Small Axe: Lovers Rock (2020) review

Individuals of West Indian descent gather together one night for a house party - full of weed, reggae/dub music ("Mercury Sound!") and Red Stripe (it's Jamaican for beer, mon) - and dry hump each other.  It's mostly McQueen acting like a fully-baked fly on the wall with two brief disturbances temporarily breaking up the merriment: one from an unwanted guest, the other from a sexual assault that gets shut down.  The attempt to capture the ebb and flow of a late night gathering doesn't lead to any real revelation about its inhabitants - there's a conscious effort to avoid irksome things like character development or plotting (and McQueen can't resist throwing some white people outside making monkey noises) - and like so many concert films, it fails to instill the same feeling of Actually Being There ... although I suspect Andy Warhol would have liked it.