|
The misbehaviors of the very rich, and those who aspire to be very rich,
are, in a
sense, the main
topic of world
literature. Shakespeare’s
plays and
Balzac’s
novels would
collapse without
it. Even
those authors who
did not generally
focus on the very
rich, such as
Dickens, portray
poor people ground
down by the
cruelty of the
very rich and the
system they
created. In
America, Twain,
Dreiser,
Steinbeck, and Dos
Passos wrote
searingly of the
injustices created
by concentrated
wealth, while
Fitzgerald
specialized in
portraying the
damage caused by
the possession of
wealth.
(Hemingway
pretended to
ignore the
subject.)
And then there was
Evelyn
Waugh. Even
as Waugh skewered
the mindless
viciousness of his
London social set
in such novels as Vile
Bodies, Decline
and Fall, and A Handful of Dust, he
retained a
reverence for
wealth and
aristocracy that
was bound
inextricably with
his ultra-devout
Catholicism.
The result was Brideshead Revisited, an
exquisitely
written novel
about an
outsider’s
longing for the
bejeweled lives of
a family of
Catholic
aristocrats, and
his being drawn in
against his will
with their search
for salvation.
What if Waugh had never found God? What if he had stopped at A
Handful of Dust, which
takes a much more
jaundiced view of
aristocracy?
Or what if
Patricia Highsmith
had gone after Brideshead Revisited (and
Waugh) with a meat
ax? The
result would have
been something
like Emerald
Fennell’s Saltburn, although Saltburn’s Oliver
Quick isn’t
as successful a
creation as
Charles Ryder or
Tom Ripley.
Saltburn begins
with present-day
Oliver (Barry
Keoghan) saying,
“Was I in
love with
him? I
don’t think
so. I loved
him,” as
pictures flash on
the screen of his
late friend, the
handsome Felix
Catton (Jacob
Elordi). We
then arrive at a
flashback of
Oliver entering
Oxford in the
Class of
2006. To say
Oliver
doesn’t fit
in is an
understatement;
the only classmate
who will speak to
him is Michael
Gavey (Ewan
Mitchell), a
super-Asperger’s
math major.
The smart set in
his class, led by
Felix and his
mixed-race cousin
Farleigh (Archie
Madekwe),
won’t give
Oliver a second
glance except to
guffaw at him.
Then one day Felix
gets a flat tire
on his bicycle, on
his way to a
session with his
tutor.
Oliver offers to
lend Felix his
bike.
Touched by
Oliver’s
kindness, Felix
invites him into
his
circle—to
the consternation
of Farleigh and
others—leading
to an invitation
from Felix for
Oliver to join him
for the summer at
Saltburn, the
Catton family
estate.
The events at Saltburn form the bulk of the movie, which divided critics
more than any other film in 2023. If asked whether I find it a fascinating
descent into depravity or an annoying collection of cheap tricks meant to
titillate the audience, I would say, “Yes,” with a slight prejudice toward the
latter. The already infamous bathwater scene is only the most
provocative—or irritating—of the putative shocks Saltburn has to offer.
Fennell, cinematographer Linus Sandgren and production designer Suzie
Davies deserve credit for creating an-all enveloping gothic atmosphere and
for some wonderful bravura scenes, such as Felix giving Oliver a whirlwind
tour of Saltburn’s treasures. But the decadence of the Catton family and the
gradually revealed treachery of Oliver are not particularly shocking;
neither is the ending, twisted as it is.
Nevertheless, Saltburn is worth seeing, both for its hothouse atmosphere
and for its performances. Elordi’s Felix is a charismatic amalgam of
Sebastian Flyte and Dickie Greenleaf, Madekwe’s Farleigh a charmingly
cynical hanger-on. Alison Oliver as Felix’s suicidal sister Venetia has some
wonderful bravura moments, such as when she denounces Oliver from her
bathtub. The always reliable Richard E. Grant plays Sir James, Felix’s
father, as a teddy bear who suddenly grows fangs and claws when his
suspicions are aroused. There is also an amusing turn by Carey
Mulligan—star of Fennell’s previous film, Promising Young Woman—as
“Poor Dear Pamela,” a professional houseguest whose neediness elicits the
Cattons’ sympathy until it doesn’t.
The film’s two cynosures, however, are Rosamund Pike as Lady Elspeth,
Felix’s mother, and Keoghan. Pike’s Elspeth is first cousin to Absolutely
Fabulous’ Edina Monsoon, a privileged airhead absolutely convinced of her
own perspicacity; that assurance leads eventually to the doom of herself
and her family. As for Keoghan, he is as singular an actor as Christopher
Walken or Steve Buscemi. No other actor has his presence, which can most
readily be described in oxymoronic terms: sinister naivete. He has used
this quality playing characters malevolent (The Killing of a Sacred Deer) or
innocent (The Banshees of Inisherin). Saltburn offers him a chance to use
this quality to villainous effect. When Oliver dances naked around
Saltburn’s stately halls, it would be bitter irony to call him the happy genius
of the household.
