NG83 When We Were B Boys

NG83 looks and feels like a des­per­ate cry for help, a band front­ed by the rag­tag hang­er-ons of a bygone era. Five for­mer break-dancers pon­der how hip hop saved them from the bore­dom of inner-city Not­ting­ham. These men still speak, dress up in retro duds and sport eccen­tric nick­names (Bion­ic Sly is a high­light) as if the sun nev­er set on their hip hop hey­day. It becomes clear that as the fad of break­danc­ing fell out of fash­ion, these men col­lec­tive­ly stum­bled off the wag­on. These for­mer ​‘B‑Boys’ make for a poignant, but flawed, case study of how teenage obses­sions can go on to shape adulthood.

The inten­tions of the direc­tors are unclear: are we cel­e­brat­ing or mock­ing these men? They recog­nise them­selves as ​“dinosaurs”, but hap­pi­ly claw at their wan­ing ​“local celebri­ty” sta­tus­es. The cin­e­matog­ra­phy par­o­dies the sub­jects. Scrap­py footage of street danc­ing in the ​’80s and present-day recon­struc­tions (old men danc­ing on bridges are a fre­quent fix­ture) are pur­pose­ful­ly jux­ta­posed. The men appear so flam­boy­ant that it is dif­fi­cult to sym­pa­thise with them. Their ram­blings fal­ter on with­out struc­ture or pur­pose, leav­ing the last ten min­utes to tie togeth­er an abun­dance of loose ends.

Karl (“D2”) flicks through his scrap­books, reveal­ing hun­dreds of posters and pic­tures from his youth. For a film that feels like it was made exclu­sive­ly for its inner cir­cle, this pro­vides some much need­ed relata­bil­i­ty. Yet the imper­fec­tion inher­ent in these char­ac­ters is what human­is­es them. Danny’s moth­er wor­ries for his smok­ing; Elec­tro col­lects bricks due to anx­i­ety; and K. I. D. goes miss­ing. The seams of their being slow­ly begin to fray, before an unfore­seen tragedy rips apart this micro universe.

NG83 is a one-way tick­et to Not­ting­ham, 1983. That is where the film suc­ceeds – in trans­port­ing to the vibrant Mar­ket Square, the low-lit crowds of Rock City and the hum of audi­ences gath­ered on the streets for impromp­tu dance shows. But this por­trait of ​“Lit­tle New York” only makes the present day inter­vie­wees appear more des­per­ate than they already are. Errat­ic sto­ry­lines float around beg­ging the ques­tion, was this real­ly a sto­ry worth telling? Their attempts to hold on to this world are worth­less. Time has moved on.