Saltburn: A Masterpiece Held Back By Its Class Politics 

This review contains spoilers of Saltburn (2023).

“Donna Tartt, eat your heart out – there’s a new story of death and crime set in the hinterlands of high-academia to compete with.” 

Who needs an Oxbridge open day when you can go and watch Saltburn in cinemas right now? This glitzy, sexually-provocative hit piece on the upper-classes simply took my breath away – from the simply-exquisite direction used throughout, to completely-flawless performances given by every single member of the principal cast, Saltburn is shaping up to be one of my top films of 2023.  

The politics of the film have rightfully come under fire since its release – as someone who treads the hallowed halls of Oxbridge myself, and who has likewise experienced the extreme disparities in wealth that Saltburn seeks to parody, I feel like my review is inevitably tainted by my own experiences at university. Nevertheless, with these criticisms in mind, I still believe the film is solidly worth your time and money – if for the sheer skill and talent on display alone. 

“someone’s whose experienced the cult-like Traditions of Oxbridge has made the film”

Like her protagonists Oliver and Felix, director Emerald Fennel, who previously directed the critically acclaimed Promising Young Woman in 2020 (and even scooped up an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay to boot), attended Oxford in the 90s and 00s.  

Certainly, for the first half-an-hour set in the university, you can clearly tell someone who experienced the bizarre, almost cult-like traditions of Oxbridge first hand was involved in the film’s production. From the toe-curlingly awkward first gowned-up halls, to quickly realising that you don’t have fifty quid to splash out on buying rounds for all your new upper-class mates, there is a definite eye for cringey-Oxbridge detail in those first few opening scenes. 

 Nevertheless, I would be lying if I did not feel my opinion somewhat change when I learnt that, as her blinged-up name suggests, Emerald Fennel is solidly a member of those upper-classes she attempts to parody.  

Criticisms of the film mainly lie with the motivations of the director in making it.  

Her father, Theo Fennel, has been hailed by The Guardian as ‘the king of celebrity bling’ during his career as a jeweller for the crème de la crème of British society. Of course, on the surface, one’s social background doesn’t come into play too dramatically in terms of practical filmmaking; but when the true sinewy nature of the plot reveals itself, the politics of the film certainly become a lot murkier. 

Oliver, excellently portrayed by Barry Keoghan, quickly reveals himself to be a number of less-than-positive things– a sexually insatiable weirdo; a liar about pretty much everything bar his real name; and, perhaps most pertinently of all, someone who straps on a mask of poverty in order to shed his decidedly middle-class background.  

This is something I have undoubtedly experienced with my fellow students at Cambridge. Being of a firmly middle-class background myself, and having been privileged enough to grow up in a very stable household where money, though by no means endless, did not ever become an issue, I have seen many of my peers who come from similar (if not more) privileged backgrounds likewise play up to a role and pretend to be less affluent than they really are.  

From patronisingly telling those who have had a markedly more difficult time that they’re just the same because they went to grammar school for a year, to vapidly protesting Tory policies that have directly benefitted mummy and daddy’s landlording businesses, the performative nature of Oliver’s lie left an all-too-familiar sour taste in my mouth.  

However, what of Felix, who openly lives on the massive fuck-off estate of the film’s title, and who prances about in Ralph Lauren jumpers all whilst merrily saying ‘rah’? Surely he comes under Fennel’s all too critical eye as well? 

Very much not. Aside from being murdered off-camera by Oliver about half-way through the film, after, really, being nothing less than a great friend to him, Fennel presents Felix (likewise masterfully portrayed by Jacob Elordi) as a hot, privileged, but all-in-all exceedingly friendly and accepting deuteragonist.  

Little-to-no criticism is made of the sickeningly rich members of the Saltburn estate. In fact, all those galivanting around the place before Oliver’s arrival, aside from the much more villainous and caricature-like Farleigh (Archie Madekwe) and the likewise patronisingly obtuse Venetia (Alison Oliver), are, though rather stupid, generally nice and accepting people. They come off as lovingly naïve to their overwhelming privilege– victims to the wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing in the form of Oliver, who arrives to suck up less-than-sanitary bathtub water; hump graves; and murder the entire family in his wake. 

Outside of the class politics, the film is nothing less than a masterpiece. 

Having experienced them first hand, I have to admit that Oliver’s do still exist in some lesser capacity within the Oxbridge ecosystem. But learning of Fennel’s own class privilege, in light of how negatively those of a lower class are portrayed in comparison to their upper-class counterparts throughout the film, everything starts to feel a little off. Though I certainly understand the portrayal of Oliver’s rather lecherous role, the fact that Fennel / Felix / the entire Saltburn estate’s extreme wealth and privilege is left, for the most part, completely uncriticised (aside from mocking their extreme naivety), leaves the film open to well-deserved criticism in this regard.  

Outside of the class politics, however, I would be lying if the film is anything less than a masterpiece of technical filmmaking. From the final shot of Keoghan merrily swinging his cock around the now-entirely-murdered Saltburn estate, all to the tune of Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s rather thematically appropriate Murder on the Dancefloor, to Rosamund Pike’s wonderfully dense Lady Elspeth wistfully denying being the subject matter to Pulp’s Common People, the film is truly a hilarious, uncomfortable, and fever-dream-like ride from start to finish.  

As I mentioned before, the directorial aspects of this film are wonderfully done, and speak to Fennel’s incredible skill as a director of only her second (!!!) full-length feature film. The pacing, soundtrack, cinematography, writing, and acting are all so superbly and effortlessly done that the film seems like the passion-project of a true auteur years into their craft; not the second feature of a young director who originally jumped in from acting. 

Saltburn, to conclude, is certainly a film worth your time and money. Whilst I, like many others, would have liked to see more of a self-conscious look at the extreme class and privilege held by the upper classes of Oxbridge and beyond, and feel slightly uncomfortable about Fennel’s sympathetic portrayal of those on the Saltburn estate before Oliver arrives, the film itself is a marvel to behold. I for one have had Murder on the Dancefloor on hard repeat since stumbling out of Picturehouse after the end-credits rolled – in fact, I think I’ll listen to it again now.