Last Night in Soho

Last Night in Soho ★½

little bit too angry to type cohesively, but this is probably the most frustrating film ive seen in a long time. in the sense is that i adored the first hour and a half, my eyes poured over the detailing of london and how similar this feels to my city- the dirty streets and the absent presence of warmth filled with my own deeply terrifying trauma and experiences- this film felt like a retelling of my own experiences of walking home every night the dreams of being far away. the flashes of violent trauma wavering between scenes and pure emotive fear and dread filling the scene it was all too close to what ive seen and what ive felt. my relationship to sexual trauma is deeply personal and how i view this experience is often experiences through watching films, and therefore this felt like another fresh horror to fill the mold of me being able to one day live through what happened. then the final half hour happened- and i felt my body recoil and sink into my chair slowly as my eyes dropped to the floor. how did this happen? how did this intensely emotional and raw violent film become every other horror. not only every other horror but also something which it harshly wasn’t. i understand what wright was trying to do and i even respect it somewhat but this felt like a slap in the face to every feeling i had previously felt about the film, every wound which had opened up immediately closed and every tense cinematic piece of narrative just ended for me. i cant bring myself to hate this film but holy shit its very easy to dislike it! also this is the worst script wrights ever directed like christ

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