There’s something intoxicating about On Swift Horses, a film that practically hums with longing from its opening frames. I saw it at SXSW 2025, where it screened in the Festival Favorites section, and from the moment the lights dimmed, it was clear this wasn’t going to be a gentle ride. The film opens not with exposition or small talk, but with a bold, visceral sexual encounter—raw, immediate, and disorienting in its intensity. It’s a statement of purpose, an invitation into a world where desire crashes up against repression, and nothing stays safely buried for long.
Set in the golden light of 1950s California, the story is brought vividly to life by cinematographer Luc Montpellier, whose camera captures both the dusty sunlit beauty of the landscape and the murky emotional terrain the characters inhabit. Every frame feels carefully composed without ever feeling staged. Production designer Erin Magill and the costume team ground us fully in the period—clothing, interiors, signage—everything rings true without veering into nostalgia. This movie presents a fragile and lived-in world, much like the people navigating it.
Directed by Daniel Minahan and written by Bryce Kass, the film follows Muriel (Daisy Edgar-Jones), who has just begun a new life with her husband Lee (Will Poulter), who recently returned from the Korean War. Their marriage feels dutiful and strained—quiet meals, tentative touches, the lingering sense of distance that war doesn’t entirely leave behind. The arrival breaks the quiet of Lee’s younger brother, Julius, played with magnetic unpredictability by Jacob Elordi. Julius is a gambler, a drifter, and a man clearly hiding more than he lets on.
Elordi brings a kind of dangerous ease to the role—you’re never quite sure whether to lean in or pull back. His scenes with Edgar-Jones simmer with restrained tension, and their chemistry builds toward something inevitable. Edgar-Jones is luminous as Muriel, giving a performance that’s both emotionally delicate and quietly defiant. Her Muriel doesn’t explode so much as unspool—slowly, almost imperceptibly, until she’s no longer the woman we met at the beginning. Poulter, too, embodies his character and rounds out the trio with a reserved and masterful ease.
When Julius vanishes in search of a young card cheat he’s fallen for—Diego Calva, in a brief performance but sharply felt—Muriel starts taking her own risks. She secretly begins gambling on racehorses, chasing a thrill she didn’t know she craved. Her journey into this hidden life isn’t just about excitement—it’s about reclaiming something, testing the edges of the roles she’s been assigned. Sasha Calle offers grounded contrast in a supporting role that underscores just how far Muriel is drifting from the woman she was expected to be.
Editors Joe Murphy, Robert Frazen, and Kate Sanford pace the film unhurriedly. Scenes are allowed to breathe; silences carry weight. It’s the kind of storytelling that trusts its audience to feel their way through the emotional shifts.
But as compelling as it all is, I was admittedly uncomfortable with how graphic some of the sex scenes were—especially that opening sequence. There’s no question they’re intentional and meant to push boundaries, but I often wished for more restraint. The cast is talented enough to convey complexity without baring everything so literally. Sometimes, a glance carries more weight than anything else.
Still, On Swift Horses is a deeply felt, beautifully crafted drama. At 117 minutes, it doesn’t gallop—it meanders, wanders, and lingers in places that many films avoid. It’s about longing in all its messy, heartbreaking forms: for freedom, connection, and the version of yourself that no one has yet met. And even when it unsettles, it never lets go.