It is easy to be washed up in the tidal wave of cultural relevance Morbius has created for itself. Looking into why that is, however, it should be clear that the survival and financial success of this Jared Leto feature are both thanks to its inability to fail because of a sincerely devoid and devoted fanbase and because of its self-flagellation as an act of apology for not being very good. It is a maddening cultural cycle, a funny one, but one that does very little for the progression of a genre tiring itself and its audiences out. Morbius is a fascinating shift in motion for the superhero branch, a rallying cry for those that will fail and fail again, to never quit because someone on Twitter will turn a blind eye to imperfection. It is Morbin’ Time after all.
Taking the “born in the wrong generation,” shtick and pastiche to a completely new and horrifying level, Last Night in Soho bears the brunt of pigeon-holed nostalgia paired with the underwhelming static of the modern horror genre. Reigniting some fire into that genre is a near-lost cause. Edgar Wright may have a firm hand in that style, always using it one way or another in his films, but never focusing on it all that much. Shaun of the Dead had typical horror elements lying dormant under the barrage of laughter, and Hot Fuzz had the terrifying pretence that small English towns were fuelled by murder and funnelled that raw aggression into winning small-town prizes. None of that features in Last Night in Soho, a more streamlined look at the horror genre with a desire to replicate the period without crossing into a full parody of it. Wright and Thomasin McKenzie are well-meaning in their efforts here.