STONY ISLAND -- A Wonderfully Textured Portrait of Urban Life and Young Dreams

By Daniel Lima

​Before he became known for action movies starring the likes of Chuck Norris, Steven Seagal, and Harrison Ford, director Andrew Davis made his debut with a small-scale, intimate love letter to the musical scene of Chicago. Stony Island, named for the South Side street its characters call home, is a remarkably raw and passionate film that captures the particular verve of its time and place.
 
The story of an R&B band assembling and attempting to land its first gig, the film is based on the experiences of the director and his brother, one of the stars. The two grew up on the South Side as it went from a predominately white to a predominately black neighborhood, exposing them to Black culture broadly — specifically Black music. Their upbringing gave them keyed them into the universality of the music, how it dissolves racial divisions in the face of its emotional power, and that is well reflected in the world of the movie.
 
The urban landscape of late ‘70s Chicago is beautifully photographed. Davis’ first job as cinematographer was on Haskell Wexler’s docudrama Medium Cool, and the influence of his guerrilla shooting style is evident here. Each shot has a candid feel, a sense of immediacy that roots you in the gritty milieu of the South Side. Harsh blue lighting reflects the cold Midwest air and lends each frame a certain downtrodden feel. It’s the kind of textured visual style you rarely see today, as good an argument for the power of film as any. 

​A low-budget independent production doesn’t have the luxury of licensing music, so every musical performance is an original. Spanning the black musical tradition from blues to jazz to soul, from Chicago down to Louisiana, the songs here are incredible to a one, from funeral ballads to rousing big band numbers with hastily improvised lyrics. It is clear that Davis and his cast — most of whom were actual musicians — have a deep appreciation for this music, which shines through every note played.
 
That is crucial to the film, as the actual narrative is thin. The band is assembled piece by piece, recruiting players and acquiring equipment, and there are some developments in the personal lives of the members, but there is no real dramatic tension or momentum. Stony Island is certainly an engrossing watch, but not because of the story.
 
What makes Stony Island such a captivating watch is how full of life it is. The enthusiasm of each of the actors, giving incredibly naturalistic performances, bleeds onto the grimy milieu that surrounds them. The excitement of a jam session in a dilapidated building; blossoming young love against the backdrop of lions in stark, empty cages; a triumphant gig witnessed by all the people who came together to make it happen. Such pains were taken to organically flesh out this world, to make it extend beyond the confines of the frame. That effort allows the film to act as both a time capsule of the era and a wonderfully idiosyncratic portrait of artists coming together to make something beautiful. 
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Stony Island is now playing in theaters for its 45th anniversary.