On paper, “On Swift Horses” has everything it needs to be a modern queer classic. An attractive up-and-coming cast, a rich literary source, and the emotional stakes of forbidden love set against the dusty backdrop of 1950s America. But what sounds like a slow-burn romantic epic ends up feeling more like a visually curated mood board with no real heat behind it.
This film is a case study in style over substance — beautifully shot, impeccably dressed, and emotionally hollow.
Adapted from Shannon Pufahl’s novel, “On Swift Horses” follows Muriel (Daisy Edgar-Jones), a newlywed who dreams of moving to California with her husband Lee (Will Poulter), just before he heads back to the Korean War. Left behind in the inland town of Arroyo Glen, Muriel soon becomes drawn to Lee’s brother, Julius (Jacob Elordi), a discharged soldier with no direction, no money, and a restless spirit.
Instead of building a life with Muriel and Lee as planned, Julius takes off for Las Vegas and falls into an emotionally fraught — but curiously flat — romance with Henry (Diego Calva), a gambler with a hustler’s heart. Meanwhile, Muriel, left to her own devices, secretly begins gambling at racetracks and enters into an affair with her enigmatic neighbor, Sandra (Sasha Calle).
There’s a suggestion that Muriel and Julius are connected — an invisible tether of longing, recklessness, and emotional displacement. But their connection, like most things in this film, is more implied than felt.
The film’s most central love affair — between Julius and Henry — feels oddly lifeless. Jacob Elordi brings a quiet, watchful energy to Julius, while Diego Calva (one of the few bright spots here) tries to inject charm and grit into Henry. But together, their scenes fall flat. There’s no spark, no ache, no sense that this is a relationship worth risking everything for. So when Julius eventually steals money and chases Henry to Mexico after a brutal fallout, the gesture feels more confusing than compelling.
Visually, “On Swift Horses” is stunning. There’s a dreamlike haze over the cinematography, and the costumes — by Jeriana San Juan — are flawlessly styled. Too flawless, in fact. The color-coordinated outfits, perfectly tucked shirts, and era-accurate glam feel more like wardrobe tests than lived-in clothes. Everyone looks great. But no one feels real.
This contributes to the film’s greatest weakness: emotional detachment. Director Daniel Minahan leans into the wistful aesthetic, but without enough emotional grounding or character development, the style starts to feel like a distraction — or worse, a cover for the lack of real narrative depth.
There are moments when “On Swift Horses” hints at deeper ideas: how society represses queer love, how people bet on luck to escape disappointment, how desire and fear can coexist. But the film can’t decide who its story belongs to. Is this Muriel’s film? Julius’s? Should it have followed Henry and Sandra instead — the only two characters who actually seem to want something?
“On Swift Horses” is the kind of film that wants to be felt more than understood — but unfortunately, it doesn’t achieve either. It’s beautiful to look at, but lacks the emotional texture that stories about forbidden love and self-discovery demand. The performances are understated to a fault, the script meanders without momentum, and by the end, it feels like everyone — characters and audience alike — is just waiting for it to be over.
Letter Grade: C