London Love
With Rye Lane revitalising the rom-com, Cheyenne Bunsie reflects on the universality of love and why Black Brits deserve to see themselves onscreen too.
The rom-com is an enduring cinematic genre. Often considered at the peak of its culture-defining powers in the ‘90s and early noughties, its ability to fill a cinema may have declined over time, but the genre is currently enjoying somewhat of a resurgence. As a child who grew up during cinema’s romantic renaissance, outside of Disney films, rom-coms were perhaps my first exposure to the idea of love. While I wouldn't necessarily consider myself a die-hard consumer of rom-coms, I watch The Holiday every year and, for reasons unexplained, am extremely comforted by Bride Wars.
One of the key tenets of the rom-com is the idea that love is an unstoppable force that comes for us all at some point. No matter how cynical the person, how improbable the circumstances, or how many suitors appear as obstacles, when two people are drawn to each other, it's only a matter of time. But if love happens to everyone, why don’t we see this reflected on screen?
Google any list of rom-coms. Sure to appear are a number of classics that hail from the UK. Films like Bridget Jones’ Diary, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Love Actually and Notting Hill stand tall in the pantheon, showcasing Britain as quite the hotbed of meet-cutes, airport dashes, and dramatic emotional declarations in bookshops. The leading faces are almost exclusively white, cementing white people as the default for desirability and relatability. You know the archetypes: the best friends-turned-lovers, the career powerhouse who finally lets love in, the down-on-his-luck slacker who charms the woman of his dreams – an endless list of characters that we’re meant to either recognise or be. This is the point where Black people and other people of colour tend to be left outside the loop – save for the charismatic (read: sassy) best friend.
The tropes are nothing new. Rom-coms trade on universality, and as such, studios feel the need to cast leads their audience will see themselves in, or which exist in a setting they respond to culturally. The evolution of streamers like Netflix as a home for rom-coms has allowed for many more to be produced without the tired excuse of box office receipts. This has resulted in not only more depictions of love between people of colour (Always Be My Maybe, Crazy Rich Asians) but also stories that centre LGBTQ+ characters (The Half of It, Happiest Season) and include diverse body types (Tall Girl, Dumplin’). However, these films are all from the US. While recent British rom-coms such as 2019’s Yesterday and this year’s What’s Love Got To Do With It feature POC leads, they still fail to show a love story that doesn’t somehow include a white person (read: Lily James).
The US has portrayals of Black love stretching back decades. From classics like Boomerang and Love & Basketball to more recent entries, Sylvie’s Love and The Photograph, to name just a few. If we turn to the UK, however, Black Brits rarely lead their own love stories. That isn’t to say these depictions don’t exist: 2018 saw Michaela Coel star as a single mum who meets a handsome stranger (Arinze Kene) on a night out in London’s Camden Town in the buzzy musical Been So Long. In 2020, Steve McQueen’s Lovers Rock transported us to 1980s London, where two young British Jamaicans mesmerise each other at a house party. And 2021 brought the first-ever Black British Christmas rom-com Boxing Day, directed by Aml Ameen and starring a whole host of famous Black faces.
This brings us to Raine Allen-Miller’s Rye Lane. Taking place largely across the span of 24 hours, Dom (David Jonsson) and Yas (Vivian Oparah) are two Londoners who meet while dealing with the aftermath of a breakup. It’s clear Yas’ sparky, forward manner differs from Dom’s downtrodden demeanour, yet the two grow closer during an expedition that takes them across the capital as they both seek to bring resolution to their past relationships. Premiering at the Sundance Film Festival in January to high praise, Allen-Miller’s feel-good directorial debut ticks boxes for any rom-com fan while simultaneously keeping proceedings fresh with a healthy dose of homegrown humour.
Jonsson and Oparah have easy chemistry that you instantly root for as the pair step outside their comfort zones (emotionally, but in some cases quite literally) to shed the baggage of the past and open themselves up to the potential of the future. Rye Lane is a standout in the push to portray more Black Brits in love as it not only delivers an enjoyable slice-of-life tale, it shows a more true-to-life portrait of its namesake. (Watching Notting Hill, you wouldn’t quite believe it’s the same borough that has been holding Notting Hill Carnival, a Caribbean festival event, annually since 1966).
Allen-Miller herself has described the film as a “love letter to London”, and this warmth is apparent through all 82 minutes. Peckham’s Rye Lane has long been renowned as a multicultural melting pot, a heritage more fiercely guarded than ever as gentrification continues to cast a spectre for much of the working class. Allen-Miller characterises London as a place as weird, wonderful and varied as love itself. Where a good time can mean deciding to miss the last train and surrendering to whichever part of town the night may lead to and whatever fate has in store – a true fact of my own London love story with my partner of seven years.
In the lineage of British rom-coms, Rye Lane is both refreshing and overdue. Allen-Miller’s inventive take gives both its leads and Black British audiences a chance to revel in the whimsy of love against the backdrop of an authentic modern London. The hallmarks of the genre are here for all to enjoy – satisfying and universal as ever. As the rom-com resurgence (hopefully) continues, Rye Lane reminds us that if we’re all worthy of love, surely we should be seeing it.
Rye Lane is in UK cinemas from March 17.