Wicked Little Letters (2023) - A rather dark tale of a woman’s emancipation

Credit: allocine.fr

A splendid selection of British acting royalty stars in Thea Sharrock’s Wicked Little Letters, a rambunctious mystery-comedy based on the true story of a series of “filthy and disgusting libels” that rocked the town of Littlehampton in the 1920s. Though nothing particularly groundbreaking, it is, nevertheless, really quite joyous, revelling in its simplicity with gusto and efficiency.

Olivia Colman and Jessie Buckley star as Edith Swan and Rose Gooding respectively, the two neighbours at the heart of the affair, with the likes of Timothy Spall, Joanna Scanlan and Gemma Jones supporting. Devout spinster Edith is the target of the letters in question, subject to vile profanity that enrage her father (Spall) and weaken her mother (Jones). The alleged culprit? Next door neighbour Rose, whose taboo lifestyle – a child out of wedlock and heavy drinking in the pub down the road – raises suspicions and earns her an initial sentencing to Portsmouth Prison, a beginning in media res that precedes a humorous game of cat and mouse. Colman and Buckley alike are on top form, jabbing back and forth at each other, and Spall is marvellously sinister as Edith’s manipulative father, Edward. Meanwhile, Anjana Vasan provides a well-rounded performance as Woman Police Officer Gladys Moss (a joke that stops just short of being overdone), who suspects foul play when Rose is initially accused. The result is a wickedly funny treat, as much in hearing world-acclaimed actresses yell seemingly anachronistic insults at each other as in Jonny Sweet’s sharp script.

Could Wicked Little Letters have said something deeper about the trials of womanhood in the 1920s? Perhaps. Rose provides the perfect foil for all these women who strive to fit into the mould, disorderly and unafraid to be so – even if Edith’s friends, an impressive trio of rowdy bridge players (Scanlan, Lolly Adefope and Eileen Atkins), appear unconventional, it is truly only she who dares stand upon the pub table and shout her nonconformity at the top of her lungs. But its choice to steer clear of political and social movement does not necessarily do it a disservice. In fact, the ending, though polished off with a good dose of humour, is strikingly dark, a coup de grace that is almost overconsuming in its sudden attention to the real stakes of Edith’s condition as a woman in the 1920s. It is in this sense that Wicked Little Letters finds itself at a crossroads, caught between depicting an unserious tale of local gossip rife with comedic potential, despite what was a very serious time for womanhood indeed. Considering the potential struggle, it does obscenely well.