
2023 · Raine Allen-Miller
For a night when you want to fall in love a little — a warm, low-stakes charmer that's pure comfort with actual wit. Perfect for a date, a duvet, or restoring your faith in people after your own bad break-up.
Two twenty-somethings, both freshly wrecked by bad break-ups, collide at an art exhibition and end up spending one long, eventful day wandering South London together. She's brash and up for anything; he's an accountant still crying in public over his ex. Between Peckham's markets, chicken shops, and a karaoke stage, they hatch small schemes against their nightmare exes and slowly let their guards down.
Fast, funny, and openly romantic — eighty-odd minutes of quick-witted banter that keeps sneaking up on you with real tenderness. It moves at a jog and leaves you grinning.
David Jonsson and Vivian Oparah have the prickly, quicksilver chemistry the whole genre depends on — she all forward motion, he all wounded reserve, both landing jokes and hurt in the same breath.
Raine Allen-Miller shoots Peckham and Brixton through fisheye lenses and candy colors, turning postcodes usually filmed in grey realism into a heightened storybook. It's a debut with a music-video eye and a real sense of place — bright, loud, and worth watching on the best screen you have just for the color alone.
An instant-classic British rom-com debut that gave South London the swooning cinematic treatment it rarely gets, and announced Allen-Miller as a director to watch.
Reception & legacy: how Rye Lane was received, argued over, and remembered →
Raine Allen-Miller's debut compresses the walking-and-talking romance — Linklater's Vienna, Wong's Hong Kong — into one saturated day in Peckham and Brixton, and in doing so gives South London the swooning cinematic treatment its markets and chicken shops rarely receive. Two twentysomethings, both freshly wrecked by breakups, meet awkwardly and proceed to talk, wander, scheme, and slowly disarm each other across eighty-two brisk minutes. Allen-Miller, arriving from music videos and advertising, shoots much of it through a fisheye lens that bends the streets into a heightened, candy-colored storybook — a bold refusal of the grey social-realist palette that has long been British cinema's default for these postcodes. David Jonsson and Vivian Oparah carry it with the kind of prickly, quick-witted chemistry the genre lives or dies on; their conversations feel improvised even when precision-tooled. Premiering at Sundance in 2023, the film announced both a director and a proposition: that the Black British romcom could be as formally playful as anything on the festival circuit. Watch for the karaoke scene — a small aria of embarrassment transmuted into grace.
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