NYFF 58 Review: The Dance Floor is Infectious in Steve McQueen's 'Lovers Rock'
Anticipation mounts before the party in Steve McQueen’s Lovers Rock. Wires are rigged between speakers and turntables accompanied by a milk crate catalogue of 7-inch blues and reggae records. A plastic-covered couch is relocated to the backyard to free up space for an impromptu dance floor. Onions are chopped for goat curry as the chefs sing out an a cappella rendition of Janet Kay’s 1979 hit “Silly Games.” The whole neighboring community seems to be contributing what they can to ensure the evening’s party is nothing short of a good time. When night falls, Martha (Amarah-Jae St. Aubyn) sneaks out of her second story bedroom in her Sunday best, paying extra care not to scuff her pristine shoes. With her friend Patty (Shaniqua Okwok), they line up in front of the nondescript house, pay their admission, and hit the dance floor.
The West Indian community of early 1980’s Britain converge on this home for a number of reasons. Racial quotas at local clubs often prevented them from entering, and even if they managed to circumvent those restrictions, the cost of entrance was no small fee for those put at an economic disadvantage when compared to their white counterparts. But above all, they just want to celebrate with their own, and though Lovers Rock isn’t particularly concerned with the context of why the house is teeming with reggae-lovers, it very much cares about the communal joys of Britain’s Black community once they’re there.
The house is a relative safe-space for the night’s patrons, their safety almost always threatened when they step outside the party house’s four walls. Leering white peers litter the surrounding roads and present ephemeral disruptions of the good time. But inside, the escape that swaying bodies and reggae music can provide is enough to fuel transcendent moments.
The men are at the walls in the beginning of the party, the women dancing mainly amongst themselves. But the right needle drop can cause the party-goers to pound the walls and enough sexual tension can cause the walls to perspire. The anticipation continues to build.
Finally, the right needle drop arrives with Kay’s “Silly Games” making a dramatic reappearance. The discrete groups of dancers intermingle as individuals pair off, McQueen’s camera going in tight to find bodies in arms. The living room feels like an entire universe unto itself, an oasis of locked eyes, swaying hips, and whispers in ears. Through the haze of the constant smoke, the hypnotically scanning camera finds snippets of each member’s own story of the night. For Martha, it means accepting Franklyn’s (Micheal Ward) invitation to dance, finding rhythm with someone else before the morning comes.
Lovers Rock, named for the style of reggae music that comprises the soundtrack, gives us a 70’s and 80’s aesthetic feast. The textured burgundy and amber textiles of the time-period accompany McQueen’s crystal clear camera aim to transport us back decades. But Lovers Rock is at its most potent when the music cuts. When the last flanging guitar of “Silly Games” fades, the crowd takes it upon themselves to sing it again without accompaniment— not wanting the moment to end. Here, Steve McQueen’s patented long takes take center stage as the entirety of the a cappella rendition is shown in real time. In his past works, McQueen’s extended sequences in Hunger, Shame, and 12 Years a Slave have frequently been utilized to highlight the most pernicious moments. Here, we bask in joy, in delight, and in the powerful community as they escape with music, the pairs on the dance floor crooning in unison, “I’ve been wanting you. For so long, it's a shame.”
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