For a more trenchant evisceration of the upper class—as well as a better
movie—turn to Alexander Payne’s The Holdovers. Written by David
Hemingson, The Holdovers never gets near a stately house, but it offers a
stern assessment of the very rich through the tale of three prickly but
ultimately lovable characters—all in their own ways victims of the ruling
class--who forge an unlikely bond.
The Holdovers begins at fictional Barton Academy, a New England prep
school, during the Christmas season of 1970. Paul Hunham (Paul
Giamatti) is a curmudgeonly, bourbon-guzzling Latin teacher who suffers
from a glandular problem that makes him smell like fish. Despised by
almost everyone on campus, he refuses to give As and delights in giving Ds
and Fs. He delights even more in baiting his overprivileged pupils. When
arrogant Teddy Kounze (Brady Hepner) says, “I can’t fail this class!”
Hunham replies, “Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Mr. Kounze. I truly believe
that you can.” Hunham gives only one student a B+--Angus Tully (Dominic
Sessa), a brilliant but cynical troublemaker in constant danger of being
transferred to military school.
Students at Barton generally do not go anywhere near the military. One
recent exception was Curtis Lamb, a Black scholarship student admitted as
a favor to his mother Mary (Da’Vine Joy Randolph), the school’s head cook.
Curtis’ formal military portrait is on display in Barton’s chapel,
memorializing his recent combat death in Vietnam. Mary, paralyzed with
grief and anger, is running on autopilot.
The Holdovers tells the story of how Hunham, Tully and Mary are forced
to spend the Christmas holidays together at Barton. It is in essence an exile
for all three. The reasons for Mary’s isolation are obvious. Tully, expecting
to travel over break to St. Kitts with his mother and stepfather, is stranded
after they decide to go alone. For Hunham—in trouble with the
headmaster (Andrew Garman) for flunking the son of one of Barton’s
major donors—this is only the latest of a lifelong series of humiliations, the
worst of which becomes apparent when the threesome take an impromptu
road trip to Boston.
Most viewers will remember The Holdovers for the touching, if transitory,
friendship that forms between the three titular characters. The even more
fascinating aspect of the movie, however, is how all three are stranded in a
world defined and run by bullies. Several American authors—Fitzgerald,
John Cheever, John Knowles, Louis Auchincloss—delineated the world of
the prep school, its denizens, and its alumni. Those authors make it
excruciatingly plain that the prep-school world produces graduates who
believe absolutely in their right to rule and to punish those who make
trouble. Mary is defined as a troublemaker merely by dint of her race, her
gender, and her rage at her son’s death. (Hunham uses Mary’s grief as an
object lesson for Tully—about how Barton students don’t go to Vietnam, except for Curtis Lamb.) Tully is ostensibly a member of the ruling class,
but his parents’ callous disregard and the disdain of his classmates signify
his status as a misfit. His archenemy Kounze, a rat-bully by any standard,
is the sort of student who rules at Barton, just as he will rule whatever
rarefied milieu he enters after graduation. (One of the saddest scenes in The Holdovers shows a younger student waving goodbye to his mitten,
which Kounze has tossed into a fast-flowing creek.)
As for Hunham, his classical scholarship informs his stance as a Roman
Stoic. He is fond of handing out copies of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations, the classic expression of Stoic philosophy. (“And not one mention of God!”
he adds with a flourish.) At the end Hunham demonstrates his Stoicism by
metaphorically falling on his sword in the headmaster’s office, with a
parting shot to the headmaster: “You are the human equivalent of penis
cancer.”
Payne has stated in interviews that he intended The Holdovers to be the
sort of humanistic, character-driven movie that was in vogue at the time
the story is set. (He even devised a 1970s-style logo for the releasing
company, Focus Features, which did not exist until just after the turn of the
millennium.) The Holdovers is indeed character-driven and richly
human—funny, poignant, and insightful. Hunham, Tully and Mary are
united by their being the targets of anyone with the slightest bit of authority
, even the waitress who refuses to serve Cherries Jubilee to Tully. (The
Seventies connection is especially apparent in this scene—a first cousin of
the “hold the chicken between your knees” sequence in Five Easy Pieces.)
The cast is superb down to the smallest bit part, and the three leads have
been cleaning up during awards season—deservedly so. All three reach
their zenith in the Christmas Eve party scene, in which each has a character
revelation—denoted, in Randolph’s case, by a single closeup—that will
leave your hearts bleeding on the floor.
At the end, Kounze, the headmaster, and Tully’s parents can feel smugly
satisfied that Barton is back to its status quo. Hunham, meanwhile, is
embarking on an odyssey, the outcome of which neither he nor we can
know. The last scene, however, demonstrates that we should never count
him out.
|
