Mangrove and Lovers Rock of Steve McQueen’s Small Axe Anthology are Among the Best Films of the Year

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By Ethan Mermelstein

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That Amazon Prime and the BBC backed acclaimed British director Steve McQueen in shooting an anthology collection of five feature-length films focused on members of London’s West Indian community between 1960 and 1990, is in itself a small miracle of the streaming age. That this anthology, titled Small Axe after the Bob Marley song of the same name, has arrived at such a dark time to deliver near-transcendent stories of identity on a weekly basis is nothing less than an extraordinary blessing. It’s a shame that audiences won’t be able to enjoy Small Axe on theater screens in the full cinematic glory it deserves, but exponentially more people now have access to these films than if just one had experienced the small theatrical run that would have been afforded to them outside of streaming. As of November 30th, the first two Small Axe films have been added to Amazon Prime: Mangrove and Lovers Rock, both of which are among the very best films to have been released this year.

Set between 1968 and 1970 in the Notting Hill neighborhood of London, Mangrove tells the true story of a newly opened West Indian restaurant for which the episode is named, the loving community which calls it home and protests police injustices done unto it, and the subsequent landmark trial of nine community leaders and activists. When Mangrove owner Frank Crichlow, depicted in an phenomenal performance by actor Shaun Parkes, opens his new restaurant, he is adamant that it remains an upstanding establishment that proudly serves West Indian spicy cuisine. Almost immediately, Frank and the Mangrove come under harassment from London Policemen led by a vile and racist Police Constable named Pulley. After experiencing repeated indignities and abuses, Crichlow is convinced by Trinidadian activist Darcus Howe (Malachi Kirby) and Black Panther leader Altheia Jones (Black Panther’s Leticia Wright) to lead a protest march to the local police station. 150 members of the community participate in the march before a violent police crackdown results in the arrest of Crichlow and eight others, including Howe and Jones, who are all charged with inciting a riot. The gripping trial that ensues takes up the entire back half of the film, turning it into a stirring courtroom drama.

There’s an undeniable connection to be made between Mangrove and Aaron Sorkin’s The Trial of the Chicago 7. Both films are dramatic adaptations of momentous trials held at almost the same time in which social activists were unfairly persecuted. Both feature incredibly talented ensemble casts through which their respective directors attempt to extricate something meaningful about their societies. But, the beauty and power of Mangrove lies not in its similarities to Chicago 7, but its differences. Sorkin’s film is an amalgamated depiction of the leaders of several social movements who, through witticisms and belief in the inherent qualities of America, vaguely triumph over injustice (those who’ve seen the film and its laughable finale will know what I mean). In contrast, McQueen doesn’t shy away from the harsh reality of generational marginalization and oppression. A prime example of this difference can be seen when comparing the uplifting, celebratory ending title cards of Chicago 7 with those of Mangrove (spoiler alert: racism and injustice do not go away).

Mangrove drops viewers into London’s West Indian community without needing to give them a formal introduction. The indelible details that range from curry boiling on a stove to co-workers banter giving way to an impromptu song, imbue the film with so much life that at times, one might find themselves lost in it (in Lovers Rock, McQueen will employ this effect with incredible, hypnotic results). Of course, the outstanding performances at the heart of Mangrove are inextricable from these moments. Leticia Wright and Malachi Kirby both deliver memorably stirring performances, but it is Shaun Parkes who steals the show as Frank Crichlow with a vibrant performance that carries staggering emotional weight. McQueen writes and captures these people with so much beauty and specificity that his personal connection to the community is palpable (McQueen is a Londoner of West Indian descent himself). In the hands of a less qualified director, the story of the Mangrove Nine may have seen a glossy, Westernized treatment devoid of the powerful sense of identity conveyed through thick West Indian accents and prolonged song and dance, but by embracing these very details and refusing to compromise, McQueen has made a film that is effortlessly far more prescient and powerful than ones that try so hard to be.

At just 70 minutes in length, Lovers Rock is a considerably shorter film than the first Small Axe installment. It also differs from Mangrove and every other Small Axe film in that it is the only story in the anthology not based on real people or events. Instead, Lovers Rock depicts a house party hosted and attended by West Indian Londoners where, as its title would suggest, two young people meet and fall in love. However, for much of the film, the love story almost feels tangential to the party itself. This has nothing to do with any lack of chemistry between the young lovers, Martha and Franklin (played wonderfully, of course, by Amarah-Jae St. Aubyn and Micheal Ward, respectively), and everything to do with the stunning way the party is brought to life on screen.

Lovers Rock opens on the hosting house on the day of the party with the same kind of wonderful specificity that helped make Mangrove so excellent. Young men roll up rugs and take them away before carrying heavy speakers inside, and inside a cramped kitchen, three women labor over pots of food, while singing a rendition of Janet Kay’s “Silly Games,” a staple of the Lovers Rock subgenre of Reggae for which the episode is named. Later in the film, the song will appear again in glorious fashion.

While the sequences that comprise the build-up to the party are entrancing, the party sequence that makes up the majority of the film is simply astounding. When Martha meets Franklin soon after she arrives at the party, she’s immediately charmed by his good looks and easy nature. But unlike so many of the on-screen romances we’re used to that play out via snappy and charged dialogue (though Martha and Franklin are certainly not completely lacking in that), the attraction and connection between the two forms primarily flourishes on the dance floor, where Steve McQueen directs several of the most breathtaking musical sequences ever put to film.

While Lovers Rock blasts from the speakers and a buoyant DJ booms adlibs into a microphone, party-goers find themselves drawn together until the room is filled with couples holding each other close. The camera patiently drifts from one dancing couple to another, capturing enraptured faces and sensual movements. By the time it reaches Martha and Franklin, the way they dance with one another may not differ much from those around them, but the camera holds on their perfect movements and expressions just long enough for us to feel a powerful connection between them - one that is elevated beyond even the intense tension we feel throughout the dance floor. Without getting into too much detail that may spoil the euphoric effect of watching the film for the first time, these sequences are as prolonged as they are beautiful, while the final one is one of the most exhilarating moments I’ve seen in any film, regardless of genre. At times, it feels like the party itself becomes the protagonist of the story while Martha and Franklin are more so supporting characters. Viewers hoping for a Before Sunrise kind of deep and self-engrossed romance may be disappointed, but Martha and Franklin’s story still never feels neglected or underserved.

It must be noted that Lovers Rock isn’t a wholly joyous experience and there are regular reminders throughout of the dangers that the members of this community face from both outside and within. There is one particularly upsetting moment that occurs just outside the party which cuts through the bliss found on the dance floor before the film returns back to begin the aforementioned exhilarating sequence. However, instead of glossing over what we just saw, the sequence instead has the effect bolstering and highlighting the resilient nature of the community. Where we watched an older generation of West Indian immigrants in Mangrove, here we witness a younger generation, many of whom were born in London themselves. The differences between the generations are felt throughout the film with each conversation and needledrop reaction, but the proudly defiant spirit remains unchanged. It will undoubtedly continue to reverberate throughout the anthology.

The next installment of Small Axe is titled Red, White, and Blue and follows the true story of a policeman named Leroy Logan who joins the force in an attempt to change its racist ways from the inside. John Boyega of the newest Star Wars trilogy stars as Logan while giving what by all accounts is a tremendous performance. Red, White, and Blue will be added to Amazon Prime on Friday, December 4th, while Mangrove and Lovers Rock can both be streamed today. They are not to miss.