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There’s a shame that comes with having dreams,cerita lucah aha especially if you’re a woman.

We don’t talk about it much. Maybe because rooting for others to fail feels too icky to admit. Or maybe it’s because the near-universal memory of telling someone you really wanted something — and then immediately wishing you hadn’t — is just too painful for any of us to revisit.

Regardless of why one might avoid the schadenfreude-packed minefield that is discussing dreams, director Edgar Wright’s Last Night in Sohochooses not to shrink away. The ghastly ghost story, co-written by Wright and Krysty Wilson-Cairns, instead increases the callous cruelty by zeroing in on the specific vulnerability of ambitious young women.

The result is a fascinating meditation on externally inflicted self-doubt, which is somehow both profoundly heartbreaking and a bit of a popcorn thriller. It’s an exquisite change of pace for Wright that feels less like the darker side of the guy behind Shaun of the Dead and Scott Pilgrim vs. The Worldthan the twisted sister of Damien Chazelle’s La La Land or Whiplash.

Thomasin McKenzie stars as Ellie, a fashion student who, despite a tragic past, moves to London with idyllic visions for her future. Yet, as soon as the cab ride into the city, lecherous predators — all of them older men — begin to pick away at her sense of safety and self. Matters are made worse at the dorms by a pack of mean girls, who mock Ellie for her small-town upbringing and big dreams.

So Ellie moves to a quaint studio across town with plans to make it on her own. But when visions of a ‘60s lounge singer named Sandie (a pitch-perfect Anya Taylor-Joy) come to visit the determined designer at night, an eerily enchanting time travel voyage begins.

As with all things Wright, working out the puzzle of this strange premise is most of the fun. But rather than driving the reveals with scene-stealing music and action sequences à la Baby Driver, Last Night in Soho offers a more organic story, letting its ethereal elements ebb and flow with a seductive imprecision. Against a neon-soaked West End setting and under a soundtrack of '60s artists like The Kinks and Cilla Black (who actually appears as a character in one scene), Sandie reveals to Ellie a familiar yet nostalgia-laden nightmare involving her manager Jack (Matt Smith).

That said, Last Night in Soho feels made for movie-goers who have experienced the wrong side of the Male Gaze while trying to pursue something greater. It captures the sting of shining so bright that you’re embarrassed to be seen; you know, that terrible perfect-outfit-ruined-by-a-cat-caller feeling.

Many romantics and idealists will recognize themselves in Ellie as she's swallowed by the city that seems to want her too much and not at all, all at once. Repeatedly, Ellie pleads with mysterious terrors, “I didn’t ask for this.” Though, in their insidious minds, the audacity of her dreams suggests that perhaps she did.

The maybe-supernatural-maybe-not elements that Wright employs to evoke this awfulness will work better for some viewers than others. More than any of his past work, Last Night in Soho seems to assume a familiarity with genre that will be good for horror fans who appreciate Wright's nuance, but not for those seeking a more straightforward scare. Ultimately, the film's most outright creepy element is shown too much, and the fear dwindles as a result. What's more, the twists and turns get repetitive when one red herring reveal is followed by another. And another.

Still, Last Night in Soho is a surprisingly grounded scary story that shines a light on a very real danger. Oozing with Wright's signature style, it's a searing indictment of a particularly painful part of female experience that remains under-discussed even in a post-#MeToo movement era. It's sure to go down as a highly-debated work in terms of execution, but for the right audience, it's a sickening sensation.

Last Night in Soho is now in theaters.