Emerald Fennell isn’t shy. After Promising Young Woman, it was pretty clear she’d rather make audiences squirm than coast on politeness. Saltburn (2023) doubles down on that ethos.
What starts as a posh Oxford drama slowly mutates into a savage, sweaty, and surreal psychosexual thriller set deep in the hollow bones of British wealth.
It’s not just about what privilege looks like; it’s about what it smells like, what it tastes like, and what someone like Oliver Quick is willing to do to crawl inside it.
And no, you’re not watching a typical queer drama or a straight-up horror. You’re in something more slippery: a twisted queer revenge fantasy wrapped in satire, soaked in sweat, glitter, and bathwater.
Plot Setup
Set in the early 2000s, Saltburn opens at Oxford, where we meet Oliver Quick (Barry Keoghan), a scholarship kid awkwardly navigating the moneyed world of the elite.
He’s soft-spoken, observant, and clearly hungry, not just for opportunity, but for something deeper and darker. His eyes land on Felix Catton (Jacob Elordi), the golden boy of the university: aristocratic, beautiful, and impossibly relaxed.
A bike tire incident is the starting point. Felix notices Oliver, decides he’s interesting, and just like that, a door opens. Oliver gets a seat at the elite’s table, well, sort of.
What begins as an innocent friendship starts to tilt as Oliver is invited to Saltburn, Felix’s family estate, for the summer. It’s a labyrinthine mansion straight out of a gothic fairytale, complete with a garden maze, towering rooms, and a cast of deeply odd residents.
By the time you realize how far things are about to go, you’re already in too deep.
The House of Catton
Saltburn (the place) is its own character. The camera worships its architectural grandeur, its staircases, ceilings, and decadent bedrooms.
It doesn’t feel lived in so much as preserved, like a museum of the upper class, where the aristocracy lives like performance art. Everything drips wealth, but there’s rot underneath.
Here’s who Oliver meets:
- Elspeth Catton (Rosamund Pike): Felix’s mother, soaked in self-absorption, armed with the kind of deluded candor only old money can afford.
- Sir James Catton (Richard E. Grant): A father more interested in vintage wines and social posturing than any real parenting.
- Venetia (Alison Oliver): Felix’s sister, beautiful and brittle, slowly unraveling in the background.
- Farleigh (Archie Madekwe): The openly queer cousin who immediately pegs Oliver as a threat.
- Pamela (Carey Mulligan): An odd houseguest clinging to long-expired glamour.
Queer Desire
Let’s be clear, Saltburn is aggressively queer. Not in a coming-out, identity-affirming way, but in a raw, transgressive, and power-driven way. For those who crave stories where queer identity gets messy, not moralized, Saltburn might scratch the same itch as something you’d find on FictionMe.
Oliver’s feelings for Felix hover in a blurry haze of lust, envy, admiration, and something more dangerous. He doesn’t just want Felix. He wants to be Felix, or at least consume everything he represents.
That tension explodes in scenes that are, frankly, hard to forget. There’s a moment with a bathtub, for instance, that manages to be both shocking and perfectly in character. Nothing in this film is meant to play it safe.
Fennell doesn’t flinch, and neither does Keoghan. He plays Oliver with a disarming openness, even when his actions border on the grotesque. He’s not trying to win you over. He’s daring you to keep watching.
And you probably will.
The Revenge Arc
It’s easy to mistake Oliver for a victim. He is, after all, the poor kid surrounded by privilege. But as the narrative slowly reveals his backstory and his real intentions, it becomes clear that Oliver is no passive observer. He’s a manipulator with a long game.
His revenge isn’t about one person. It’s about an entire system. By worming his way into the Catton family, seducing their trust, and slowly peeling away their layers of self-importance, Oliver stages something that looks like class warfare in designer loafers.
He weaponizes his vulnerability. He lets the Cattons see what they want to see. And then he takes what he wants.
It’s brutal. It’s calculated. It’s also darkly satisfying in the way only great revenge stories can be.
Themes
Fennell threads several themes through Saltburn, but the big ones are:
- Class and Aspiration: Oliver’s entire arc is about infiltration. He studies the elite, mimics them, and eventually replaces them.
- Sex and Power: Desire isn’t just romantic here. It’s strategic. Who wants whom matters less than who’s in control.
- Identity and Performance: Oliver performs his persona constantly, first as the grateful scholarship kid, then as the trustworthy houseguest, and finally as something monstrous.
The story echoes The Talented Mr. Ripley and Brideshead Revisited, but it’s more self-aware. Fennell seems fully conscious of those comparisons and uses them to sharpen her critique.
