The story opens in postwar New York, where Barbara is cementing her position as a society doyen despite her husband Brooks’ reluctance: he’s the heir to the Bakelite fortune, she’s a reckless free spirit who just gave up on her acting ambition to raise his child. As a result, when the cracks start to widen and the true darkness at the film’s heart is revealed, the impact on the viewer is immeasurably heightened. This is not a criticism: for at least the first half it seems very much like an adaptation of a classic American novel, or a slightly darker take on Wes Anderson: a crackpot upper crust family’s trials and travails around European high society. The film is lush, beautiful, and ultimately deeply unsettling, but never feels true. The film tells the story of Barbara Daly Baekeland and her son Anthony, their extravagant lifestyle as American expatriates in Europe throughout the 1950’s and ‘60’s, their incestuous sexual relationship, and the eventual murder of the mother at the hands of the son. It is a disquieting experience to find out after the fact that the events depicted in Tom Kalin’s new film Savage Grace actually happened.
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