Last Night in Soho (2021)

Last Night in Soho is the rare thriller that seduces you before it scares you, wrapping a mystery in neon glamour and then letting the shadows creep in around the edges. Edgar Wright turns 1960s London into a fever dream of music, mirrors, and motion—every cut, costume, and needle-drop feels intoxicating, like you’re dancing at the end of the world. Thomasin McKenzie grounds the film with a vulnerable, searching presence, while Anya Taylor-Joy radiates star power that’s as captivating as it is unsettling, making the story’s shifting mood hit harder. It’s a stylish, sensory ride with real bite, though if you’re sensitive to sexual violence, bloody imagery, or intense psychological unease, it’s worth knowing this one doesn’t pull its punches.

Last Night in Soho is clearly trying to be a glamorous, nightmare-fueled love letter to Swinging London while warning you about the rot under the glitter, and on a visual and musical level it absolutely delivers. The problem is the story eventually starts running on fumes: the mystery isn’t as deep as it wants to be, the pacing sags in the back half, and the scares lean more on loud jump tactics than truly unsettling dread. Tonally it can feel like two movies wrestling each other—stylish psychological thriller one minute, blunt social commentary the next—so the finale may land as messy or overcooked rather than satisfying. If you’re here for Edgar Wright’s craft, killer production design, and Anya Taylor-Joy’s star power, you’ll have a good time; if you want a tightly written horror mystery with a clean payoff, you might leave annoyed.