Young Woman as one of the best films of the 21st century for years. So I was deeply surprised to have such a strong negative response to Saltburn.

The film starts with promising and clear intent. The music nerd in me rejoiced as Barry Keoghan strode into Oxford University to the calls of “Long live the King” from Handel’s coronation anthem Zadok the Priest. It was clear that this character was here to seek power. And in the same violent manner as kings past, that is exactly what he did.

I was rapt as we watched the complications and challenges of establishing a new relationship unfold before me. The complications of money in social settings, exacerbated by the haves vs the have nots. The awkwardness of trying to become friends in a pre-existing social group. The long and winding deep-and-meaningfuls as you get to know someone well. All of these felt familiarly awkward and exciting.

Then we went to Saltburn and met the older generation. Richard E. Grant’s spectacular performance as the benevolent lord with controlling tendencies absolutely sparkled. But I was particularly captured by Rosamund Pike’s interplay with Carey Mulligan’s Poor Dear Pamela. Again, navigating a close relationship where the social dynamics are so skewed is fascinating. The two performances are spectacular with glances, faces and bodies betraying the insecurities and vulnerabilities of each character delicately.

My problem is not with the scripting, direction, aesthetics, soundtrack, or performances. No, it is with the plot.

We soon begin to see Oliver’s sinister sensuality. It seems nobody is safe from Oliver’s smoldering gaze, nor his social manipulations. The long-standing relationships of Saltburn crumble left and right. Fennell deliberately uses the Grotesque, with Oliver committing more and more vile and repulsive sensual acts. As an English Literature major, the Grotesque is familiar to me. However, I don’t understand its role in this film.

If this film was attempting to explore the underside, or dark side, of inherited power then why was the character without it the one performing the grotesque acts? If this film is about exploring the grotesque parts of humanity, then why don’t we get to interrogate Oliver’s motivations?

It feels like the Grotesque was used to sensationalise the film, so that everyone would watch it for the bathtub scene.

While the image of Barry Keoghan dancing naked through the halls to Murder on the Dancefloor is sure to live on as an icon for decades, the ending left me frustrated. Was this supposed to be a surprise unreliable narrator story? The “revelatory” flash-backs suggest that was the aim. But what was surprising? We knew he wanted power from the first scene. We had seen aspects of his social manipulation. His involvement in the deaths was clearly implied by proximity. Where was the surprise?

Maybe then it was supposed to be a villain story, but we don’t know anything about the villain. Why did he do what he did? What were his motivations? Could it really be just Jacob Elordi’s abs and eyelashes? No, this story doesn’t quite achieve that either.

So what was the point of the film?

The film finally closes with a few lingeringly iconic visuals. We are supposed to believe that he inherits Saltburn following a series of supposedly non-homicidal deaths. We watch Oliver sit on top of Elspeth and rip the ventilator tube from her trachea with a stunning visual flourish. No sane coroner could possibly pronounce that death as natural causes. It would take the police approximately five seconds to figure out who did it.

The film had lost me.

But then again, that naked dance would have quite a different feel with Oliver in handcuffs. And maybe audiences would like that even better, don’t you think Mr Grey?