The desire for dark and gritty takes on the past doesn’t just extend to famous folklore and myths, but even corrupts the base comic instinct residing inside those loyal viewers of the endless posh “upstairs, downstairs” British dramas playing on everyone’s parents’ TVs. This in turn leads to films like Savage House, decorated with vulgar detail and period-perfect design, but otherwise empty. Even the punchlines lack the dry sophistication of its subgenre peers, or the invigorating contrast of low and high art found in gorgeous classics like Barry Lyndon and their confrontational modern kin, like Yorgos Lanthimos’ The Favourite. Savage House is caught, then, in a conundrum like that posing its characters: It’s too respectable to entirely ignore, yet too obvious and coarse to entertain those whose attention it courts.
This is the plight faced by Sir Chauncey Savage (Richard E. Grant) and Lady Savage (Claire Foy), named for maximum on-the-nose silliness by writer-director Peter Glanz, perhaps best known as one of about 15 co-writers on Captain America: Brave New World and as the helmer of that music video where Tom Hanks lip-syncs to Carly Rae Jepsen. Lady Savage comes from a well-to-do family, though she deigned to marry the roguish and low-class Chauncey because of the only reason anyone ever puts up with a Richard E. Grant character: a rascally, slightly pathetic wit. Chauncey has subsequently gambled, whored, and boozed away their money and reputation, all of which might be restored thanks to an impending visit from the local Duke and Dutchess.
The only reason those two are condescending to dine with the ass-end of the gentry is that the pox is going around, and their previous engagement had to be canceled at the last minute. This means that, over the course of the chapter-split narrative, the residents of Savage House need to shape up and fly right before the boss—sorry, the Duke—comes over for dinner. Despite the obvious comparison points to shows like Downton Abbey and especially The Crown—from which Savage House takes its cinematographer, set decorator, and one of its stars—the tone of the film mirrors the more simplistic and cliched sitcom plot that the film can be reduced to. Certainly it desires to apply some R-rated mischief to our conceptions of 18th-century aristocrats, here seen wiping their mouths on their wigs and getting their asses eaten by their servants, but it’s all so shallow that it seems more like an Enlightenment-themed episode of a short-lived HBO comedy (and nowhere near as funny as something like the second season of Miracle Workers).
More interesting is when the household’s servants—valet Reginald (Jack Farthing) and maid Dorothy (Bel Powley), lovers with their own agendas—start layering their schemes on top of the party planning. Yet, even these machinations are eventually revealed to simply be excuses to show old-timey characters acting up, either shooting each other in duels, screwing each other over with the local landowners, or simply screwing each other. None of these depictions of the decaying upper class have much bite, and certainly lack the sensual impact of the film’s myriad close-ups. The camera often focuses on the rotted details of the period—captured in the visceral textures of rancid fruit, festering wounds, and dusty wallpaper—though it doesn’t ever get to the joyful grotesquerie of The Ugly Stepsister. Yet, in a world drained of color, far more dour and washed-out than the lush, empty pageantry arranged by Stanley Kubrick, these moments of visual pop are disgusting but welcome, subtext be damned. (Speaking of, in case Savage House has somehow attracted viewers thoroughly unprepared for its messaging, endless narration hammers home the corruption of the Savages.)
If you wanted to indoctrinate someone into watching something with a bit more subtlety to its sneering critique, or a bit more panache to its unexpected potty humor—basically, if you want to prep someone to watch Amadeus or Barry Lyndon but aren’t sure how to convince them—Savage House does offer at least an easy on-ramp for a certain kind of costume film. With goofy pseudo-gravitas flying from its string score and a yellowish haze filling its faux candlelit interiors, it’s thoroughly off-brand and bargain bin. But even those disposable, last-minute impulse buys in the checkout aisle can serve their purpose at a party, as long as you don’t make your whole meal from them.
Director: Peter Glanz
Writer: Peter Glanz
Starring: Richard E. Grant, Claire Foy, Jack Farthing,
Release Date: June 5, 2026
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