Last Night in Soho
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
Back in May, when Last Night in Soho was finally given a certain release date (which was announced by its first official promotional materials), I wrote about how Edgar Wright is such a unique filmmaker, who is most certainly a mainstream filmmaker kind of guy, whilst a rule breaker that keeps things exciting. I wrapped up the article saying that Last Night in Soho could be a bust of a film and it would still solidify Wright as one of the generation’s finest filmmakers, particularly because it continues to verify how audacious he is as a director who plays for the general masses, whilst branching out what he can do. Well, I wouldn’t call Last Night in Soho a bust (heavens, no), but I regret to inform you that it’s perhaps his weakest effort narratively. However, that four (out of five) indicates that my prediction was correct. Despite having some screenwriting issues, particularly during the resolution of the film (which is quite the miss in a work that twists and turns), Last Night in Soho is a massive trip of ‘60s psychological horror that is to be seen to be believed.
Before I continue, this is a film that is best seen with the littlest amount of information known about it beforehand. I met up with my buddy Marc Winegust of Layered Butter, who refused to tell me a single thing about the film when he was leaving his screening of Last Night in Soho (you can find his review here). It was the best thing he could have done for me. With that in mind, I can only continue the rest of the review with a spoiler warning. All I can say for those who are curious about my thoughts without having too much spoiled is this: Last Night in Soho is an aesthetic masterpiece, with Edgar Wright’s usual soundtrack-heavy awareness still at its finest. It tries to tell an important tale through a set of psychological horror mysteries, which is commendable, but its final statement gives in to genre conventions, which thwarts the thesis that was being built up until this point. Still, it’s a gorgeous throwback to the ‘60s, with many tongue-in-cheek references and comments about modern perspectives about nostalgia.
Alas, let us proceed.
THE REST OF THIS REVIEW CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS, AS WELL AS DISCUSSIONS THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
You can tell that Wright adores the ‘60s, and I share that common ground with him. As per usual, Wright sews popular music into his films so beautifully, with each and every other element playing into the beat, melody, and lyric of every song. His curation is impeccable, and I’ve held the opinion that Wright is the closest disciple of Quentin Tarantino in this respect, considering how he utilizes songs in his films. The editing cuts on time. A boulangerie’s neon sign flickers at the right tempo. Lyrics predict fates or poke fun at the nightmares that are going on within a scene. Last Night in Soho is as audibly aware as Wright has ever been, but this may be one of his finest hours sound-wise. Whereas Baby Driver was extremely diegetic and purposefully precise, so you can hear each and every bullet case fall on time to a popular song, Last Night in Soho blurs songs and heartbeats, dreamlike whispers and city sounds, audio effects and important pieces of dialogue. I sadly can’t predict that Last Night in Soho will do well elsewhere during the awards season, but its sound absolutely must be acknowledged. It’s a perfect meshing of familiar sounds and impossible-to-define noises. The pulse of Last Night in Soho is perfect on this front.
Visually, Last Night in Soho is similarly brilliant. The paths between the present and the ‘60s — all within London (and its various corridors) — converge via vibrant Technicolor homages (particularly the uses of red, green, pink, and blue). If you’ve seen Scott Pilgrim vs. the World and thought that Last Night in Soho would take it easy, you’re crazy. The deeper into the psyche of a frightened fashion student/medium we go, the more we enter this insane, sugary-coloured world Wright has made for us. The climax features a pure plunge into a delirium that I can’t even really describe, outside of likening it to the most colourful version of hell I’ve seen since Susperia (the original one, anyway).
Last Night in Soho is a fantastic trip, but its bigger discussions land with a thud.
So, what is this all for? Why are we reflecting on the ‘60s in this particular film? Wright is channelling Roman Polanski’s Repulsion here, with the intention on saying that women are still being abused over sixty years later (if not, since as long as civilization can recall). As much as I love Wright, he hasn’t really had a strong, independent female character in any of his films before (none of which are attached to any of the male protagonists or antagonists, anyway), so this could have been a refreshing change of pace. We meet Eloise Turner (or Ellie): a struggling new student who can see ghosts (this latter trait is shown very early on within the first scene). She begins to rent a room since her dorm is full of hateful students that belittle her, and she wishes to now be alone. Within this attic-turned-studio-apartment, Ellie finds her psychic capabilities operating at full capacity: she not only can see ghosts, but she can actually live as one back in the ‘60s. Sandie is Ellie’s escape to her favourite decade (a fascination Ellie is continuously mocked for), and at first she is right in her element. She is now a nightclub singer who has the attention of the world.
