In "Saltburn," the British Country Estate Is (Still) a Container for Chaos

The psychological drama is yet another entry in the mythology of the English stately house and its hold on our cultural imagination.

There’s a moment at the beginning of Saltburn, the new psychological drama from Promising Young Woman writer-director Emerald Fennell, in which Oliver—a dorky, doe-eyed Oxford newcomer played spectacularly by Barry Keoghan—is caught longingly gazing at a cool and ebullient group of rich friends. He seems particularly enamored with Felix Catton (Jacob Elordi), a wildly handsome heir with charisma to burn and a "fuck-off castle" in the family portfolio.

In Emerald Fennell’s Saltburn, Oxford newcomer Oliver Quick (Barry Keoghan) is invited by fellow student Felix Catton (Jacob Elordi) to spend the summer at his aristocratic family’s country house.

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It’s that country pile, the titular Saltburn estate, that becomes both the setting and the impetus for the film’s heightened chaos, when Oliver—having wormed his way into Felix’s life through a series of woeful tales and conveniently timed favors—is invited to spend the summer with the aristocratic Catton clan. When Oliver arrives at the massive, symmetrical English manor, with its limestone pediments, iron gates, and soaring parapets, he’s greeted coldly by the servants after clumsily rolling his suitcase along a massive driveway full of sandy gravel. After sitting in that awkwardness for just a beat too long, he’s whisked away by Felix, who gives him a tour of the home’s cavernous ballrooms, meandering staircases, dark hallways, galleries full of "dead rellys" and "hideous Rubens," and libraries stocked with first editions of Shakespeare’s Folio. Evelyn Waugh loved the home, Felix tells Oliver, and the Catton family’s lifestyle is even said to have inspired Edith Wharton novels.

That’s not exactly a flattering reference, though whether Felix knows that is somewhat unclear. Like Wharton’s The Age Of Innocence, Saltburn is about the push and pull between the arcane existence of those who have too much and the almost frenetic yearning of those who see themselves as having far too little. As a home, Saltburn becomes emblematic of this struggle, with Oliver not only reveling in crisp sheets, perfectly composed picnic spaces, and delicious meals consumed while wearing dinner jackets, but also in the very idea of having a history.

English country estates like the fictional Saltburn have long suggested legacy, excess, eccentricities, and inequality in books, movies, and television shows. On Downton Abbey, the expansive castle became a lens through which viewers were offered a glimpse at the passage of time, in Spencer, the royal family’s isolated country manor became emblematic of an emotional rift, and in Atonement, a Victorian mansion and its grounds became a setting for classism and cruelty. Time and again, these stately homes seduce with grandeur while suggesting something more malicious (or at least more entitled) under the surface. These kinds of posh, ancestral estates—of which there are about 600 in England, including Drayton House, the real, privately owned Northamptonshire manor that sits in for Saltburn in the movie—are perfect settings for period stories and psychological dramas in part because they’ve yielded so many real tales already, sparked by years of physical isolation, financial excess, and perhaps a little too much aristocratic inbreeding. They’re containers for chaos, and they’re the tinderbox that can help spark a fictional inferno.

The film’s heightened chaos unfolds at the titular Saltburn estate.

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There’s also something gross and absurd about comically massive homes like Saltburn, even if they’re also intriguing. In the movie, the Catton family perches on velvet sofas while grousing about hangers-on and minor societal quibbles. They’re wildly out of touch, having not been forced to interact with much of society for pretty much their entire existence. That’s by virtue of their wealth—as represented in their home—which has enabled them to live a life so charmed that it’s borderline disgusting. And yet, like Oliver, many of us look at a place like Saltburn and end up pondering our own circumstance, wondering "what if" and "why not me," rather than questioning the centuries of cruelty that yielded such outsized wealth in the first place. For many, Saltburn is something to aspire to rather than to pity, and—if you’re like Oliver—it’s something that’s worth doing anything to obtain.

There’s a reason why movies like Saltburn continue to intrigue, and it’s not just because they often star some of the most stunningly good-looking people the entertainment industry has to offer. Rather, it’s because of the feeling of mystery that lies inherently within their settings, as well as the longing they both breed and inspire. "Lots of people get lost in Saltburn," a butler tells Oliver at one point in the film, reminding him that, no matter how well he behaves or how big he dreams, he’ll always just be one single starry-eyed occupant rattling around inside a life—and a house—that lies firmly outside his reach.

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