Guess it had to happen sometime, but it’s a shame that the previously-thought-to-be inexhaustible energy resource of Edgar Wright’s omnivorous, giddy cinephilia should finally be showing signs running out right now, just when a jaded, weary, pandemic-drab world could use it most.
Don’t get me wrong: with its dual-timeline gimmick and its evident love for the pastichey recreation of London in the Swinging Sixties decorating a coming-of-ager that becomes a fish-out-of-water drama that morphs into a murder-mystery that then turns into a slasher-horror, “Last Night in Soho,” which premiered today at the Venice Film Festival, boasts as ambitious a genre-melding concept as Wright has ever fielded.
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