Saltburn Review: Barry Keoghan Is Outstanding In 2023's Bleakest Comedy [Fantastic Fest]

"Saltburn" is a different kind of monster movie.

Playing like a gothic romance (in the traditional sense of the word) retold through the lens of Patricia Highsmith's Ripley stories, it's one of the bleakest films of 2023, and a real bad time at the movies. In a good way — this is a film that revels proudly in its darkness. Because writer/director Emerald Fennell, who proved adept at pushing the right buttons with the similarly cruel "Promising Young Woman," knows that monsters can be seductive, that we can and will have sympathy for the devil, and that we'll follow an especially clever creature to the ends of the earth if they prove interesting enough.

And Oliver Quick, played by Barry Keoghan with the kind of shocking bravery that has catapulted him to the top of the "most interesting actors in the world" list over the past few years, is a special kind of monster. He's too devious, too smart, to hate. He's the infestation in the attic that you can't remove. You admire its persistence. If you can't destroy it, you begrudgingly respect it. Fennell knows the appeal of a carefully orchestrated, slow-motion car crash. Even when you can see "Saltburn" taking the curve too fast, its passengers doomed, you lean in closer. The only thing more exciting than a hero to root for is the villain who finds his way out of every predicament.

While "Saltburn" is a tonal cousin to "Promising Young Woman," with its blend of pitch-black comedy, aggressive social commentary, and gnarly thriller theatrics, Fennell's direction adapts to the change in surroundings. The slightly gritty, grounded look of her previous work gives way to something more gothic and lavish, a camera whose framing suggests a grand regency romance or a Jane Austen adaptation, but whose contents would make Alfred Hitchcock smirk. "Saltburn" never takes the plunge into full-blown thriller territory, but it does flirt with Hitchcock's wryest thrillers. "Strangers on a Train" and "Rope," his films about brilliant psychopaths, come to mind. The former was an adaptation of Patricia Highsmith, to whom Fennell's script owes a massive debt. If you're looking for this generation's riff on "The Talented Mr. Ripley," one that captures the seductive power of spending time with a very, very, very bad fellow, you've come to the right place.

But what of that very bad fellow? What of Oliver? And what of Barry Keoghan, coming off a career-best performance in "The Banshees of Inisherin," a performance that exposed a broken, lovable soul buried under brilliant, dimwit comedy? Keoghan's work here couldn't be more different, but the film leans on what we expect from actors who look like him. Keoghan's small frame and soft face suggest an inherent intelligence and innocence, which makes the sharp edges that emerge, the profound cruelty, all the more startling. There are actors we want to see read the phone book out loud, but Keoghan belongs to a different category: actors we want to watch lost in thought. The gears are always turning behind Oliver's gaze, and Keoghan ensures we want him to keep getting what he wants, because we want to see those gears turn again and again.