However, this quickly becomes an issue, as Ellie — through Sandie — learns that the ‘60s are just as plagued by perverted, toxic men as the present. Ellie cannot turn off her powers, and every time she goes to sleep, she continues Sandie’s histories of sexual abuse, with a parade of men-of-power that refuse to keep their hands off of her. Finally, Ellie snaps, and Sandie’s past becomes her present, with faceless male ghouls chasing her throughout the streets of Soho. Sandie is seen as a corpse caked in blood, meaning that Ellie can see all of this because of the one night that ended it all (hence the ghostly connection). It’s at this point that I’m fully on board with Wright’s first attempt at speaking for women, especially since he worked directly with screenwriter Krysty Wilson-Cairns to get the gaze just right (although we’re still seeing the objectification of women, with the purpose of highlighting the harms of sexualizing women like this).
That all unravels in a matter of microseconds in the film’s climax, and it’s the kind of collapse that actually pains me. By now, much has happened when it comes to the twists of the film, and we begin to feel like Ellie, whose mind is so distraught with trauma and fear that we can’t even think straight. Everything is looking great. This could even be one of my favourite films of the year. This all collides into the final twist of the film, which to me makes virtually no sense narratively or symbolically. Ellie learns that the corpse of Sandie that she sees is the spirit of her after countless instances of abuse. This makes perfect sense, and I like the direction that Soho went here. However, that’s where that train of thought ends. Sandie is very much still alive, and she is Ellie’s landlord (this is not really the major twist, since the film winks at this from the very beginning, and basically tells you this throughout the second act). However, discovering that Sandie has murdered all of her past abusers is a cathartic piece of poetry (and now Ellie has to answer for the male ghosts). Furthermore, Sandie’s primary abuser — a supposed lover that pimped her out — was suspected to be this one elderly man that followed Ellie around (especially since she starts trying to look like Sandie), but the revelation that he was a police officer that tried to warn Sandie (although he himself is slimy) was quite the strong turn. Her actual abuser was amongst the dead.
So, again, where does it go wrong in the matter of an instance? Well, the second that Sandie tries to kill Ellie. Maybe she didn’t want witnesses, but what does this say about the depiction of women in the film up until this point? It almost goes entirely out of the window, here. Sandie isn’t a murderer just to murder. She killed the men that harmed her. All of that prose vanishes from this one decision. Furthermore, Sandie has a change of heart within minutes after trying again and again to kill Ellie and her boyfriend (who sticks by her through thick and thin, and is for sure the only good guy in this entire film) once her place is on fire (caused by a fallen cigarette; a quick shoutout to the burning vinyl collection which is a beautiful metaphor amidst a messy sequence). If Sandie decides to not kill these two kids within minutes of this storyline even beginning, what is the point of even having this? Just to have a final slasher film hurrah? Furthermore, we get a glimpse of the male ghosts asking Ellie to kill Sandie. It’s meant to show why they proceed to keep haunting, but it feels like a brief moment that the film tries to sympathize with rapists. Not a good look whatsoever. This one decision alone stymies the entire film. It weakens the commentary about what these women had to do to survive a patriarchal society. It’s the worst revelation left for last (outside of Sandie’s new ghost living with Ellie now). It’s just not great storytelling, and it’s one of the very few notable narrative duds in Edgar Wright’s filmography. It’s actually a damn shame because it feels like something that is so easily rectifiable, and yet it is savoured as the final piece of punctuation.
Outside of this major faux-pas, Last Night in Soho is a psychedelic horror trip that’s at least an unforgettable experience. Even though it’s perhaps the weakest Wright film thus far, it’s still evidence that this filmmaker has many bright ideas, a massive sense of the craft, and this never-ending love and understanding of pop culture. I’m hoping that you’ve seen the film if you’ve read this far, or that you at least don’t mind spoilers. Otherwise, I’m sorry, but I warned you about the spoilers ahead of time. Either way, despite the occasional slips — particularly that one massive head-scratcher left for last — Last Night in Soho is one of the year’s most distinct films and a gorgeous miasma that you can get lost in.
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.