Saltburn

I watched Saltburn on a Tuesday night while nursing a lukewarm cup of peppermint tea and wearing a sweatshirt with a mystery stain on the sleeve. I mention this because there is no quicker way to feel like an absolute peasant than by letting Emerald Fennell invite you into the world of the Catton family. By the time the credits rolled to the infectious beat of Sophie Ellis-Bextor, I wasn’t just worried about my lack of a sprawling estate; I was worried about my soul.

Released in late 2023, Saltburn is the ultimate "water cooler" movie of the streaming era. It’s the kind of film designed to be dissected in 15-second TikTok clips and debated in heated Twitter threads. It doesn't just want your attention; it wants to lick your face and then tell you it’s bored of you. It’s a psychosexual thriller that wears the skin of a mid-2000s period piece, and honestly? It’s basically The Talented Mr. Ripley for people who think "indie sleaze" is a personality trait.

The Art of the Interloper

The story kicks off at Oxford in 2006—a time of Low-Rise jeans and side-swept bangs that Fennell recreates with painful accuracy. We meet Oliver Quick, played by a twitchy, calculating Barry Keoghan. Oliver is the "scholarship boy," the outsider looking in with eyes that seem a little too hungry. He finds his prey (or his savior) in Felix Catton, played by Jacob Elordi.

If Elordi was a statue, he’d be carved out of golden sunlight and effortless entitlement. He’s so charismatic it’s actually offensive. When Felix invites Oliver back to his family estate, Saltburn, for the summer, the movie shifts from a campus drama into something much more decadent and dangerous. The cinematography by Linus Sandgren (who shot La La Land) is gorgeous, using a boxy 1.33:1 aspect ratio that makes the sprawling mansion feel like a velvet-lined trap. It feels like you're peeping through a keyhole, which is exactly the point.

High Camp and Higher Stakes

Once we get to the estate, the movie stops being a character study and starts being a riot. This is largely thanks to the Catton parents. Rosamund Pike as Elspeth is a revelation of "well-meaning" cruelty. She delivers lines about being "horrified by ugliness" with a deadpan perfection that had me cackling. Opposite her is Richard E. Grant as Sir James, a man who seems to have misplaced his grip on reality decades ago.

The middle act of the film is a masterclass in tone. It’s funny, it’s uncomfortable, and it’s deeply, deeply sweaty. Fennell leans into the "Contemporary Cinema" trend of centering the narrative on class resentment, but she does it with a satirical edge that feels more like a serrated knife than a lecture. There’s a scene involving a communal karaoke session of "Rent" by the Pet Shop Boys that is so cringeworthy I had to look away from the screen, yet it told me more about these characters than twenty minutes of dialogue ever could.

The film's cult status was almost instant, driven by three specific scenes that I won't spoil here, though if you've been on the internet in the last year, you’ve likely seen the "bathtub" memes. Apparently, the "grave scene" was a last-minute improvisation by Barry Keoghan, who asked Fennell to clear the set so he could "see what happened." The result is a moment so profoundly unhinged it makes you want to call your therapist just to check in.

Style Over Substance? Maybe

Is the "twist" ending a bit predictable? Sure. Does the movie occasionally prioritize a shocking image over a logical plot beat? Absolutely. It’s a film that desperately wants to be a theatre of the macabre but often settles for being an exceptionally high-budget music video. But in an era where so many streaming releases feel like they were manufactured in a lab to be "content," Saltburn feels like a fever dream.

It’s a LuckyChap production (Margot Robbie’s company), and you can see the same DNA here that made Promising Young Woman such a jolt to the system. It’s provocative, it’s beautifully shot, and it features an ensemble cast that is firing on all cylinders. Archie Madekwe as the suspicious cousin Farleigh is particularly great, providing the only real friction to Oliver’s gradual takeover.

I’ve heard people call it "empty calorie cinema," but if these are empty calories, they’re the kind you find in a $50 box of artisanal truffles. You know they aren't good for you, and you might feel a little sick afterward, but you’re definitely going back for a second piece.

Ultimately, Saltburn is a movie about the horror of wanting something you can’t have—and the even bigger horror of what happens when you finally get it. It’s a polarizing, sticky, gorgeous mess of a film that understands exactly how to push an audience's buttons. Whether you love it or loathe it, you won't be able to stop talking about it, and in today's crowded cinematic landscape, that’s the greatest trick a filmmaker can pull. Just maybe skip the snacks during the bathtub scene. Trust me on that one.