Edgar Wright’s retro thriller fails to swing.

To varying degrees, I have enjoyed everything Edgar Wright has done. From his Spaced days to Baby Driver via the Cornetto trilogy, the director’s output has played a huge part in my movie-viewing life, and while there’s certainly been the odd wobble along the way, he – for me at least – has yet to miss.

Until now.

With the mysterious ability to time-hop in her sleep, aspiring fashion designer, Eloise (Thomasin McKenzie), spends her otherwise lonely nights in London whisking herself away to the sleazy streets of 1960s Soho. While there, she encounters a dazzling wannabe singer, Sandie (Anya Taylor-Joy) and her shady boyfriend/manager Jack (Matt Smith), soon discovering that 60s glamour is not all it appears, as these dreams of the past gradually crack and splinter into something far darker.

Considering my lofty anticipation levels, it brings me absolutely no pleasure to conclude that Last Night in Soho just doesn’t work. At first glance, and with prior knowledge of Edgar Wright’s impressive track record, expectations are understandably high, however, while there’s certainly some good stuff in there, the film comes up disappointingly short of his usual high standards.

While hindered by clunky, unconvincing writing, Last Night in Soho gradually overcomes its scripting issues to pop with Wright’s inimitable style and energy, growing in confidence the further into the story we head. Yet, after the film hits its peak at roughly the halfway mark, the deterioration is dramatic, resulting in a muddle of interesting ideas that never quite deliver.

Slow off the mark, Last Night in Soho certainly takes its time to get going, however, when the time splicing action heats up, things eventually start to swing. As Eloise is pulled more and more into the past, Last Night in Soho opens up to become the film you really hoped it would be, as we’re swept away and swept up in an era thick with smoke, sleaze, and grimy glamour.

Boosted by inventive, eye-popping visuals, an alluring energy, and an utterly dazzling Anya Taylor-Joy, the 60s portion of the film is a blast and does well to draw you into a very specific time and place. Consequently, these sections start to overshadow the story’s present-day parts to such an extent that things eventually grow unbalanced.

With style to spare and swept along by a suitably retro soundtrack, the film’s period elements are a blast and really dig into the scuzzy heart of 60s Soho. However, as the past is pulled closer and closer to the present, the narrative becomes confused and its impact dulled.

There’s an energy to the flashback moments that just isn’t there in the present, and while Thomasin McKenzie does a decent job attempting to hold things together, the two timelines just don’t blend. As evidence of this, Last Night in Soho’s horror elements don’t connect in any real tangible way, often finding themselves caught between the story’s two eras and never able to deliver scares effectively.

As the two worlds eventually collide and the horror starts to ramp up, there are brief moments where Wright looks to have pulled things off, however, all this good work is swiftly undone by an inexcusably poor third act.

Without wanting to spoil anything, there are certain narrative decisions made in these final moments that just smack of laziness and a lack of coherence, and as the horror steadily spirals into predictability and cliché, the life rapidly drains from the plot.

Ultimately, it’s this final third that deals Last Night in Soho its fatal blow. With all its hard work undermined, and with its message suddenly blunted, the film ends on something of a bum note and a lingering feeling of what could’ve been.

As seems fitting for a film that deliberately splits itself in two, Last Night in Soho feels irrevocably conflicted, and while there are certainly moments that threaten to nudge it up to the level of Edgar Wright’s best efforts, its failings are just too glaring to ignore.

With glimpses of Edgar Wright at his stylish and ambitious best, Last Night in Soho is ultimately let down by poor writing and the muddled execution of its central premise. Carried along by captivating performances from its duelling stars, Last Night in Soho comes so close to greatness, yet it’s all deflated by dwindling thrills and a third act that manages to undermine the entire thing.