Overview
Whether it's via a post or tweet or message, in a comment or status update, thanks to a Notes app screenshot or in an email, mean words aren't hard to share two decades into the 21st century. Click a few buttons, slide your finger across a touchscreen, then vitriol can be directed virtually instantaneously worldwide. Countless people — too many, all sticklers for unpleasantness — do just that. Such behaviour has almost become a reflex. A century ago, however, spewing nastiness by text required far more effort. Someone had to put ink to paper, commit their hatred to physical form in their own handwriting, tuck it into an envelope, pay for postage, then await the mail service to deliver their malice. Wicked Little Letters isn't an ode to that dedication, but there's no avoiding that sending offensive missives in its 1920s setting was a concerted, determined act — and also that no one could claim just seconds later that they were hacked.
Times change, and technology with it, but people don't: that's another way of looking at this British dramedy, which is indeed based on a true tale. Director Thea Sharrock (The One and Only Ivan) and screenwriter Jonny Sweet (Gap Year) know that there's a quaintness about the chapter of history that they're bringing to the screen, but not to the attitudes behind the incident. In Sussex by the sea on the English Channel, spiteful dispatches scandalised a town, with the situation dubbed "the Littlehampton libels". Today, much worse than the swearing and insults initially sent to Edith Swan, then to other villagers as well, can be seen on social media constantly. Someone can fire off unhinged pettiness in seconds. No one in another 100 years will be making a movie about wicked little letters of the 2020s, then — where would they start, or end?
Right now, in this flick about disagreeable and distressing communications, contrasting the reality of the human penchant for mud-slinging across a century springs from a well-told story. In Wicked Little Letters' account of the Littlehampton events, Edith (Olivia Colman, Wonka) keeps receiving notes that overuse vulgar terms, and the God-fearing, prim-and-proper spinster, who lives with her strict father (Timothy Spall, The Heist Before Christmas) and dutiful mother (Gemma Jones, Emily), is certain that she knows the source of her unwanted mail. Living next door, Rose Gooding (Jessie Buckley, Fingernails) is an Irish single mother to Nancy (Alisha Weir, Roald Dahl's Matilda the Musical), has Bill (Malachi Kirby, My Name Is Leon) as her live-in boyfriend, and is fond of a drink at the pub and of sharing her opinion. The two neighbours are as chalk and cheese as women of the time could get, but were once friendly. When Edith blames Rose, the latter's pleas that she's innocent — and that she'd just tell the former her grievances to her face, not send them anonymously — fall on deaf ears among most of the resident police.
The reaction from the constabulary isn't astonishing. Papperwick (Hugh Skinner, The Witcher) and his chief Spedding (Paul Chahidi, Chad) think that it's an open-and-shut case, arrogantly and pompously so. Initially, "woman police officer" (as her colleagues insist on calling her) Gladys Moss (Anjana Vasan, Black Mirror) shares the same conclusion. But when your very presence as the first female cop is treated as a novelty day in and day out at work, it isn't a leap to spot how preconceived prejudice dictates the use of the law — sparking Gladys into investigating whether there's more afoot, going against Spedding's orders, but with a trio of local women (Saltburn's Lolly Adefope, Boat Story's Joanna Scanlan and Doc Martin's Eileen Atkins) assisting.
As Wicked Little Letters spins a whodunnit around its expletive-filled correspondence and lapses in accepted propriety — albeit one with low stakes, given that the culprit is largely obvious regardless of whether you know the real-life details going in — it does so with top-notch casting. Watching any Colman-starring film means seeing one of Britain's best actors put on a show, as everything from The Favourite to The Father attests. Here, it also involves witnessing a layered portrayal, not that that's unusual for the Oscar-winner. Edith is the picture of Catholic piety, but yearns for constant approval (being called a "pretty young Christian woman" gets her beaming with pride) after spending her entire existence under her abusive father's thumb. Envy also clearly courses through her veins towards the former acquaintance that she's sending to jail. Enjoying Colman's turn also means revelling in her ability to sling profanities when the narrative calls for it ("piss" and "foxy-arsed" are high among the scribe's terms of choice).
Buckley, also as always, is as spirited as she is earthy — and expertly balances Rose's bold forthrightness with her inner vulnerability as the village witch-hunt keeps pointing its pitchforks Rose's way (primarily for daring to be unmarried, a mother, cohabiting with a man, known to curse and nothing but her irrepressible self). She's having as much of a ball as Colman with her part, in just-as-stellar a performance. The dynamic between Edith and Rose spells out the narrow-minded societal mindset about women at the time, including how such judgements and expectations were internalised, but neither Buckley nor Colman are stuck playing mere symbols or subversions of regressive attitudes. Also excellent is Vasan, in a role that's no less crucial, conveying a process that is never as easy to experience as it is to witness: realising how flawed the status quo is, how your existence has been shaped by it (female police officers weren't even permitted to marry or have children), then challenging it no matter the consequences.
As shot with the warm hues typical of period-set English fare by cinematographer Ben Davis (The Banshees of Inisherin), this poison-pen story doesn't send much that's surprising to the screen — as a mystery, a satire, a bundle of character studies, a cop and courtroom drama, or a portrait of the era that it depicts. It also leans heavily on its strong language being entertaining. But Sharrock, comedian Sweet and their cast have such a handle on the scenario, its amusing potential, and everything that this true-crime tale says about the 1920s, 2020s and humanity's worst impulses regardless of the year, that it always works. When Colman and Buckley last appeared in the same movie, The Lost Daughter had them playing the same person; getting them sharing a frame, and swearing in it, is also worth watching.
