Once we reach the end of the film and his primary relationship is clearly to the estate and its contents, rimming the vintage plumbing fixtures and fucking the very ground retrospectively takes on a different hue.

In terms of his ‘queerness’, isn’t it more a lust for property and inheritance not people (unlike the actually gay Fairleigh, who is an asshole but not a sociopath). Oliver’s desire for Felix is a proxy for the desire for Saltburn itself.

That’s interesting. The only character I read as coded (rather thuddingly) as autistic was the fellow state school northerner and maths nerd at the start. Marked partly by socially inept loudness. The initially quiet observance of the social climber, Oliver, really did not read that way to me.

Sorry for suggesting you were American though. As a Scot, I get it.

Just finding the readings quite interesting in terms of which side of the Atlantic people are on. North Americans broadly seem to be struggling with the ways in which this is a horror story in which you really aren’t supposed to like the poshos. Not that Oliver is nice. But he’s what they deserve.

Are you American?

People can buy a fresh copy of Wuthering Heights for a quid. Second hand academic books covered in pen make my heart sink.

Pencil is fine. No pen though.

Obsequious, performatively unassertive, and gratingly ingratiating.

Much admiration for my orange Sybil tote at the film festival I went to in Pordenone.

His signature is a work of art.

He was pretty terrific in The Cook, The Thief, His Wife & Her Lover. And The Singing Detective is a proper Big Deal in British TV history (The Lost Prince not so much).