When a film is described as 'smooth, glassy, and impenetrable,' it’s hard not to feel a mix of intrigue and frustration. That’s exactly how I felt reading Empire’s review of Rosebush Pruning, a movie that seems to promise depth but ultimately leaves you standing on the surface, admiring the polish but never breaking through. Personally, I think this is a perfect metaphor for the film’s larger issue: it’s all style and no substance, a flaw that’s becoming increasingly common in cinema’s attempt to tackle wealth, family dysfunction, and taboo themes.
What makes this particularly fascinating is the pedigree behind the project. Efthimis Filippou, known for co-writing Yorgos Lanthimos’s bleak, satirical masterpieces like Dogtooth and The Lobster, brings his signature provocativeness to the table. But here’s the thing: provocation alone isn’t enough. In my opinion, the film’s reliance on shock and opulence feels like a missed opportunity. It’s as if the filmmakers were so focused on creating a visually stunning, ‘eat-the-rich’ fable that they forgot to give the audience anything meaningful to chew on.
One thing that immediately stands out is the family dynamic at the heart of the story. The violent death of the mother (played by Pamela Anderson, a detail that feels both intriguing and out of place) sets the stage for a reunion that’s anything but heartwarming. Jamie Bell’s Jack, the eldest brother, tries to introduce his girlfriend Martha (Elle Fanning) into this toxic mix, but the real drama lies in the siblings’ inability to connect authentically. What many people don’t realize is that family dysfunction on screen often works best when it’s grounded in emotional truth, not just surface-level weirdness. Here, the characters feel more like caricatures than real people, their vapidness taken to such an extreme that it becomes hard to care about their fates.
Callum Turner and Riley Keough stand out as the middle brother and sister, respectively, but even their performances can’t save the script from its own shallowness. Take the scene where Anna, upon learning Martha is a guitarist, pulls out her own guitar in a petty act of one-upmanship. It’s a wry moment, sure, but it also feels like a metaphor for the film itself: it’s all about posturing, never about connection. If you take a step back and think about it, this is a movie that’s more interested in its catwalk-ready costumes and alluring architecture than in exploring the messy, sad malaise of its characters.
This raises a deeper question: Why do we keep making films about the wealthy and their dysfunction without ever digging beneath the surface? From my perspective, Rosebush Pruning falls into the trap of mistaking style for substance. The brutality is sterile, the metaphors overworked, and the body count feels more like a plot device than a genuine exploration of consequence. Even the film’s attempt to shock feels tired, especially in an era where ‘eat-the-rich’ narratives are a dime a dozen.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the film’s inspiration from Marco Bellocchio’s Fists in the Pocket. Bellocchio’s 1965 classic is a raw, unflinching look at family and violence, but Rosebush Pruning lacks that same urgency. What this really suggests is that paying homage to a masterpiece isn’t enough if you don’t bring something new to the table. The film’s aesthetic glossiness seeps over its jagged edges, leaving us with a movie that’s smooth and glassy but ultimately impenetrable.
In the end, Rosebush Pruning feels like a missed opportunity. It’s a film that wants to be provocative, stylish, and meaningful, but it fails to balance these ambitions. Personally, I think it’s a reminder that cinema needs more than just a heavyweight cast and a provocative premise—it needs heart, depth, and a willingness to explore the messy truths beneath the surface. Otherwise, you’re left with nothing but a beautiful shell, and that’s a shame for everyone involved.
