Savage House (2026) Review

From Peter Medak’s ‘The Ruling Class,’ to Stephen Frears’ ‘Dangerous Liaisons’ and Yorgos Lanthimos’ ‘The Favourite,’ cinema has long enjoyed taking aim at the aristocracy. Stripped of grandeur and etiquette, the toffs and blue bloods are revealed as petty, shallow and ridiculous. Across these films, aristocracy is shown to be a well-worn stage on which vanity and self-interest are endlessly performed in elaborate costume.

Peter Glanz’s ‘Savage House’ is the latest to skewer the world of inherited privilege. A deliciously biting dark comedy, it follows the charming rogue Sir Chauncey Savage, and his wife Lady Savage, as they prepare for the arrival of the Duke of Devonshire at their once-lavish estate, Savage House. With a pox outbreak and a possible Jacobite uprising threatening proceedings, can the Savages keep up appearances, or has their façade already begun to crack?

It’s a fun film, playing like ‘Barry Lyndon’ mixed with ‘Waiting for Godot,’ with a bit of gout throw in for good measure. Glanz’s dialogue is deliciously over-ripe and vulgar, in the same way David Milch’s was in ‘Deadwood.’ Characters speak with a Shakespearean lyricism, laced with sudden bursts of earthy profanity, beauty constantly undercut by filth; elegance collapsing into vulgarity mid-sentence.

This clash between elegance and vulgarity also shapes the film’s characters. In the world of Sir Chauncy and Lady Savage, manners and morals are not principles but tools- useful to a point and easily discarded when pressure mounts. They are gangrenously self-interested and shallow- yet not merely one-dimensional. In many ways, theirs is a fetid love story. Glanz allows a genuine, if compromised, connection to exist between them, giving their mutual scheming an unexpected tenderness.

Boasting a wry narration reminiscent of that in ‘The Stanley Parable’, thematically, the film is not particularly original. Films have exposed the decay and rot beneath the flim-flam façade of upper-class gentility countless times, sometimes in more subtle ways (the Savages’ daughter, Fanny, keeping rats in a model of their home is a little on the nose).

Further, the central characters never really live up to their name. Unlike, say, Peter O’Toole’s Jack in ‘The Ruling Class’, the Savages are not especially debased, nor are they transgressive enough to match the film’s anarchic ambitions. They are, simply put, too human for a film that calls for utter inhumanity at its core. Additionally, the ending is a bit of a let-down, being far too abrupt. In some ways, for all its bite, the film lacks teeth sharp enough to really leave a scar.

However, it is still a rollicking bourgeois satire, and a good-looking one to boot. Adriano Goldman’s cinematography is a pustulent feast for the eyes, lingering on the textures of decay with an almost uncomfortable intimacy. Extreme close-ups of filth, rot, maggots and stained teeth give proceedings a visceral, immersive quality, forcing the viewer into the film’s more unpleasant corners. It is a mud-splashed, red-wine-stained tapestry of excess and bluster, rich with the bruised colours of decadence.

The house itself is perpetually shrouded in gloom, as though a hefty cloud hangs just above the roofline, while the furnishings- though undeniably opulent- feel aged, worn and gaudy. Gary Williamson’s production design, Alison Harvey’s set decoration and Alex Bovaird’s costumes collectively reinforce the film’s aesthetic of decaying opulence- an aristocratic world where splendour feels increasingly dingy and brittle.

The film’s sound design is equally precise, balancing the creaks and murmurs of the house with an almost oppressive stillness, as if silence itself were another layer of rot. The score is particularly effective, making striking use of classical music- not merely as ornament, but as ironic counterpoint to the chaos unfolding on screen, lending moments of excess a strange, almost mournful, grandeur. The editing, meanwhile, is fluid, ensuring the film has a good pace from start to finish.

There is perhaps no other creature on earth that could play Sir Chauncey Savage as well as Richard E. Grant. The high-energy, manic, slightly neurotic character is a role that seems tailor-made for him. Grant plays it marvellously, also managing to make Chauncey somewhat sympathetic- no mean feat, considering the depth of his pomposity and moral elasticity. He is clearly having a ball.

As Lady Savage, it’s obvious Claire Foy is also relishing the material. She turns in a delightful performance that almost seems like self-parody- Foy having come to prominence playing the bluest of all the bloods in ‘The Crown’. She inverts the aristocratic poise that defined her Elizabeth II, replacing it with something more agile and ironic. She and Grant work wonderfully together.

Their supporting cast are no less commendable. Robert Bathurst’s delightfully dry narration is delivered with a mocking edge, acting as a wry counterpoint to the aristocratic excess unfolding on screen. Jack Farthing and Bel Powley, as the Savages’ servants, bring a quietly scheming presence to proceedings, their characters engaged in their own manoeuvrings beneath the Savages’ larger theatrics. Further, Kila Lord Cassidy and Pip Torrens do strong work, as Fanny and a disgruntled neighbour, respectively.

Bruce Campbell once said that the films that are the best to make usually turn out the worst.  Peter Glanz’s ‘Savage House’ must be the exception to this rule, as it appears everyone involved was enjoying themselves and yet it’s still wildly entertaining. It may not reinvent the wheel thematically, nor does it always push its satirical edge as far as it might, but it compensates with infectious energy, invention and a clear relish for its own excess. Well-written and boasting stellar performances across the board, ‘Savage House’ is a great place to while away a couple of hours.