You know that feeling when you're watching a screen and you genuinely want to look away, but your eyes just won't let you? That’s Emerald Fennell’s Saltburn. It is, by almost any definition, a crazy as hell movie. It doesn't just push boundaries; it takes those boundaries, grinds them into a fine powder, and snorts them off a marble statue.
I remember sitting in a packed theater when the "bathtub scene" happened. The collective intake of breath was audible. It wasn't just shock. It was a weird, uncomfortable realization that we were watching something that shouldn't have been allowed to exist in a mainstream, big-budget format. But that's the magic of it. It’s gross. It’s gorgeous. It’s deeply, deeply weird.
Most films try to be liked. Saltburn doesn't care if you like it. It wants to stain your brain. It’s a gothic thriller wrapped in a 2006 indie-sleaze aesthetic, and honestly, the sheer audacity of the filmmaking is why it became a viral juggernaut long after its initial theatrical run.
The Slow Burn into Absolute Chaos
When you start watching, it feels familiar. You’ve got Oliver Quick (Barry Keoghan), the "scholarship boy" at Oxford who feels like a fish out of water. He’s awkward. He’s lonely. Then he meets Felix Catton (Jacob Elordi), who is basically a golden god in human form.
The first act plays out like a standard "eat the rich" satire or a riff on The Talented Mr. Ripley. We see the obsession grow. We see the class divide. But then, they go to the Saltburn estate.
That's where the wheels come off.
The house itself is a character. It’s a sprawling, suffocating labyrinth of privilege. Rosamund Pike steals every single scene she’s in as Lady Elspeth, delivering lines about how she "used to be a lesbian" because it was "too much effort" with a dryness that should be studied in lab conditions. But under that comedy is a simmering, oily rot. The film shifts from a social drama into a crazy as hell movie the moment the sun sets on that first night at the estate. It stops being about "fitting in" and starts being about consumption. Literal and metaphorical consumption.
Why the "Shock" Scenes Actually Matter
People love to talk about the "Big Three" scenes: the bathtub, the grave, and the final dance. If you’ve seen it, you know exactly what I’m talking about. If you haven’t, well, brace yourself.
Some critics called these moments "empty provocation." I think they’re wrong.
These scenes serve a specific purpose in establishing Oliver’s character. He isn't just a social climber; he’s a parasite. He doesn't want to be Felix; he wants to ingest him. The bathtub scene—which, fun fact, Jacob Elordi said he was "proud" of because it pushed the audience—isn't just there to gross you out. It’s a visual representation of total, unhinged desire. It’s the moment the audience realizes Oliver isn't the protagonist we thought he was.
He’s something much, much darker.
Barry Keoghan’s performance is what makes this work. Anyone else might have made it feel like a cheap horror trope. Keoghan makes it feel like a primal necessity. He’s feral. The way he uses his physicality, especially in that final, naked dance through the halls to Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s "Murder on the Dancefloor," is a masterclass in weirdness. It’s triumphant and horrifying all at once. It’s the ultimate "crazy as hell movie" ending because it forces you to acknowledge that the "villain" won, and he’s having the time of his life.
Behind the Lens: Linus Sandgren’s Visual Trap
We have to talk about how this movie looks. It was shot in a 1.33:1 aspect ratio. That’s nearly square.
Why does that matter?
Because it makes the sprawling Saltburn estate feel like a cage. You have these massive, opulent rooms, but the frame is tight. It’s claustrophobic. Linus Sandgren, who won an Oscar for La La Land, uses a lot of natural light and high-contrast shadows. It looks like a Caravaggio painting come to life, which makes the "gross" stuff feel even more transgressive. When you depict something "repulsive" with such high-art beauty, it creates a cognitive dissonance in the viewer.
Your brain says "yuck," but your eyes say "more."
