Wicked Little Letters

There is a specific, primal joy in hearing an Academy Award winner scream the most creative profanities imaginable. We’ve seen Olivia Colman play queens, detectives, and grieving mothers, but watching her recoil in mock-horror at a letter suggesting she do something physically impossible with a cucumber is the kind of cinematic tonic I didn’t know I needed. I watched this on a Tuesday afternoon while wearing a pair of wool socks that had a significant hole in the left big toe, and honestly, that felt oddly appropriate. Wicked Little Letters is exactly like that sock: cozy, quintessentially British, but with something slightly "off" and naughty poking through the fabric.

The Original Internet Trolls

Set in the 1920s in the seaside town of Littlehampton, the film tackles a stranger-than-fiction true story that feels remarkably modern. Olivia Colman is Edith Swan, a woman who is the human equivalent of a doily—stiff, bleached, and desperately fragile. Her neighbor is Rose Gooding, played by a thunderous Jessie Buckley (The Lost Daughter, Wild Rose), an Irish migrant who swears like a sailor and lives with a level of chaotic freedom that makes the locals itch. When Edith and other residents start receiving anonymous letters filled with hilariously inventive filth, the town immediately points the finger at Rose.

What struck me most was how much this 100-year-old scandal mirrors our current social media age. These letters weren't just insults; they were the 1920s version of a Twitter dogpile. The film captures that specific human urge to hide behind anonymity to say the things we’d never dare whisper in person. In an era of "cancel culture" and digital vitriol, seeing the same behavior play out via fountain pen and stamp makes you realize that humanity hasn't actually changed; our "send" button just gets pushed faster now.

A Duet of Repression and Rage

The heart of the movie is the friction between its two leads. I’ve always felt that Jessie Buckley has an incredible "screen weight"—she grounds every scene she’s in with a raw, unpolished energy. Here, she’s the perfect foil to Colman’s aggressive beige-ness. Colman plays Edith with a twitchy, high-pitched desperation that is both funny and deeply sad. You can practically see the internal gears grinding as she tries to maintain her "good girl" persona while her world turns into a cesspool of vulgarity.

But the real MVP for me was Anjana Vasan as Gladys Moss, the town’s first "Woman Police Officer" (a title she is forced to say in full every single time). Vasan, who was so brilliant in We Are Lady Parts, brings a silent-film-star physicality to the role. She’s the only one actually doing any detective work while the men, led by a delightfully pompous Timothy Spall (Mr. Turner), are too busy being offended to find the truth. Spall plays Edith’s father as a man so brittle and overbearing you expect him to shatter if someone sneezes too loudly. The way he looms over the dinner table is a masterclass in how to play a villain without ever raising your voice.

Behind the Blue Ink

Director Thea Sharrock (Me Before You) makes some interesting choices here. The film looks like a standard "Masterpiece Theatre" production—all cobblestones and tea sets—but the script by Jonny Sweet constantly undercuts that politeness. Apparently, many of the insults in the film were taken directly from the actual historical letters. It turns out people in the 1920s were remarkably gifted at finding synonyms for "foxy arse-licker."

The film struggled a bit to find its footing at the box office, likely because it’s the kind of "mid-budget" movie that streaming services have largely swallowed whole. It’s the type of film that would have been a massive word-of-mouth hit in the 90s, but today it feels like a charming anomaly in a sea of superheroes. It’s a film that trusts its audience to enjoy a character study that happens to be wrapped in a mystery about who used the "C-word" first.

I did find the tonal shifts a bit jarring at times. It wants to be a broad, laugh-out-loud comedy, but it also wants to say something quite serious about the domestic abuse and the suffocating nature of patriarchy. Sometimes those two halves don't quite shake hands. However, the filth-to-finesse ratio is high enough that I was willing to forgive the occasional dip into melodrama.

Wicked Little Letters is a sharp, foul-mouthed delight that thrives on the chemistry of its cast. It’s a reminder that even in the most buttoned-up societies, people are usually just one bad day away from screaming something unspeakable at their neighbor. If you’re tired of movies that take themselves too seriously, let Olivia Colman and Jessie Buckley remind you of the cathartic power of a well-placed swear word. It might not be an "instant classic," but it’s a damn good time at the movies, and in 2024, that’s more than enough.