There is something special about the type of cinema that captures a moment. It’s not so much the story itself, but being immersed in a culture, a mindset that reached its clarity at a very specific time. For me, there is something valuable to witnessing these stories and reveling in the wonder of humanity. While it’s most common in endless great documentaries, certain credit should be given to filmmakers who take the initiative to point a camera and tell a story that speaks to this ideology. For me personally, I’ve learned more about England during the 1980s through films like My Beautiful Laundrette (1985) and In the Name of the Father (1993) a lot more empathetically than any history book.
That may be why I love Babylon (1980). While it doesn’t explore anything along the lines of Margaret Thatcher supremacy or I.R.A. dominance, it does explore a side of the country that is vital. Before director Steve McQueen’s underrated Small Axe series from 2020, I don’t honestly think that I spent time engaging with the U.K. immigration narrative. Because I’m American, there are things that I can assume about racial divisions, but it’s not baked into my history lessons with any frequency. In fact, it’s almost better that my first major exposure to it came in the form of cinema so that it could feel humanized and real. Because of Babylon, I feel like I understand Jamaican culture and Rastafarianism not as these foreign concepts but as something pivotal to their identity and survival.
A lot of credit should be given to director Franco Rosso. While it may initially seem ridiculous to need subtitles for an English-language movie, I think there’s value. Even with a focused ear, it’s likely that certain parts of Jamaican patois will not connect. There is a need to see the language, to see how slang and cadence inform so much of their identity. On some level language is itself dividing them from White England. It also shows how they’re not entirely “free” around white culture because they don’t understand Rastafarianism. Everyone has to adapt to their prim and proper language to avoid everything from racist name-calling to all-out assault. Rosso takes the audience into this world and opens a barrier that would otherwise isolate, doing his best to create an amazing piece of empathy.
I am by no means an expert on Jamaican culture. Like most people, I maybe know Bob Marley. Even then, could I explain why it’s important to their identity?
This is likely why the most refreshing scenes are the most communal, where the Jamaican cast gets to tear into each other, having fun in these very human ways. Whether it’s insulting fashion sense or trying to get a record sold, there is something authentic to it. There is this reality that shines through, proving that they’re humans with struggles. Like everyone else, their dreams are to live a stable life. For one dancehall DJ named Blue (Brinsley Forde), music is his way out of trouble. He has a chance to earn money, drawing people in, and having a good time. Whereas they feel repressed outside, being told by a judgmental public to turn down the noise pollution, inside they can move freely, feeling the music in their bones.
If Babylon does one thing effectively, it’s creating an understanding of how music can be a spiritual unifier. While there are also scenes of Rastafarian gatherings that reflect a more traditional religious experience, there is something more exuberant about those crowds gathered around a sound system, listening to Blue wax poetic about the lions who are about to bust down the door. By the end, the audience understands that this is their way of expression, their way of building on their roots and singing in unison a frustration that has lasted for centuries. They need to stay strong together, and it’s here that the film feels strongest. From my limited exposure to the genre, it also helps that the soundtrack is blazing with catchy tunes that only amplify the appeal.
In anyone else’s hands, Babylon could easily be watered down in order to appeal to a wider audience. I can’t entirely explain how, but maybe the language would be a lot more straightforward, the white characters more sympathetic, or have an ending that actually feels like something more unifying. Instead, Rosso went for something that feels more earned, allowing the very existence of its characters to feel dangerous. From the first frame, the viewer is curious who these characters are, entranced by their language and the way that they have created this underground system in an England that we think we know. This isn’t the England of prim and proper. This is a lower class trying to belong to a country that openly doesn’t want them.
I love how the divides are sometimes quite literal. Most viewers would never be welcomed into the Jamaican circles, or at best not understand it. They wouldn’t be able to appreciate the joy of standing around on a street corner, laughing at an inside joke. This is best reflected in a scene where Blue plays a record a bit too loud and is reprimanded by a neighbor. His dialect changes. His demeanor changes. He tries to handle the situation in a familiar form of code-switching while his friends hide in silence, excited at the prospect that they may get away with it. When it goes south, a few too many racist comments emerging, real feelings emerge. This isn’t the first time that those words have been uttered, and yet they hurt. The white people don’t see the immigrants as people and as a result causes the immigrants to argue that this is their country and, quite frankly, they hate it.
Without ever directly addressing the matters, this is a very political movie that just so happens to focus on the act of survival. It’s about creating this empathy for characters that haven’t gotten their say in the past. They don’t get their revenge with activism, instead wanting to spin records and help each other in times of crisis. The acts themselves aren’t shocking, but it’s staggering the various ways that the immigrants have learned to not stoke a dangerous fire into something much worse. They feel so much like an “other” that some scenes have anxiety just by having a white extra walk by. This alone may be why the film was notoriously banned, slapped with an X-Rating despite lacking anything that would make it as offensively graphic as even A Clockwork Orange (1971). It was too confrontational, critical of a white public who only ever stared in paranoia and called Rastafarianism strange.
It may be a stretch to call this accessible, but I think those willing to listen will at least be impressed with what they find. Rosso has created a world brimming with vivid detail that humanizes a culture that is often reduced to stereotypes. For the first time, the audience gets to look deeper into a contemporary understanding, three-dimensional transparency of why this culture matters. Whereas white characters often lack any unity in anything besides bigotry, the Jamaican characters have these complicated inner lives that make them feel more real. This isn’t a sob story meant to pity but instead recognize their strengths. It explains why they dance together to a record, listening to Blue sing about overcoming the Babylon crashing down the door. It’s a perfect piece of symbolism, the sense that their safety is never truly safe. That’s why they need to stand together.
I love Babylon and consider it to be a hidden gem. I didn’t know what to expect and ended up having one of the greatest atmospheric tales I’ve seen so far this year. By allowing us into this world, it not only makes the culture feel less alien, but it makes us understand that these immigrants are human, worthy of more respect than they ever got. Because of those subtitles, we’re able to see their language and notice their intents more clearly. Because of those records, we’re able to understand how music can be spiritual. So much of this film works on an instinctual level, often when nothing more than breathtaking movement is being shot. It’s the power that cinema has always carried and, thanks to Rosso, this moment gets to be preserved for all time and be discovered by future generations. The real hope, whether or not achieved, is that it’s a period piece and not a reflection of ongoing problems, especially 40 years later.
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