Thea Sharrock’s Wicked Little Letters is an occasionally uneven yet engrossing picture anchored by a marvelous cast. Written by Jonny Sweet, this is a piece that gives vulgar fire to a style of film that is known for being gentle and mannered, no matter the deeper themes.
The underlying dynamics of the screenplay take a still-relevant aim at the gender roles of the time; an era where women were meant to “know their place”. Wives and daughters were to cook and clean and stay subservient to the male heads of the household, while female police officers (a “shocking” rarity) were treated as secretaries with a badge and were forbidden to marry or have children. It is in this pointed social commentary where the film works best. Some of the comedic bits land, but the true strength of Wicked Little Letters lies in its addressing of social prejudices and the era’s puritanical (and hypocritical) submission of women.
Based on the actual case of anonymous and extremely vulgar letters sent to the townspeople of the Sussex seaside town of Littlehampton, the title card cheekily informs us, “This story is more true than you think.”, and we are off.
Olivia Coleman delivers another great turn as “Edith Swan”, an overly-pious, thirty something, spinster who still lives with her parents (Timothy Spall and Gemma Jones). Edith’s neighbor, “Rose Gooding” (Jessie Buckley, on complete fire) is a bold and outspoken Irish woman who loves a good pint at the pub, but who is also an attentive and loving mother to her young daughter “Nancy” (Alisha Weir).
Edith and her parents become the target of viciously offensive letters frequently sent to their home. Taken from the actual letters that ignited the real life scandal, their content is a good source of the film’s humor. A phrase such as “Foxy-assed rabbit fucker” is certainly one for the ages.
All clues and fingers point to Rose, who is arrested and put on trial. Of course, in old school Britain, the brash Irish lass would be the first to be accused. Anjana Vasan is Gladys Moss, the area’s only woman police officer (herself a victim of male dominance) who begins to suspect Rose is innocent of the crime that threatens to imprison her. With the help of a well-cast group of quirky amateur sleuths (Eileen Atkins, Joanna Scanlan, and Lilly Adefope), Moss defies her commander’s orders to not get involved and sets out to find the truth.
Colman and Buckley (who brilliantly played the same character at different ages in Maggie Gyllenhall’s The Lost Daughter) are fantastic in their respective roles. Coleman plays Edith’s about-to-boil-over discontent with natural skill. This is an actress who refuses to allow an audience to catch her acting, inhabiting every part with unrestrained glee. It is the rare modern thespian who can play barely disguised rage, vicious comedy, and repressed emotion so well.
Jessie Buckley is an excellence of equal measure in a spirited and passionate performance. Full of bluster and determination, Buckley finds an earned pathos in the role, giving Rose the right amount of emotional power while injecting the work with a kind heart.
Cinematographer Ben Davis captures the (somewhat) quiet small town Sussex life without drawing attention to the town itself. The rows of houses and shops are blended into the frame, as if they were another character; the drab interiors speaking to the economic realities of the time. In the depiction of a small English working class community, Davis’ visuals deserve mention in the same breath as David Leland’s 1987 charmer, Wish You Were Here or many of Mike Leigh’s seriocomic pictures.
Sweet’s screenplay doesn’t always find the right balance of humor and drama, while once or twice playing too close to the farcical. Some nice realistic comedy comes out of Buckley’s reactions to her Littlehampton neighbors, as she refuses to suffer fools nor does she allow her Irish heritage to be slandered. Coleman is the source of a few smiles due to Edith’s facial expressions when trying to hide the wilder person she wishes to be.
The drama of the picture never fails to work. Some painfully heartbreaking scenes come courtesy of Timothy Spall. His domineering father/husband is a man with next to no redeemable qualities, but the actor plays it realistically, steering clear of caricature. While this man is an at-home tyrant and a bigot, Spall manages to generate a bit of feeling towards his plight during one particular arc; his carefully honest approach making the role a dramatic highlight.
The film’s comedic/dramatic balance is more shaky when following the story of Officer Gladys Moss. Anjana Vasan is quite good in the role and her moments outside of the police station are interestingly written. When inside her place of employment, director Sharrock tries hard to combine social commentary on women in the workplace with a stiff-upper-lip silliness in the form of Constable Papperwick (Hugh Skinner) and Chief Constable Spedding (Paul Chahidi); succeeding at the former and not in the Papperwick character, whose design seems to be from another film.
Make no mistake, this is no silly romp with goofy English “bitties”. Prejudice and injustice are explored rather well. There are sharp statements made regarding the perception of women and their assumed “place” in early society; the director weaving them into the narrative with ease.
Through the performances of its perfect cast and the combined style of Jonny Sweet’s script and director Thea Sharrock’s gentle hand, Wicked Little Letters is an engaging story and a good little film.
Wicked Little Letters
Written by Jonny Sweet
Directed by Thea Sharrock
Starring Olivia Coleman, Jessie Buckley, Timothy Spall, Anjana Vasan, Gemma Jones, Hugh Skinner, Paul Chahidi, Alisha Weir, Eileen Atkins, Joanna Scanlan, Lilly Adefope, Malachi Kirby
R, 100 Minutes, Sony Pictures Classics, Film 4, Blueprint Pictures
