'Lovers Rock': Steve McQueen's Dance-Filled 'Small Axe' Entry Is Surprisingly Tender [NYFF Review]

Oscar-winning director Steve McQueen’s films rarely have a light touch. For example, “Hunger” recounts the life of IRA member Bobby Sands, and the group’s organized hunger strike; “Shame” depicts sex addiction; “12 Years a Slave” violently retells the story of a freed Black man kidnapped into slavery; and “Widows” explains the socio-political environment for women and Black people in Chicago. Each film is set in among harsh characters made rougher by the explicit violence that’s prevalent in their respective life. McQueen’s new anthology series “Small Axe” — the term derives from a West Indian proverb: “If you are the big tree, we are the small axe” — arrives at New York Film Festival with three of its five episodes, and similarly, concerns itself with harsh environments. 

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But the premiere, feature-length episode, “Lovers Rock” is slightly different. Co-written with novelist Courttia Newland, “Lovers Rock” is the anthology’s sole episode not based on true events. Set in 1980, and taking place during a single night, the story follows two young dancers who fall for each other at a Blues house party. Through them, McQueen immerses us in London’s Afro-Caribbean community and explains the freeing opportunity these parties offered. 

Unbothered and formalistically loose, the director displays a rarely-seen softer touch in an episode that’s as much about the sensory elements as the story. Through its vibrant costumes and bopping music, McQueen’s “Lovers Rock” soulfully evokes a little-known era for his most personal work to date. 

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From the outset, “Lovers Rock” concerns itself with the particulars of London’s West Indian culture. When McQueen plops us in the confines of a large Victorian house, his lens finds three men carrying carpets and speakers while a trio of Black women cheerfully sings in the kitchen. The camera intimately consumes close-ups of their steaming goat curry as the men set-up a dance floor. When McQueen’s eye settles on two girlfriends, the house’s occupants, preparing for the night’s dance, we initially believe they’re our subjects. A mark of the narrative’s unhurried approach, it’s not until another set of friends — Martha (Amarah-Jae St. Aubyn in an astounding debut) and Patty (Shaniqua Okwok) arrive at the celebration — that we’re given a protagonist.     

McQueen doesn’t concern himself with building out these characters by bulky exposition. Instead, he cultivates his subjects through tactical means. For instance, when Franklyn (Michael Ward) approaches Martha to dance, she notes his overabundant aftershave and his loud De Stijl-inspired shirt. In every corner of this party — from a menacing man dressed in a pinstripe white suit harassing Martha to the assortment of beanies and gold chains — Oscar-winning costume designer Jacqueline Durran’s talent for vibrant period garb is on full display.     

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But it’s the mixture of the soundtrack’s music, along with Shabier Kirchner’s enrapturing cinematography, that makes “Lovers Rock” — whose name derives from a genre of romantic reggae — into an exciting love story. One scene, in particular, involves Martha and Franklyn sensually slow dancing to Janet Kay’s “Silly Games.” Intimate close-ups of their hugging lower bodies express their passion, as does St. Aubyn and Ward’s freeing performances. While most directors would quickly transition from these poetic images to a post-party dalliance, McQueen deliberately remains with a couple, who in their interlocked movements, communicates sexual hunger more than any explicit sex scene could.

McQueen plays loosely and allows the party to organically ebb and flow. And when the record ceases to play, the sultry scene evolves into something akin to religious ecstasy. Rather than put a new vinyl on the turntable, the dancers continue singing “Silly Games” a cappella. While their vocals soar, McQueen jumps to close-ups of the respective couples undulating in a room, whose energy is so intoxicating, steam is literally dripping down the walls. And amid the resplendent dresses and dress shoes, and the gorgeous openness of their singing, for five minutes, the artifice falls away and we’re engulfed in the era. It’s ten minutes of unmitigated Black joy, of the nakedness that comes from existing, and of masterclass filmmaking. It’s the best scene of the year. 

While McQueen usually communicates his work’s major themes with the force of a blow horn, here they arrive with the subtlety of a whisper. Away from scenes of Black folks moving to “Kung-Fu Fighting” and the aforementioned “Silly Games,” the director carves quiet moments that allow him to cover racism, rape, and interfamily squabbles. Every discrete scene allows him to build toward another catharsis on the dance floor. One in particular, springs from “Kunta Kinte” by the Revolutionaries. Here, the once chill men who’ve leaned against the wall for much of the proceeding are overtaken by the music’s energy. What he captures, through Kirchner’s camera snaking through the room untethered, is Black liberation in dance form: Men who have typically had to hide their frustration against racial oppression are allowed to express their militancy through every limb of their body.

While some scenes might stretch on for too long — McQueen somehow turns a 70-minute affair into a slow burn — every image articulates Black freedom that’s rarely seen on screen without some threat of violence. It’s a completely different voice for the director. In fact, if I were not told this was a McQueen work, I wouldn’t have guessed his association. That revelation is exciting. As are the episode’s final minutes, which play sweeter than any moment McQueen has filmed in his career. “Lovers Rock” is a personal love note, not only to an era and a culture, but to the days of youth and all-night parties. And if its tenderness is any indication for the rest of “Small Axe,” we’re all in for a treat. [B+]

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