“They can only stop We, if We see We as I” is the mantra that rings out over The Kitchen, the last standing social housing estate in a dystopian near-future London. The voice belongs to pirate radio host and beating heart of the block, Lord Kitchener, played with gravitas by legend Ian Wright. In their feature directorial debut, Daniel Kaluuya and Tavares Kibwe deliver a parable on the strength of community and the violence of gentrification, thinly veiled in a father/son drama.

Our anti-hero, Izi, is a cold character to get in bed with. Played by the always-understated Kane Robinson, he embodies an archetype of Black masculinity that has been sculpted into callous stoicism, catering to no woman or child. Izi’s focus is to get out of The Kitchen, or what he calls the “shithole”. Having had enough of dealing with frequent police raids, surveillance drones and shut off water, Izi grafts at Life After Life, an ecological funeral home aptly shot in Barbican’s conservatory, and saves up for a soulless new build flat in the Buena Vida housing complex.

On the day his new flat is finally ready, Izi comes across the funeral of an ex-girlfriend and sees her pre-teen son grieving alone. The now-orphaned Benji, played by newcomer Jedaiah Bannerman, is in search of a father figure. After following Izi to The Kitchen, Benji turns to a group of older teenagers, led by actor Hope Ikpoku Jnr’s Staples, an undercooked but ever-inspiring Robin Hood figure.

While the state seeks to raze the working class and predominantly Black community to the ground by depriving them of power and blocking food deliveries, Staples’ gang rob food vans and redistribute the produce to those in need. The images aren’t dissimilar to those in tabloids, of Black teenagers on bikes with their faces covered, their mere existence presented as a threat. But here Kaluuya as co-writer imbues them with the good humour, moral backbone and humanity we attempt to strip them of before reaching adulthood.

Where the core father/son plot can feel uneven and occasionally at odds with the overarching themes, the film is swollen with ambition and, through a powerful score by Labrinth and a fleshy visual world masterminded by Tavares, the tension never wanes. Vibrant areas of The Kitchen are reminiscent of Brixton market (which is currently on life support), roller rinks and food stalls pulsate with the only vital life remaining in a barren city.

After 13 years of a Tory autocracy, the dystopia of The Kitchen is devastatingly prescient – yet the perspective is still hopeful. Kaluuya and Tavares are bold in presenting gentrification as the cultural murder that it is while also celebrating, with clear eyes, the regular person who lives on in spite of it.

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