Wicked Little Letters
Directed by Thea Sharrock
Written by Jonny Sweet
Starring: Olivia Colman, Jessie Buckley, Anjana Vasan
Rated R
Runtime: 1 hour 40 minutes
In theaters March 29

by Tessa Swehla, Staff Writer

True crime isn’t really a genre that I vibe with generally, but if more true crime films were like Thea Sharrock’s comedy-mystery Wicked Little Letters, I’d probably be another true crime devotee white girl. Based on the true and often forgotten story of the Littlehampton Letters Scandal of the early 1920s, the film not only tells us what happened but also asks us to consider why it happened.

To be fair, it is an odd mystery: the devout Edith Swan (Olivia Colman) has been receiving anonymous letters filled with obscene harassment. At the urging of her father, she reports the crime to the local police, reluctantly pointing a finger at her frenemy neighbor, the unrestrained Rose Gooding (Jessie Buckley). Most of the town seems convinced that Rose did it, but as more letters arrive–throwing the town into chaos and making national news headlines–police woman Gladys Moss (Anjana Vasan) becomes convinced of Rose’s innocence, starting her own unsanctioned investigation into the matter.

Director Sharrock has had an odd career. She directed the acclaimed Hollow Crown: Henry V (2012) as well as the infamous Me Before You (2016). If you don’t know why Me Before You is infamous, here is an article that explains it much better than I could. Neither film seems to presage what is essentially a comedy of manners/mystery/true crime mash-up. However, her execution of Sweet’s remarkably funny script doesn’t pull any punches.

Colman is also playing against type. Edith is a hyper-religious and rather demure character at the beginning of the film, cowed by her overbearing and abusive father Edward Swan (Timothy Small). Coleman infuses this character with so much depth from the very first scene: she says all the right Christian things in her soft voice to placate her father, but her small smiles reveal her innermost pleasure at being the center of so much attention. Buckley plays the raucous Rose with unbridled zest, while Vasan’s Gladys almost acts as the straight man to the rest of the whacky characters of the small English town with her restrained but methodical dedication to her work. The aforementioned characters almost steal the entire film: Joanna Scanlan, Lolly Adefope, and Eileen Atkins play the eccentric members of Edith’s Christian women’s whist club, providing the film with some of its funniest moments.

At its core, this film is about the complexity and futility of respectability politics. The reason that Edith’s family, the police, the judges, and the rest of the Littlehampton believe Edith’s accusation that Rose is the writer of the letters is because Edith has social credibility that Rose does not have. The Littlehampton native Edith is textbook traditional English femininity: she is religious, respectful, quiet, and well-respected–if a little ridiculed–by the community. Rose is an Irish immigrant, a single mother, and a “loose” woman whose lover lives with her. She is quick to say what she thinks and is not cowed by the foreboding Edward or any of the male authority figures in the village.

Edith and Rose actually began as friends: Edith trying to “save” Rose, and Rose trying to become more respectable like Edith in order to “be a good mother” and to fit into the village. By trying to abandon her Irishness and the markers of her impoverished beginnings, Rose is trying to assimilate to her new home by performing the same feminine rituals as Edith. However, her efforts are in vain, when someone calls CPS on Rose and her daughter, Rose blames Edith, causing a rift in their relationship. When she is arrested for writing the letters, Rose then understands: no matter what she does, she will never be a “good woman” in the eyes of the town. Everyone is so quick to believe Edith and her father despite the circumstantial evidence and despite glaring inconsistencies in the case because Rose fits the narrative of a criminal, a troublemaker.

However, the film is not creating a true binary between Rose and Edith. For one thing, despite the arrests and the town’s abuse, Rose is clearly happy in her life with her daughter and lover (Malachi Kirby). Edith is miserable: Edward invades and controls every aspect of her life, making sure every action and word reflects the deference due to him as the man of the house and enjoying her role as his domestic servant.

For another thing, Gladys’ arc also provides a neat contrast to the conflict between the central duo. In her own attempt at assimilation, the film begins with Gladys’ attempt to be accepted by her all male colleagues and boss in the police force. She’s trying to play a boys’ game and follow the hierarchy (something her commanding officer reminds her of many, many times). However, no matter what rules she follows or how she presents herself, she can never be good enough, something highlighted by the way in which everyone, including herself, keeps referring to her as a “woman police officer.” Rose scoffs at this, asking, “Do you need to say that? It’s obvious you are a woman.” The rest of the whist club also find themselves commenting on their own acceptance or rejection of societal expectations: Mabel (Atkins) hits the nail on the head when she comments to Rose, “They didn’t seem to care when we had to work in their factories and drive their tractors during the war.”

I won’t spoil the ending, but the reveal of who is writing the letters adds yet another layer to this array of women trying to figure out who they are and who they want to be in a rapidly changing world. In a landscape that is rapidly filling with mediocre girl boss movies and women tragedy porn movies, it’s refreshing to see such a razor sharp comedy directed at respectability politics with such energy and nuance.