You’ve gotta love the cheeky epigram with which director Thea Sharrock opens her mischievous little film:
“This is more true than you’d think.”
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| When the newly arrived Rose (Jessie Buckley, right) first moves into the house adjacent to where Edith (Olivia Colman) lives with her parents, they get along reasonably well. Alas, that isn't destined to last... |
The setting is the seaside town of Littlehampton, in the early 1920s. Sharrock and Sweet hit the ground running, with prim and proper Edith Swan (Olivia Colman) in the midst of an escalating feud with vulgar and earthy Rose Gooding (Jessie Buckley). Their hostility is exacerbated by the fact that their front doors are inches from each other, and their row houses have a common wall (which does little to mute the, um, enthusiastic late-night noises that emanate from the bedroom Rose shares with her lover).
The close proximity becomes even more uncomfortable due to shared toilets and baths.
Edith, last in a massive line of siblings, still lives with her parents, Edward (Timothy Spall) and Victoria (Gemma Jones). The former is a fire-and-brimstone authoritarian and emotional abuser, a role that Spall plays with terrifying ferocity. Whenever Edith fails to toe some behavioral line, she’s sent to her room to copy Biblical passages 200 times.
Edith’s mother long ago gave up trying to change this dynamic, and now meekly refuses to intrude. Jones makes the woman so withdrawn, that’s she’s practically insubstantial.
Buckley, in great contrast, throws everything into her performance as Rose, a rowdy Irish migrant with a cheerfully foul mouth that unleashes breathtaking profanities, while enjoying life to the fullest: often in the local pub, smoking, drinking and being the life of the party. Buckley is a total hoot: as much a force of nature as her character.
But although unschooled, Rose isn’t stupid. She’s also a sharp judge of character.
Her boyfriend Bill (Malachi Kirby), calmer and loyal to the core, loves to play his guitar while paying close attention to local doings. Rose’s young daughter Nancy (Alisha Weir) is a sweet adolescent who adores her mother, and has bonded tightly with Bill.
As revealed via flashbacks, Edith and Rose initially got along, the former generously befriending the Irish newcomer. Rose, in turn, recognized that they both were misfits of a sort, and drew comfort from their respective eccentricities.
But it all went to hell during a celebration of Edward’s birthday, when Rose — enraged by the way he treated his daughter and other people — stood up to him. Now well and truly a local pariah, Rose is further tormented by Edith’s piously snooty, condescending and judgmental manner.
Soon thereafter, Edith and other neighborhood residents begin to receive nasty, profanity-laced letters filled with even meaner accusations and (at times) spot-on references to character flaws. Rose is the obvious suspect, and local Chief Constable Spedding (Paul Chahidi) wastes no time arresting and jailing her. Worse yet, she faces a trial and — if found guilty — imprisonment, and the loss of her daughter.
Well.
Spedding and the equally chauvinistic Constable Papperwick (Hugh Skinner) have no doubt of Rose’s guilt, but WPC Gladys Moss (Anjana Vasan) isn’t entirely convinced. Unfortunately, Spedding angrily refuses to let Gladys investigate, and the sniggering Papperwick undermines her at every turn.
(Gladys Moss was, in fact, Sussex’s first female police officer, appointed to the West Sussex Constabulary in 1919. She also was the first motorcycle-riding policewoman in all of England.)
Gladys is a terrific character, well sculpted by Sweet’s script, and superbly played by Vasan. Gladys’ quietly simmering rage, at each dismissive put-down by her colleagues, is palpable. Vasan also boasts an impressively wide-eyed, sideways glance of disbelief and/or contempt.
Whereas Edith and Rose are deliberately overblown characters, broadly played by Colman and Buckley, Vasan’s Gladys is quieter, grounded and much more real. She’s also far more intelligent and perceptive than her male superiors, and — clearly — a crackerjack sleuth and investigator.
Fortunately, Gladys has allies, because a few of the Littlehampton women feel that Rose has been railroaded. They include the elderly Mabel (the always fine Eileen Atkins), who has lived in the neighborhood long enough to know everybody very well; kind-hearted postmistress Kate (Lolly Adefope); and the defiantly masculine Ann (Joanna Scanlan), who knows what it’s like to feel shunned.
The numerous character dynamics and dialogue exchanges are top-notch, with everything delivered deftly by the well-cast stars and equally skilled secondary players. Some of the exchanges have the rat-a-tat delivery of 1930s Hollywood screwball comedies, and everything is interlaced with frequently read-aloud examples of the hilariously off-color poison-pen letters, which literally sizzle with vulgarity and all manner of impossible anatomical suggestions.
(Needless to say, the easily offended are advised to give this film a very wide berth.)
Given the passage of time, production designer Cristina Casali was forced to “build” portions of 1920s Littlehampton, guided by vintage photographs and postcards assembled by art director Romain Hémeray. The result looks impressively authentic, as is the period garb supplied by costume designer Charlotte Walter.
(Fun fact: The Littlehampton constabulary was the only force that wore flat caps instead of police helmets, in a throwback to the way officers dressed during World War I.)
Although these events are a century removed, Sweet shrewdly recognized that the story is driven by behavior that today’s viewers will recognize: trolling. The delivery system may have changed, but the spiteful cruelty, weaponized statements and potential damage remain universal.
Fortunately, those who choose to fight the hate are equally timeless.
But rarely this entertaining.
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