When a film dares to call itself 'smooth, glassy, and impenetrable,' it’s either a masterpiece of subtlety or a missed opportunity wrapped in pretension. Rosebush Pruning falls squarely into the latter category, and personally, I think that’s a shame. What could have been a sharp exploration of family dysfunction and wealth’s corrosive effects instead feels like a hollow exercise in style over substance. Let’s dive in.
The Family That Prunes Together...
At its core, the film revolves around the fractured dynamics of a wealthy family, led by eldest brother Jack (Jamie Bell), who introduces his new girlfriend Martha (Elle Fanning) to the clan. On paper, this setup screams tension—and it does deliver, but not in the way you’d hope. The family’s history is as twisted as their rosebushes: their mother (Pamela Anderson) was violently killed by wolves, a detail that feels both absurd and symbolic. But here’s the thing: the film never fully commits to exploring the psychological fallout of this trauma. Instead, it leans into shock value and aesthetic opulence, leaving the audience with more questions than answers.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how the film tries to balance its dark comedy with a critique of the elite. The siblings—played by a talented cast including Callum Turner and Riley Keough—are portrayed as vapid and self-absorbed, their lives a series of superficial gestures. Take Anna’s (Keough) petty guitar-strumming moment when she learns Martha is a gifted musician. It’s a wry, almost funny scene, but it also feels like a missed opportunity to dig deeper into the characters’ insecurities. In my opinion, the film’s reluctance to peel back the layers of its characters is its biggest flaw.
Style Over Substance: A Cinematic Trap
One thing that immediately stands out is the film’s visual and stylistic choices. Director Karim Aïnouz clearly has an eye for beauty, from the catwalk-ready costumes to the alluring architecture. But here’s the problem: all that glossiness ends up overshadowing the story. It’s like serving a beautifully plated dish that tastes bland. The film’s aesthetic is undeniably striking, but it doesn’t compensate for the lack of emotional depth.
What many people don’t realize is that style can be a double-edged sword in cinema. When used thoughtfully, it enhances the narrative. When overused, it becomes a distraction. Rosebush Pruning falls into the latter trap. The film’s sterile brutality—think rising body counts and overworked metaphors—feels more like a checklist of 'edgy' elements than a cohesive statement. If you take a step back and think about it, the film’s attempts at provocation come across as forced, almost desperate for attention.
The Script: A Shallow Dive
Efthimis Filippou, known for his work with Yorgos Lanthimos, brings his signature bleakness to the screenplay. But unlike Dogtooth or The Lobster, which use their coldness to explore profound themes, Rosebush Pruning feels superficial. The script never bothers to interrogate the messy, sad malaise just out of sight. Instead, we’re left floating in a sea of metaphors and sterile drama. This raises a deeper question: Why does the film feel so afraid to get its hands dirty?
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 dysfunction. Rosebush Pruning, by contrast, feels sanitized. It’s as if the filmmakers were so focused on creating a visually stunning piece that they forgot to infuse it with soul. What this really suggests is that not every attempt to emulate a classic succeeds—especially when the original’s grit is replaced with gloss.
The Bigger Picture: Eat-the-Rich Fatigue
In an era where 'eat-the-rich' narratives are a dime a dozen, Rosebush Pruning fails to bring anything new to the table. The ensemble’s collective vapidness is taken too literally, and the film’s critique of wealth feels more like a superficial jab than a thoughtful examination. From my perspective, this is where the film loses its chance to resonate. Audiences are craving stories that go beyond surface-level satire, and this film doesn’t deliver.
What’s truly ironic is that the film’s title, Rosebush Pruning, hints at the idea of cutting away the excess to reveal something beautiful. But the film itself never manages to prune its own excesses. The result is a rosebush that’s all thorns and no roses—beautiful to look at, but ultimately unsatisfying.
Final Thoughts: A Missed Opportunity
Personally, I think Rosebush Pruning had all the ingredients for a compelling film: a talented cast, a provocative premise, and a visually stunning aesthetic. But it falters where it matters most—in its storytelling and character development. The film’s smooth, glassy surface may be impenetrable, but unfortunately, that’s not a compliment. It’s a barrier that keeps the audience from connecting with its characters or caring about its story.
If you take a step back and think about it, the film’s biggest failure is its inability to balance style with substance. It’s a reminder that cinema, at its best, should do more than just look good—it should make us feel something. And in that regard, Rosebush Pruning falls short. Here’s hoping that future films learn from its missteps, because the world of cinema deserves better than a rosebush that never blooms.
