Saltburn Review

Emerald Fennell’s Saltburn plunges into a world of aristocratic opulence and twisted desire, crafting a visually sumptuous, provocative, and often shocking tale of class, fixation, and privilege. While undeniably stylish and entertaining, the film struggles to balance its biting satire and lurid provocations with meaningful character development and narrative depth. Like the mid-aughts nostalgia it attempts to evoke, Saltburn is a shimmering façade that invites both admiration and scrutiny.

Barry Keoghan stars as Oliver Quick, a socially awkward scholarship student at Oxford who yearns to belong in the world of the effortlessly glamorous Felix Catton (Jacob Elordi). When Felix invites Oliver to spend the summer at his family’s sprawling estate, Saltburn, Oliver becomes enmeshed in a web of intrigue, voyeurism, and obsession. Keoghan’s unsettling portrayal of Oliver is a masterclass in ambiguity, capturing the character’s yearning and calculated manipulation. Elordi, radiating charm and aloofness, embodies Felix’s golden-boy allure, making it easy to see why everyone, including Oliver, orbits him.

The supporting cast provides the film’s sharpest moments. Rosamund Pike is delightfully cruel as Felix’s mother, Elspeth, delivering biting one-liners with aristocratic disdain, while Richard E. Grant shines as the obliviously cheerful patriarch, Sir James. Alison Oliver’s Venetia, Felix’s troubled sister, delivers one of the film’s most memorable scenes in a third-act monologue, encapsulating the family’s dysfunction. Meanwhile, Archie Madekwe’s Farleigh, Felix’s queer and suspicious cousin, adds a layer of tension as he sees through Oliver’s schemes but is powerless to stop them.

Visually, Saltburn is a feast. Cinematographer Linus Sandgren captures the estate’s grandeur in lush detail, inviting viewers to luxuriate in the Cattons’ decadent lifestyle. The film’s use of color, lighting, and music — particularly its nostalgic needle drops like MGMT’s ‘Time to Pretend‘ — creates a heady, immersive atmosphere that revels in its characters’ excess. However, this indulgence often feels like a distraction from the film’s lack of narrative coherence.

Where Saltburn stumbles is in its over-reliance on shock value and vibes over substance. While Fennell’s provocative imagery — ranging from unsettling sexual encounters to grotesque displays of consumption — will undoubtedly spark conversation, these moments often feel hollow, serving more as attention-grabbing set pieces than integral parts of the story. Oliver’s character arc, in particular, lacks the psychological nuance needed to make his descent into obsession fully compelling. The film’s attempt to provoke with scenes like Oliver’s infamous bathtub moment or his literal grave desecration veers into gratuitous territory, undermining the biting satire Fennell seems to aim for.

The film also falters in its depiction of class. While it gestures at critiquing wealth and privilege, Saltburn ultimately revels in the very decadence it seeks to lampoon. The Cattons’ aristocratic excesses are played for laughs and shocks, but the narrative never delves deeply into the societal structures that enable their power. The setting — a purportedly mid-2000s Oxford and countryside — feels strangely anachronistic, with its lack of specificity blunting any potential commentary.

Despite its flaws, Saltburn is undeniably captivating, if only for its audacious style and the performances that bring its morally bankrupt world to life. Fennell’s ability to craft a world that is simultaneously seductive and repellent remains impressive, even if her storytelling doesn’t quite match the bravado of her visuals.

Saltburn is a polarizing film that will divide audiences between those who embrace its wicked humor and indulgent aesthetics and those who find its lack of depth and reliance on provocation unsatisfying. As a follow-up to the sharply satirical Promising Young Woman, it’s a step down in narrative precision but a bold swing nonetheless. For better or worse, Saltburn is a film that demands to be seen — and debated.