Mangrove (Steve McQueen, 2020) - 8/10
Lovers Rock (Steve McQueen, 2020) - 7/10
There’s an extent to which my opinion on this series just isn’t that important. It’s not just that I’m a white man, whereas these two films are fairly personal stories about Caribbean immigrants, it’s also that neither is entirely to my aesthetic tastes. Mangrove is a fairly conventional courtroom drama about police brutality, and Lovers Rock is a plotless series of dance numbers; in both cases I can’t muster too much criticism aside from explaining what parts of either film don’t appeal to me, and I think those issues are particularly subjective. And while my interest in either film fluctuated significantly from moment to moment, they’re both so well directed that I find myself wanting to accentuate the positives.
Mangrove is a dramatization of the true story of the Mangrove Nine, a group of Afro-Caribbean immigrants in Britain who were arrested while protesting unwarranted police raids of the Mangrove restaurant in Notting Hill. It’s neatly bisected into two halves, with the first half dedicated mostly to the attacks on the Mangrove and the second half dedicated to the trial proceedings. Neither half is particularly nuanced – this is the kind of movie about celebrating the protagonists’ victory over an oppressor – but the latter half has a little more going on than the first half, because the trial proceedings introduce difficult questions about what tactics would serve the defendants best. They mostly decide on a strategy of provoking the court, which allows for a bunch of crowd-pleasing moments. By contrast, the first half doesn’t have a whole lot going on aside from celebrating the milieu and getting outraged at police brutality; to the extent that it stands out from a billion other movies on this topic, it’s mostly down to a bunch of strong performances. Shaun Parkes is particularly impressive as put-upon restaurant owner Frank Crichlow, though the entire cast is remarkable.
This doesn’t really have the snappy pace that I prefer in this kind of movie, though it does have its moments of humour. The relationship between Crichlow and Black Panthers activist Altheia Jones-LeCointe (Letita Wright) is especially amusing in the early going. There’s also an abundance of speeches, which is indicative of the black-and-white conflict depicted here, but they are pretty consistently rousing, both due to the writing and performances. It’s also handled with enough sensitivity to not seem heavy-handed, even though we know exactly who’s good and bad from the very beginning, and even though at least one character is shown as little more than an archetypical racist. This is probably in part due to the strong performances, but it’s also down to McQueen’s direction, which emphasizes the atmosphere of the Mangrove and underscores the righteous fury of certain big moments. McQueen’s intentions seem more noble than, say, Aaron Sorkin with The Trial of the Chicago 7, but this is basically the same project of inviting viewers to feel good about being on the right side of history. But it’s also a very good one of these, and a bit more deeply felt than the usual Oscar bait.
McQueen’s direction is even more impressive in the far less formulaic Lovers Rock, which I admire immensely even though I’m biased against movies about dancing. I’m most engaged by movies where scenes develop to incorporate new information of some sort, even if it’s just small character moments or new jokes. Lovers Rock, by contrast, is a somewhat repetitive mood piece, reliant entirely on how much you are moved by the milieu of marginalized people having a night just to have fun within their own community, swaying to a killer soundtrack. Simple dancing of this sort doesn’t compel me, but this movie really does a remarkable job of capturing this atmosphere. It also differentiates its characters just enough that you can discern a lot just from looking at how they move, though not enough that the skeletal romance that suffices for a plot here works on any level other than the intuitive. Alas, love on the dance floor is not an emotion I can easily relate to, so my interest in the main couple mostly declined after a certain point. There’s a certain sensuality to the interactions between the main couple, but their chemistry is mostly rooted in the vibe of the party itself; there’s not much specificity to it otherwise.
It’s not quite accurate for me to simply dismiss it as “not for me,” however. Part of it is that its camerawork is particularly impressive, enhancing the atmosphere by sweeping through the crowd, often at eye-level; it will often linger on specific pairs before hovering over to the next, and then cutting away to some other corner of the dance floor. There is something charming about just watching these people cut loose, and my attention spiked every time the song changed; the soundtrack consists of a wide variety of great reggae, and each new song brings a new dance. Two scenes in particular stand out, and have been noted by pretty much every review of this movie – one where the music suddenly drops and the crowd starts singing acapella, and another where a character with a chip on his shoulder starts thrashing around. The former is such an intense shot of communal bliss that even I felt my jaw drop, and the latter thrills because it implies something more unpredictable and dangerous than what we see elsewhere.
That danger also pokes its head in the occasional scene of white people staring from just down the street, as well as a notable scene where a sexual assault disrupts the fun. Furthermore, the protagonist has some sort of issues in her past that she might be trying to escape, but this is never expanded upon. Mostly, it seems like all of this is there to more sharply define the mood of this party. For me, at least, the problem is that every scene – including the acapella – goes on for the entire length of the song and then some, often with the same visual ideas sustained for the entire time. But to tell the truth, I do think that’s appropriate for what this movie is trying to do. Personally, I would never go to a party like this; as such, I’m mostly here for the highlights. But if you’re into this kind of thing – that is, if communal dancing is something you cherish, or if onscreen dancing strikes you as inherently compelling – then I think this has a lot to offer.
McQueen’s intention with this project is to elevate stories from Black British history, and as such, I’m probably not the best writer to expound on its significance. Both of these films are intriguing in large part because of how they relate to that goal, and how they present scenes of triumph, resilience, and solidarity from that history. I’m not quite as in love with either of these films as many other people seem to be, but that’s not to say that I take issue with them. They’re both remarkable in their own way, and well worth seeing even if – like me – your tastes don’t necessarily align with their approach. Who knows, maybe one of the other three films in this series will be something I can really get behind.
