Last Night in Soho

This year's LAST NIGHT IN SOHO is Edgar Wright's latest cinematic funhouse, one that proves either to have a severe identity crisis or be a skillful segue among genres.  It is clear the director, co-writing with Krysty Wilson-Cairns, is paying homage to a litany of psychosis dramas ala REPULSION and giallos like SUSPIRIA et al et al.  His film begins as the former and concludes as the latter, causing many viewers to praise the first hour and damn the rest.    They also feel that all of the violence directed toward women in this movie is some sort of huge flaw, as if they've never seen the sort of movies previously referenced.  Before you accuse the director of "being out of his depth" or "not as knowledgeable as he thinks he is", make sure you've sufficiently boned up on your own cinema history, mate.

That said, LAST NIGHT IN SOHO doesn't entirely come off, mainly due to its strangely indifferent attitude.  Mainly towards its characters.  For a film that is espousing a feminist point of view, it seems content with using its principals - and most of the supporting cast - mainly as vehicles for plot devices.  There is actually far too much plot here, making the last act seem hasty and ridiculous.   But Wright is also tipping his hat to Brian De Palma, who in movies like SISTERS tended to do the same thing.    

Ellie (Thomasin McKenzie) is a country girl whose aspiration of being a fashion designer becomes that much closer when she's accepted at the London College of Fashion.  The new, exciting city bares its claws almost immediately, with lecherous taxi drivers and bitchy roommates her welcoming committee.  Soon Ellie answers an ad to rent a room from the gruff but kindly Ms. Collins (Diana Rigg, in her final role) in the north end of town.  Being a fan of Sixties culture, she luxuriates in the room's retro atmosphere and plays old records on the victrola. 

She begins having the oddest dreams.  Her reflection in mirrors casts that of a sexy blonde named Sandie (Anya Taylor-Joy), a wannabe singer in the late 1960s.  Sandie is a 180 from Ellie - confident, cynical, sensual.  In the dream Sandie receives a hickey from her manager Jack (Matt Smith).  The next day, Ellie discovers she has one on her own neck.

The dreams continue.  Ellie dyes her hair blonde and begins designing dresses inspired by the time period.  But it won't take long for Sandie's rose colored life of glamour to turn ugly, and Ellie's current day life to turn likewise. Visions begin to haunt her during waking hours.  Is Ellie schizophrenic? Merely delusional? Has she really entered some time portal? She sees a murder in her own room, then it evaporates - how can she convince the police it really happened? 

LAST NIGHT IN SOHO will become increasingly dark as it progresses, transforming from intriguing social/psychological drama to full throttle horror.  I think Wright handles both types of scenes fairly well, but the transformation is jarring, leading to a wildly uneven and frustrating motion picture.  An acute observance of outsider status soon turns into a decidedly shlocky bloodbath, one not helped by some shoddy CGI (mainly that mob of ghosts).  By the credits, we feel as if we've just watched some odd double feature.  And by that third act, the already poorly developed characters (such as one played by Terrence Stamp) more or less become mere props for mayhem.

But I still enjoyed this movie.  Wright knows his music and includes some interesting choices, including a few that would later become much bigger hits from other artists.  The evocation of yesteryear London is decent.  The best approach when watching LAST NIGHT IN SOHO is to treat it like some movie mad fanboy's grand tribute to those politically incorrect shockers of yore.  If you try to glean some sort of treatise on gender or nostalgia, you'll come up short.