Why You Liked … Wicked little letters

“Sucks ten cocks a week … minimum.” Oh, we’re going to have fun with this one.

Wicked Little Letters is a delightful barbed wire enema to those who want to control who we are, what we say, and how we think. More importantly, it’s a beacon that shows the difference between courtesy and friendship, between familiarity and likability. 

It follows the story of two women – Olivia Colman’s Edith and Jessie Buckley’s Rose – who deliver humour, whimsy, and cutting poignancy as they take us through a ‘nice’ English town and its people. Edith and Rose are neighbours in a little stone townhouse. They share a wall, which means they also share any secret that can be carried by sound. To add a little salt, Rose is an Irish migrant. A bit sweary. A bit widowed. She’s got a kid, and let’s not forget how she’s living in sin. With a Black man. Rose is the perfect patsy for the town’s crime of the century as outstandingly abrasive letters are delivered to all and sundry. And Edith lives with her parents: her mother is a doormat, and her father is a puritanical tyrant.

None of this is what the story’s about.

Examining the Other

In our outwardly wholesome, proper, twee little English village, there are … undesirables. The people who are just a little bit different. Nobody pays them much mind, but aside from one or two hell-raising puritans, everyone has a foible. It’s these foibles that make Rose welcome at the pub. See, people love seeing the emperor with no clothes, but what they really want is the emperor to be told to eat a bowl of dicks.

Rose offers no ketchup as she hands out dick entrees; she sticks up for her friends, and bullishly so. She’s from a country where life is hard, and speaking plain makes a difference. She doesn’t want to fit in; Rose wants to be Rose, and be Rose for other people. She’s an outsider. But it’s being the outsider who does the things we wish we could that makes her welcome. It’s everyone’s minor outsider status and their desire to have a Rose on side that gives us our first point of introspection: is she really all that bad? Loud, sure. But evil?

Well, hang about. As the plot unfolds, the once just annoying-slash-vicious letters now carry a deadly punch. Someone in the town dies from shock. This is manslaughter at its fuckery finest. The investigation ramps, and our patsy Rose is sent down on charges.

The problem is, she didn’t do it. And all the people who liked her despite the hell-raising asshat’s judgement need to decide, deep inside themselves, if it’s worth getting into a fight over it. I mean, Rose is just one woman. Her out-of-wedlock fuck buddy is a wastrel, fallen far from the war. Child services have been called to look after her unruly, unladylike child. Wouldn’t it be easier for everyone if this foreigner, this Irishwoman, were tossed out?

Then things could go back to normal.

Real Friends

Well, it turns out that no, they can’t. Justice must be served, but not by the courts or the cops. The law are keen to see this resolved at any price, even if it’s an innocent woman doing the paying. 

And this is where the movie turns from comedy drama to comedy crime, as our unlikely heroes band together to ensure evidence is presented. It’s a moving tribute to the fact that you can be noticed, be seen for your character, regardless of the words you use to say how you feel. That your real friends can be at your side, and even when you think all hope is lost, they’ll come to the rescue. 

Rose is Rose, unapologetically and completely. It turns out, that’s what people like about her. They love that she speaks for her friends, is generous to those she loves, and doesn’t judge people because they don’t wear the right hat. No, Rose judges people for being cunts, and that’s what makes us cheer. She’s brutally honest, and stands up to tyrants, both emotionally and physically. It’s the kind of loyalty and truth that makes her a friend worth fighting for.

It’s not the unmasking of the real villain at the end, but rather Rose’s friends deciding to stand up for her, which gives the film its emotional punch.

Clever not Crass

The movie makes a great play on highly offensive letters replete with an assload of swearing. The thing is, it’s sharp and inventive, not just crass. The anonymous letters are both vicious and right, delivering well-placed insults to people who really need to hear them. It’s this use of inventiveness and biting commentary that delivers joy where you least expect it. The letters aren’t just props; they’re characters, cutting through the town’s bullshit with wit that’s both sharp and as unpleasant as a case of crabs. They’re a voice for the voiceless and repressed; sometimes we should listen, even when the truth’s inconvenient.

Heart not Ache

It’s this tension between the things that need to be heard, and the cruelty served on an innocent woman, that leaves us intent until the movie’s credits roll. See, we believe in the justice the letters are trying to serve, but we also believe Rose shouldn’t be sent away. The resolution can only happen through an outside influence — Rose’s true friends, who are willing to risk their status of ‘normal’ to be branded rogues and outsiders. 

It’s a biting commentary on superficial niceties versus genuine friendships. It might explain why so many of us feel so alone, as we’re never quite sure if the smiles around us are saccharine or real sugar. It makes us cheer as the shallowness of forced politeness is exposed. We get to completely enjoy the depths of real goodness these people show, for both Rose, and each other.

So, What?

Wicked Little Letters is a delicious delight. It’s a movie that explores real friendship and standing up for what’s right, but cleverly hides it behind astounding acting and writing so on point you could do needlework with it. It shows us what we want to hear; not the true talk of the letters, but that goodness is what wins out. It doesn’t matter where we’re from if the colours of our soul are beautiful and glorious. 

As the town’s bullshit niceties crumble, what shines through is something real. Goodness that doesn’t care about what’s proper, just what’s right. This movie should be on your watch list if you’re interested in the power of genuine connection in a world of false niceties. It’s a delight, poignant and funny, witty and incisive, and is all fucken class.