Fennell's 'Saltburn': A Dickensian Tale with a Hollywood Twist

Emerald Fennell, known for her Oscar-winning script for Promising Young Woman, has turned her keen attentions to the nuanced class dynamics of Great Britain, bringing to the screens a vibrant albeit familiar narrative ambitiously titled Saltburn. At its crux lies Oliver Quick, a Dickensian protagonist, portrayed convincingly by Barry Keoghan, famous for his breakout role in The Banshees of Inisherin. Quick, armed with nothing but his wit, hopes to surmount his underprivileged background by securing a spot at Oxford University.

Under Fennell's discerning lens, Oliver finds himself at the centre of a teeming array of exuberant characters, presenting a cinematic universe reminiscent of a Dickens novel. The director dexterously manages to balance presenting a rich panorama bustling with activity without overshadowing the film's protagonist, a testament to her expertise behind the camera.

The narrative thickens as Oliver is noticed by Felix Catton, a quintessential rich boy played by the stately Jacob Elordi, who invites him to spend the summer at a sprawling countryside mansion. Welcomed amicably by Felix's father, Sir James Catton (Richard E. Grant), and less so by his mother Elspeth (Rosamund Pike), Oliver commences his summer at the Catton household.

However, the tonal shift with Grant's stagey over-acting marks a narrative snag in an otherwise captivating plot, sending the film scurrying towards a whimsically eccentric climax: a sublime nocturnal midsummer-night’s-dream party. This turn of the tide, while intriguing, leads to a tangible divergence from the authenticity exhibited earlier, diminishing audience involvement.

Despite the narrative inconsistency, Keoghan's versatility in the leading role surfaces as commendable. He transitions seamlessly from an unattached, carefree child to a shrewd intellect. Notably, Fennell's passion to include as many narrative elements as possible suggests a vitality that pulses through the course of the film.

Now, in the quintessential Prentice wit, the film is much like Oliver's odd charm - captivating, ambitious yet hard to overlook its flaws. There's a wild Summer party where the plot seems to sway towards an eccentric dance, perhaps having consumed a little too much cinematic Champagne, but you really can't hold it against them - it's a party after all.

Fennell's directorial hand is at once subtle and bold - recalling the audacity of a sunlit British afternoon, filled to the brim with eccentricities yet utterly absorbing. It's not a Shakespeare sonnet, certainly, but resembling a well-dressed guest at a house party, it most certainly catches your eye.

It's a curious marvel - the film - much like Oliver himself, though it fumbles when it reaches for more, it's when it settles into its own rhythm that it truly engages. The hesitant smile, the upright charm - a film in humble pursuit of truly finding itself, and isn't that a bit like all of us?

Yet what charms me most about all this is Fennell herself; the woman seems to possess an insatiable compulsion to draw in as much life as possible into her work. It would be a shame if she were seduced by the glitz of Hollywood and lost herself in a universe of superheroes, for a storyteller as dynamic as her belongs among the windswept moors and blinking city lights of Saltburn.