Honestly what was the point of this scene and the scene of him f***ing his grave? We know by the end of the film that Felix was never the goal and that he hated him. So why is there these creepy scenes with him obsessed with Felix? Just feels like it's there for shock value

Nah why he talking to you like that 😂😂😂

Hung as f***k

They tryna compare this to babylon… I can’t stand for that

Is this safe to watch with family?

I haven't watched this yet (and I'm hearing so many different opinions about it) but honestly his short role in The Green Knight perfectly used his weirdness and physicality/mannerisms. Made me a fan with like less than 5 min of screentime. He was also owned his screentime in banshees

absolutely

He’s goated
Sacred deer is a top film of the past decade

Think the symbolism is around vampiric feeding

Oh you're right! I totally forgot that vampires feast on the nut of their victims and f*** their graves! Silly me

Don’t think there’s a reason for it. Oliver is just a weird freaky guy lol

this makes me imagine them sittin on that couch just watchin barry hang dong

Sacred Deer is a movie I really enjoyed that I'd probably never watch again haha. Yeah, he was really good in it

Watching some of these scenes with him in the room must’ve been interesting

“Bruh did you really f*** that niggas grave and drink his bath water???”

"Your d*** really that big bro bro?"

reminds me of this review i read by @comrade_yui on LB

the supposedly ironic appreciators of saltburn will cry out in joy at its ridiculous artifice, its clipped structure which is prime fodder for pat tumblr gifs/video essays/tik toks aplenty, its refurbished and sanitized queerness which checks all the representational boxes without an ounce of real emotion, all in service of providing a soft simulacra of dark academia, hitchcock and patrica highsmith -- a story of false surfaces for an audience buried in their glass houses, gawking endlessly at the do's and don'ts of the rich and powerful; class 'satire' made by the upper classes for those with no class mobility.
and saltburn definitively works in that capacity, and surely these enjoyers of it deserve its meager delights. as for the rest of the human race, we remain unlucky enough to experience another piece of the festering emerald fennell cinematic project, which makes one pine for those innocent days of her forgettable roles in dire danish girl disasters or as one of the thousands of disposable television writers who grace the small screens that i never have the misfortune to think about.
yet the academy awards rarely miss a chance to reward loud mediocrity, and so here we are in this year of our lord with yet another toothless picture from fennell, shot in square-ish 1.33:1 ratio so you know that she's a real artist, featuring 'classic' 2000s needledrops every five minutes from the killers and flo rida to appease aging millennials who are eager for new cliches targeted at them -- bad form doesn't even begin to cover it, there is no form.
fennell, like many of her contemporaries, is in love with the concept of making a film more than the details of what makes a film compelling, so she embraces mannerism to tell her sun-drenched gothic romance -- keoghan, elordi and the rest are stretched like putty into every corner of the frame in a sickening parody of generic arthouse aesthetics (otherwise known as A24, but here imitated by amazon). the use of taller framing to heighten the power of the human face is well-attested by dreyer, bresson and all the great heroes of cinema, but you and i both know that fennell has no such spiritual grace to grant her saltburn squad -- much like the yearned-after opulence at the center of the story, the filmmaking is designed to insulate itself away from contingency and perpetuate its own self-important grandiosity. wow, there's a costume party where the two main characters dress up as an angel and devil? a slow piano melody plays along with a character's sadness?? a POV tracking shot establishes the character being introduced into a world of privilege??? don't stop the presses, smash them up, we gotta winner here.
what is made more important than you engaging with the film is that the film stands apart from you as a discrete set of unitary moments which can be evaluated without any coherent artistic or ideological perspective -- and herein lies fennell's conservatism. by creating a story that mixes and matches so many power dynamics (class, race, gender, sex) she might believe that she is creating a complex network of relations and nuance, but in actuality it muddles the waters of all of them because she has no conclusion to these affairs other than "lol wealth drives you crazy i guess", and more specifically "the desire for wealth drives you crazy if you aren't born with it and already take it for granted", which i almost respect in its sneering aristocratic disdain for the sheer idea that a lower class person might have a legitimate grievance in wanting a better life. it's not even really an upstairs/downstairs dynamic because it's between the middle class bourgeois and the holdovers of england's vast generational wealth, so i suppose the takeaway doesn't even have the smartness of bong joon-ho's parasite, which at least understood the anger and resourcefulness of the lumpenproletariat -- so the provocation here is exclusively punching-down at strivers and those who 'don't know their place'. lovely.
the effort i've spent writing this review is likely more than fennell gave while authoring and then turning in this first and only draft to her fellow producers -- a sophmore slump would necessitate that she had somewhere to slump from, and promising young woman was itself a promise (or a threat) that things weren't getting any better from there. no, now we witness the flailing, the smug interviews, the continual misanthropy, the canned controversy, the five-star sentence-fragment letterboxd reviews by people who only watched this because it was directed by a woman and features young male movie stars that they're lusting after. and every year we have another one of these embarrassing joke films that are soon forgotten by their fair-weather champions (remember don't worry darling? no, i don't either). more grist for the mill, more sacrifices for moloch, the wheel turns. nothing changes.

reminds me of this review i read on the internet

Early in the Oxford portion of Saltburn, Oliver reads an essay to his professor. Both the professor and Farleigh, the only other student in the tutorial, try to hide their extreme boredom. But Farleigh eventually criticizes Oliver for using “thus” four times. To which Oliver responds that Farlegih’s attacking the style rather than the substance (which is generally a cheap debate tactic often used when the person has nothing substantive to say or wants to muddy the waters). Farleigh, though, counters with the notion that style is everything.
That dialogue is something that’s easily forgotten as Saltburn rolls on but it’s essentially the thesis of the film. Oliver begins as someone who has prioritized substance rather than style. Which is why one of the first things we see is the reaction to how he dresses. On the opposite end of the spectrum, you have the Cattons. They’re in possession of all the style anyone could ever want but the substance is quite lacking. Except for Felix. He’s the balance. Someone who has both style and substance.
Viewed this way, Saltburn becomes a story about the pursuit of style. It’s less a commentary on class dynamics (like Parasite) and more a cautionary tale about the kind of person who would sacrifice all their substance in order to possess things and appear a certain way.