In an ensuing 11-week trial, the Mangrove Nine — which also included broadcaster Darcus Howe (Malachi Kirby), and his partner Barbara Beese (Rochenda Sandall) — fought back against baseless charges that they had incited the violence. Two of the defendants, Jones-LeCointe and Howe, chose to defend themselves; the others relied on a white attorney, Ian MacDonald (Jack Lowden). The resulting trial received a lot of press at the time, but McQueen ignores that side of the spectacle to play up the stakes within the courtroom, from the efforts to land an all-Black jury (denied) to the lively interrogation sessions driven by the defendants themselves (remarkably effective). When “Mangrove” arrives at the trial, it settles into familiar proceedings, with Judge Edward Clarke (Alex Jennings) glaring down on the defendants as if they’ve already lost, Crichlow fretting over whether a guilty plea might salvage his odds, and the debates growing more heated as the drama presses on.
But McQueen, who co-wrote the screenplay with his key “Small Axe” collaborator Alastair Hiddons, doesn’t rush into all of that. The first act of “Mangrove” is suffused with the textures of its setting, from the vibrant clientele of the restaurant to the jubilant street parties that take place outside. It’s here that the movie bears its closest resemblance to “Lovers Rock” (the first “Small Axe” entry to premiere on the festival circuit, though “Mangrove” will be broadcast first) by showing how communal bonds woven into the fabric of everyday life have the power to catalyze more precise acts of solidarity.
Enhancing the precise nature of the milieu, the reggae soundtrack takes on the connotations of a Greek chorus (when Toots and the Maytals’ “54-46 Was My Number” plays, it’s hard to ignore the resonance of lyrics like “I’m not a fool to hurt myself/So I was innocent of what they done to me”). Also notable: When Barbara Beese resists her white lawyer’s legal strategy, she says, “I’m not interested in playing silly games,” which plays like a direct reference to the seismic “Silly Games” musical number in “Lovers Rock.” It’s the kind of intriguing cultural Easter egg that suggests McQueen is building out a world of references united by a common purpose.
Still, Crichlow doesn’t start out looking to shake up the establishment. Parkes delivers a riveting performance simmering with anger and frustration as the character attempts to arouse support from local politicians and white legal advisors, until it becomes clear that the system has been stacked against him. “Your strategy of relying on the white establishment will never work,” Howe tells him. Jones-LeCointe puts it in blunter terms. “We can’t be the victims. We have to be the protagonists,” she says. “It’s them and we.”
Her point is well taken. From the harrowing raids to the breathless strategy sessions that surround the trial, the Mangrove Nine push back on persecution from every direction, and Frank’s subtle expressions track his evolving assessment of the situation at hand. McQueen manages to turn the usually static backdrop of the courtroom into a visually dynamic environment, with roving camerawork and ample closeups that encapsulate the real-time pressures as they unfold. It’s so well-handled, in fact, that it exacerbates some of the more clichéd aspects of the script, including a few stagey monologues marred by self-awareness and characters so aware of the history they’re participating in that they call it out as such. But the proceedings grow more and more involving as the suspense builds, and by the time Kirby delivers the remarkable closing statement, his observation that the root of their problem lies “somewhere in the stench of British colonialism” cuts deep. As the verdict is read, the camera sits with mounting intensity on Crichlow’s face, resulting in what might be the best approach to this familiar movie moment since Sidney Lumet’s crane shot swooped down on Paul Newman in “The Verdict.”