The salivary response of watching food get devoured in frequented restaurants on screen — the Krabby Patty, cherry pie at the Double R Diner — is a secondary intimacy. Sure, understanding how the characters’ intrinsic motives translate to external mistakes is a profound experience, but knowing where they choose to drown their sorrows or figure shit out is a complementary peek into their souls, even if the location is fictional or the food unattainable. The long-term investment in set design, even if it’s not explicitly mentioned by the characters, can become an achievement in the culture (think Central Perk or Los Pollos Hermanos) or even just the mood (I choose to believe that the tenders in Chicken Shop Date are aphrodisiacs to the awkwardness).
Rye Lane, named after a street in South London, is in it for the backdrop win. Through its open invitation to the seemingly distant neighborhoods of Peckham and Brixton, it effortlessly demonstrates the love rooted from the ground up. We are indirectly given a tour through the happenstance meeting between Dom (David Jonsson) and Yas (Vivian Oparah), who first unknowingly meet in an art gallery bathroom (they are not introduced face to face, but Yas hears someone crying in a stall and peers under the door to find a pair of pink Converses in front of a toilet). They meet “again” in an acquaintance’s exhibition, where the artwork is close-ups of mouths and someone is zipping around visitors on a hoverboard. Both had recently crawled out of the trenches of regrettable relationships, but Dom still finds himself defenseless against his ex’s Instagram-story grenade that indicated her moving on. Yas, a supportive comrade, carries him arm in arm out of the art gallery and into through the memoirs of their failed relationships and rising dreams against the background of a weirder, yet normal, world.
Even if a plot didn’t exist (and there isn’t much at first; Dom plans to meet with his ex for closure), the visuals still take the time to dress up fate as the splashy, rollicking meet-cute that is desperately needed in rom-coms. Dom’s pink Converses and mustard cardigan — already standout markers of an outfit — match Yas’s faux-fur tote bag and parka, but none of this is estranged from the film’s enormity of loud characters, idyllic storefronts, and comedic beats. As they listen to each other telling an anecdote, the camera pans to a stage, where either Dom or Yas are listening with the proverbial tomatoes aimed at the story’s villain. Fictional and non-fictional eateries like Guac Actually (with a cameo appearance that is flashy by name, but camouflages so well in service worker uniform and apathy that I still kinda don’t believe it) and Morley’s are flung around in conversation — not to alienate, but to almost invite us for a hang later. The integration of everyday living and history, narrated by the language of familiarity and taking the piss, creates a larger-than-life cast of hometown hermits, dreamers, and those who are just getting by. Dom and Yas are two main characters we see to the end, and they would both agree that it would be impossible to create a single mascot to represent this neighborhood.
The relationship between Yas, who is a costume designer, and Dom, a bona fide accountant, is a classic love bracket between the quirky and the meek. Yas brings Dom out of his shell at the risk of her own emotional fragility being revealed, but director Raine Allen-Miller reformulates the manic pixie dream as the location. Early on, Dom admits to having not left his parents’ house for a few months after his breakup, so it seems natural that the film uses the local sausage joint or the senior citizen stretches at the public park to revitalize Dom’s senses and wonderment. Additionally, the role of music puts an extra spring in their step. At some point, Yas attempts to retrieve a Tribe Called Quest vinyl record from her ex’s place, but the film’s playlist also features Daniel Bedingfield making an embarrassing appearance on Dom’s rotation during a backyard barbecue, Salt-N-Pepa dominating at karaoke, and London-based producer Kwes filling in with a wistful, dreamy buzz that could only help with the vibes.
In some ways, Rye Lane is written with the dotted is and crossed ts of a rom-com arc, but the kind of love is as organic as its ingredients. There are laudable aspects about Rye Lane: the joy of Black youth, the stamina of a vibrant neighborhood, and the courage to try again. It’s the reason why taking the bus is my favorite form of transportation in this godforsaken city. Unlike the MBTA, where the ride is a straight shot between stops without much for viewing pleasure (though the Red Line does overlook the Charles River, and the E Line delivers the spectacle of the biggest conglomeration of high school/college students, healthcare workers, and professors within a single car), buses will take two right turns around the block at the mercy of traffic lights, jaywalkers, and the view to the magical ordinary. But like falling in love, sometimes taking your time is worth it.
Rye Lane
2023
dir. Raine Allen-Miller
82 min.
Streaming on Hulu beginning Friday, 3/31
