Review: Wicked Little Letters (2023)
A foul-mouthed nonconformist is set to take the rap for a series of obscene letters in this British comedy-drama
Wicked Little Letters (2023)
Directed by Thea Sharrock
Having been brought up in a conservative environment where we were taught that “cussing” was the equivalent of taking the Lord’s name in vain, I did not learn to swear properly until I was at my first job. There, at a Jack in the Box deep in the suburbs between Houston and Galveston, Texas, I tried at first to resist, but I found that it was simply impossible to work at that job without expressing oneself profanely. For example, saying that the machine that produced the milkshake product was “broken” did not have the range or verve, did not fully communicate the extent of malfunction, of saying “The milkshake machine is fucked up.”
Having received that education, I have let myself freely apply it ever since — in my first attempts at writing a one-act play (which actually was about that job, titled “Jacks Off”— “Too many swears” was the high school drama teacher’s comment), in my relationships, in subsequent jobs (including when I was a high school teacher, where I probably overdid it in the service of convincing my students that I was not a fucking hypocrite), and even in meetings during my tech career.
But no one can swear like the British, a truth that provides both the comedy and the conflict in “Wicked Little Letters.” Set in a 1920s English village, and based upon real events1, the film centers on two neighbor women. One (Olivia Coleman) is Edith, the pious, unmarried late-30s daughter of a retired couple; the other (Jessie Buckley) is Rose, an early-30s widow with an eight-year-old daughter and a fiancé. Rose stands out from the other village women, first because she’s Irish, but mainly because she drinks in the pubs, plays darts with the village’s men and swears like a sailor. When Edith, and later others in the village, begin receiving profanely insulting letters, suspicion falls on the filthy-mouthed, unmarried immigrant.
The movie gives you just enough text from the letters to give a flavor of what they contain. Watch the trailer and you’ll get the idea; a recurring phrase is “You foxy ass piss country whore,” which Rose, proclaiming her innocence snd knowing full well what proper filthy insults are supposed to sound like, points out is an unnatural phrase and not something she would ever say much less write. Instead it sounds like someone who is inexperienced in swearing might imagine it should sound like. Someone pious, a goody two-shoes. Someone like Edith.
Being an immigrant and a nonconformist, Rose seems at first to have no defenders. This is the moment when a conventional script would have a young, idealistic copper get involved for the sake of justice and the inevitable end-scene kiss. What really happens is that a young policewoman, Ofc. Gladys Moss (Anjana Vasan, from the wonderful British series “We Are Lady Parts” about a female Muslim rock band), suspects that Rose is innocent and, with a few other villagers, decides at the last minute to take a hand.
Beyond the comedy and the cussing, the film takes time to show us who Edith and Rose really are, and that their relationship began as a friendship — one where Rose gave Edith a chance to escape, for an hour here and there, from the stifling household where she is in thrall to her controlling father. The more we find out about her home life, the more a pit of horror threatens to open under Edith’s feet. The script never goes all the way there, but viewers can read so much in Olivia Coleman’s terrific physical performance.
The casting is excellent. Not only are Coleman and Buckley — and Timothy Spall as Edith’s father — perfect for their roles, but the film uses color-blind casting for the supporting cast. Vasan, playing Ofc. Moss, is south Asian; Rose’s fiancé, the trial judge, and a postal clerk are black. Outside science fiction films and series, this is the first time I’ve seen color-blind casting used in a movie setting — an English village of the 1920s — where you would absolutely not expect to see so many dark-skinned public employees. (Now that I think about it, perhaps this is a comment of some kind about modern-day England, where this might now be common.)
The script plays a bit fast and loose at the end, when Ofc. Moss and Rose’s allies are working to free her and convict the real author of the letters. But you’ll forgive this at the very end when Edith, now laughing freely and uncontrolled, finally does get away from her father.
In theaters now.