Courtesy Focus Features International
Movies
It seems like only yesterday that Shaun of the Dead director Edgar Wright released the über-fun doc The Sparks Brothers about lesser-known Los Angeles proto-rockers Sparks, and he’s already back on his bullshit with the decidedly darker (and fiction-forward) Last Night in Soho.
Here we follow Eloise (or Ellie; Thomasin McKenzie of Jojo Rabbit fame), a young art student with a sad past and a ‘60s obsession who seemingly has the power to see dead people as she prepares for fashion school at a prestigious London university. Ellie’s a bit of a hayseed, and leaves the womblike countryside of Cornwall for the tragically disconnected big city that her mother—who killed herself ages ago, mind you—coveted as well. Once there, Ellie can’t fit in, but nightly visions (or dreams, maybe) paint a picture of the glitz and glamor of London’s 1960s club scene and the magnetic Sandy (Anya Taylor-Joy).
Sandy’s a would-be singer who falls in with just the shittiest men (including beloved Doctor Who star Matt Smith, who is perfectly scuzzy here) who then turn her wide-eyed naivete and dreams into a dangling fame carrot as she descends into a world of prostitution and isolation. Ellie exists in-between someplace, sometimes embodying Sandy, other times being forced to observe from a dreamlike mirror world from which she can’t help. It’s gorgeous then it’s sad—then a bit of both as our heroine fears she’ll be taken for insane should she try and find justice for Sandy in the here-and-now.
Wright has certainly grown as a filmmaker to tackle such unfunny material, but Soho stumbles in its pacing, reveals and final moments of payoff. Right up until the third act, find a gritty vision of the seedy underbelly of stardom doled out across the colorful palette of someone’s idealized version of ‘60s-era London. As the color literally drains from the world and from Eloise herself, creepy dealings unearth themselves in a sordid remembrance of horrors all too real. Pity, then, that Wright hedges his bets with an ill-advised more-than-one-side-to-the story moment. Oh, sure, the best cinematic villains of late seem to convince audiences their deeds aren’t so unreasonable, but the other side in this case is abusive men who, frankly, often deserve what’s coming to them.
Cinema darling Taylor-Joy is just fine as both the upbeat and lifeless versions of Sandy, but this is McKenzie’s movie and she does not disappoint in any version of her character, be it the sheltered bumpkin, the confident designer or the terrified kid in over her head.
If there’s a message to be found, though, it’s muddied, and the twist toward the end is telegraphed so early on that cinephiles might feel deflated. Nevertheless, Last Night in Soho is compelling—a twisted reminder that idealism and reality are only ever at odds, sometimes to terrifying results. Oh, and, as always, Wright’s soundtrack, here replete with ‘60s gems, is absolutely spot-on.
8
+Brilliantly shot; McKenzie; the music
-Deflated payoff; supporting characters exist only as plot devices
Last Night in Soho
Directed by Wright
With McKenzie, Taylor-Joy and Smith
Violet Crown, R, 116 min.
