The recurring knock on filmmaker Emerald Fennell (“Saltburn,” “Promising Younger Girl”), in some circles a minimum of, is that she is all vibes: a stylist with a imply streak and no substance, an empty shit-poster responsible of confrontational rage bait. Naturally, reactions to her jagged work can bristle, however the critique’s subtext typically reads like skepticism towards her cinematic sincerity, a distaste that sits behind the throat for something that looks like superficial incitement.