Baz Luhrmann has designed a railway carriage for Belmond, which somehow makes complete sense once you’ve had a moment to think about it properly.
If you’ve ever seen one of his films – Moulin Rouge!, The Great Gatsby, that Elvis one where everybody seemed permanently damp with emotion – you’ll know subtlety has never really been his preferred setting. So giving him an actual 1930s Pullman carriage and telling him to “do whatever you like” was always going to end one of two ways: either an extraordinary triumph of theatrical design, or something resembling Liberace’s conservatory after a small electrical fire.
The result is called Celia, and it’s the latest addition to Belmond’s British Pullman train. A private dining carriage for just 12 guests, due to launch in summer 2026, it sits somewhere between old-world railway glamour and the sort of fever dream you’d have after falling asleep halfway through a Noël Coward box set.
The British Pullman itself has always been gloriously unnecessary. That’s why people love it. Ten restored carriages from the 1920s and ’30s, all polished brass, absurd upholstery, and people serving cocktails while the English countryside drifts by outside as if it’s performing a show for you personally. The train leaves from London’s Victoria Station, which means your journey begins in one of the least romantic places imaginable before abruptly turning into an Agatha Christie fantasy about half an hour later.
Celia, though, takes things much further.
Luhrmann worked on this dreamlike carriage with Catherine Martin, his long-time collaborator and the woman responsible for making half of modern cinema look far more extravagant than real life has any right to be. Together they invented an entirely fictional backstory for the carriage, because apparently simply restoring a train wasn’t enough.
So Celia is named after an imaginary 1930s West End actress who, according to the tale, delivered such a magnificent performance as Titania in A Midsummer Night’s Dream that she was gifted her own Pullman carriage afterwards. That sounds exactly like the sort of thing Baz Luhrmann would say with complete sincerity while standing beside a velvet curtain.
Inside, the carriage looks less like transport and more like a theatrical set someone forgot to dismantle.
There are marquetry panels showing dreamy English pastoral scenes. Oak floors decorated with floral motifs. Pansies everywhere, because Titania apparently liked them. The colours bounce between rich greens, deep reds, yellows and purples in a way that ought to feel overwhelming but somehow doesn’t. Or perhaps it does, slightly, but deliberately so. Like stepping into a cocktail cabinet designed by Shakespeare after a week in Paris.
Even the ceiling fabric was engineered to improve acoustics for live performances onboard, which is one of those details that makes you pause and think: this is either wonderfully committed or faintly mad. Probably both.
And then there’s the scent.
Yes, Celia has its own bespoke fragrance, co-created by Luhrmann and Martin. Of course it does. You can almost imagine the meeting where someone said, “Should the carriage smell normal?” and Baz immediately replied, “Absolutely not.”
Still, there’s genuine craftsmanship underneath all the theatricality. Martin sourced tableware from British makers including Duchess China, with glassware from Tom Dixon and cutlery by David Mellor. Those details matter. Luxury tends to collapse when someone hands you a mediocre fork.
The food sounds reassuringly traditional too. Beef Wellington. Chicken liver parfait. Proper rich railway dining. The sort of meal that belongs on a train moving slowly through Oxfordshire while rain taps politely against the windows.
Guests will also have access to a cocktail menu created by Monica Berg of Tayer + Elementary, which means drinks are unlikely to involve blue syrup or dry ice theatrics. Thank heavens for that. You can apparently stock the bar with your own favourites as well, which opens the door to either refined elegance or complete disaster depending on your friends.
And really, that’s the point of Celia.
Belmond isn’t selling transport here. Nobody books this because they urgently need to reach Bath. They’re selling atmosphere. Escapism. A moving little pocket of unreality where people can spend a few hours pretending life still contains glamour and ceremony and dinners that last longer than a quick glance at a delivery app.
The itineraries themselves sound suitably eccentric. Day trips to Oxford or Blenheim Palace. Goodwood Revival weekends. Murder mystery lunches rolling through the countryside while someone in evening wear pretends to poison the viscount.
It all feels gloriously British in that very specific way where luxury becomes faintly absurd and therefore deeply charming.
Gary Franklin from Belmond described Celia as “creating your own world,” and for once that sort of corporate phrase actually seems accurate. Most luxury experiences today try far too hard to appear modern and effortless. Celia heads in the opposite direction entirely. It leans into fantasy. Into storytelling. Into the idea that perhaps dinner should occasionally feel like a scene from a film nobody would dare make anymore.
And perhaps trains, more than almost anything else, still allow for that.
Launching in early summer 2026, Celia will be available on all British Pullman journeys departing primarily from London Victoria Station, with routes winding through various parts of the British countryside. Which means you can now travel to places like Oxford or Bath inside what is essentially Baz Luhrmann’s imagination upholstered in velvet.
Exclusive hire of the carriage starts at £15,000 – about $20,500 at current exchange rates – which initially sounds faintly ludicrous until you remember people routinely spend half that amount flying privately to Ibiza in tracksuits.
And at least this comes with proper cutlery.