Visuals
Linus Sandgren’s cinematography plays a massive role in how the story lands. Shot in an Academy ratio (that near-square frame), the film feels claustrophobic at times, like you’re peering through a vintage photo album. That tight frame adds pressure, especially as Oliver’s grip on reality begins to strain.
The production design is lavish. You’ll see layers of gold, old oil paintings, candlelit halls, and massive dining rooms.
There’s a constant sense that things are teetering, like you’re standing in a baroque funhouse about to collapse.
Costumes also do a lot of heavy lifting. Felix’s crisp polos and Venetia’s tattered glamour tell you exactly who they are. And the early 2000s touches, yes, there are Juicy tracksuits, give it a timestamp without hammering the point.
Performances
Let’s talk about the acting.
Barry Keoghan (Oliver Quick)
Keoghan doesn’t act as much as haunt. His Oliver is quiet but calculating, pitiful one minute and terrifying the next.
He’s not flashy, which makes his performance all the more disturbing. He lets you into Oliver’s head slowly, drip by drip, until you’re choking on the same obsession.
Jacob Elordi (Felix Catton)
Elordi nails the aloof charm of someone who’s never had to try. His Felix isn’t mean. He just doesn’t notice people beneath him unless they’re interesting. And when he does notice, it feels like a privilege, one that can be taken away just as quickly.
Rosamund Pike (Elspeth)
Scene-stealer. Every line out of Elspeth’s mouth feels like it came from a script written by someone drunk on wealth and tanning oil. Pike makes her funny, ridiculous, and sad, often all at once.
Archie Madekwe (Farleigh)
Madekwe brings a sharp edge. Farleigh watches Oliver from day one with eyes full of suspicion, but no one listens. His queer presence is more direct, more open than Oliver’s, which adds another layer to their standoff.
Carey Mulligan (Pamela)
Pamela is barely in the film, but Mulligan plays her like a tragic ghost of faded celebrity. You can tell she was once the center of the room. Now she’s just trying to stay visible.
Soundtrack & Mood
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The music is on point. Early 2000s hits like Murder on the Dancefloor get woven into scenes in a way that feels ironic and hypnotic. It’s not just needle drops, it’s mood curation.
One scene near the end, where Oliver parades through the mansion to Sophie Ellis-Bextor, is already iconic for a reason. It’s absurd, triumphant, and deeply unsettling. That’s kind of the movie in a nutshell.
The Reception
Critics are all over the map with Saltburn.
| Critic / Outlet | Reaction | Key Quote |
|---|---|---|
| RogerEbert.com (Christy Lemire) | Positive (3.5/4) | “A dreamy, twisted fairytale anchored by magnetic performances.” |
| Mashable (Kristy Puchko) | Positive | “Sick, savage, and satisfying. You’ll laugh, cringe, and maybe cheer.” |
| The Washington Post (Ann Hornaday) | Negative (2/4) | “Doesn’t stick the landing. Beautiful but hollow.” |
| Attitude Magazine | Mixed | “Prioritizes shock and aesthetics over real emotional depth.” |
| Mediaversity Reviews | Critical | “Walks a risky line between reclaiming and reinforcing queer villain tropes.” |
And honestly, it makes sense. Saltburn doesn’t ask to be loved. It wants a reaction. You’ll either think it’s one of the smartest films of the year or find it empty and over-styled. But you won’t forget it.
Queer, Class-Conscious, and Unapologetic
Saltburn hit at just the right moment. The culture is brimming with conversations about class, queerness, and who gets to tell certain stories. Fennell doesn’t offer easy answers. She just makes sure the questions stick in your throat.
There’s been a lot of talk about how it portrays queer identity. Is Oliver reinforcing tired “evil gay” stereotypes? Maybe. But he’s also reclaiming space as a powerful, clever, dangerous protagonist, one who refuses to be pitied or sanitized.
And the critique of wealth? Blistering. There’s no attempt to humanize the 1%. They’re ornaments in their own house, blind to their rot. Oliver doesn’t just expose that. He thrives on it.
Messy, Gorgeous, and Absolutely Worth Watching
Saltburn isn’t tidy. It doesn’t wrap itself up in neat morals. It seduces, then shocks. It holds up a mirror to wealth and desire and dares you to look away.
It’s not for everyone. But for those who crave a film that plays with boundaries, of genre, identity, and good taste, it’s an unforgettable ride.
If you’re into movies that leave a little blood on the floor, a little glitter in your hair, and a lot of questions hanging in the air, Saltburn earns your time.