The 2006 Aesthetic is a Trigger
Fennell chose to set the film in 2006, which is a genius move for anyone who lived through that era. The low-rise jeans, the "Mr. Brightside" singalongs, the specific brand of eyebrow piercings—it grounds the insanity in a very specific, cringe-inducing reality. It reminds us that this isn't some ancient Victorian gothic tale. This is modern. This is us.
The soundtrack plays a huge role in this too. Using MGMT and The Killers isn't just nostalgia bait. It’s about the energy of that time—messy, loud, and slightly desperate. It fuels the "crazy as hell movie" vibe by making the audience feel like they’re at a party that has gone on for three days too long.
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Common Misconceptions: Is it Actually "Eat the Rich"?
A lot of people walked away from Saltburn thinking it was a critique of the upper class.
It is, but maybe not in the way you think.
Usually, in these stories, the rich people are the predators. Think The Menu or Triangle of Sadness. In Saltburn, the Catton family is certainly vacuous, out of touch, and unintentionally cruel, but they are also oddly vulnerable. They are "prey" in Oliver’s world.
Fennell has stated in interviews that she wanted to explore the "vampiric" nature of obsession. The Cattons are a collection of dolls for Oliver to play with. This subversion is what elevates it. It’s not just a "poor vs. rich" story; it’s a "predator vs. oblivious" story. That’s why it feels so uncomfortable. We’re used to rooting for the underdog, but in this crazy as hell movie, the underdog is a monster.
- The Cattons aren't "evil"—they're just hollow.
- Oliver isn't "righteous"—he's just hungrier than they are.
- The house isn't a home—it's a museum where people happen to sleep.
The Viral Afterlife of a Cult Classic
What’s fascinating is how Saltburn exploded on TikTok and Twitter. Most "disturbing" movies stay in the niche horror or indie circles. This one went mainstream.
It’s because it’s "meme-able." The shock scenes became "reaction" content. People recorded themselves watching the bathtub scene for the first time. But beneath the memes, there’s a real appreciation for the craft. People are still dissecting the symbolism of the Minotaur in the center of the hedge maze. They’re arguing about whether Oliver actually loved Felix or if he just loved the idea of Felix.
That’s the hallmark of a movie that matters. It starts a conversation that won't die.
How to Approach Saltburn (If You Haven't Seen It Yet)
If you’re planning to dive into this crazy as hell movie, don’t go in expecting a standard thriller. You have to let the atmosphere wash over you.
- Watch it on the biggest screen possible. The cinematography deserves it.
- Pay attention to the reflections. Mirrors and windows are used constantly to show "double" identities.
- Don't look for a hero. You won't find one. Everyone is varying degrees of terrible.
- Check your stomach at the door. Seriously.
Actionable Next Steps for Film Lovers
If Saltburn left you craving more of that specific, unhinged energy, you don't have to stop there. Here is how to deepen your "disturbing cinema" palate:
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Explore Emerald Fennell’s earlier work If you haven't seen Promising Young Woman, watch it immediately. It’s less "visceral" in its gore but equally biting in its social commentary. It sets the stage for her fascination with revenge and identity.
Read the literary inspirations To truly get the "vibe" of Saltburn, pick up The Secret History by Donna Tartt or Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh. Fennell wears these influences on her sleeve, and seeing how she twists them into a crazy as hell movie is a fun exercise in media literacy.
Analyze the "Queer Coding" The film deals heavily with repressed and overt queer desire. Re-watching it with a focus on how Oliver uses his sexuality as a weapon—rather than just a feeling—changes the entire perspective of the middle act.
Look for the "Easter Eggs" The film is littered with foreshadowing. From the way characters are framed in windows to the specific dialogue about "dying young," the second viewing is almost a different movie once you know the ending.
Ultimately, Saltburn works because it is unapologetic. It’s a bold, messy, gorgeous nightmare that proves original stories can still capture the world's attention. It’s a reminder that movies should make us feel something—even if that something is a desperate need to take a shower.