Lovers Rock is an apt comparison. Both perfectly capture the feeling of escape and comradery community gatherings provide. It's something I've missed dearly during the pandemic. The relationships you build at a dive or pub are unique. Growing up, there was one pub where we'd go to when ditching class or after school. It wasn't a particularly incredible place on the surface, we mainly went there because we knew we could get served underage. But it was like this second home. There would always be a few older patrons, like Michael, who you would inevitably get to know just by being around them enough. I didn't necessarily develop a deep connection with them, I would never see or know much about most of these people outside the pub, but there was a connection nonetheless built over this shared experience. But there is also sort of a negative side to these places as well. They can be a crutch. They become the default thing to do. A security blanket (In one of the more literal shots of the film we see Michael through the eyes of a security camera while everyone else is enjoying the night outside of the walls of the bar). You pass up opportunities to go new places, try new things because that would mean passing up the comfort of that second home. What happens when that goes away? Can relationships forged and experienced in one place thrive outside of it? We see this hollow side expose itself a few times. Patrons saying they'll keep in touch but instead of exchanging numbers they just say "oh well we're friends on facebook" and leaving it at that. The day shift bartender leaving somewhat unceremoniously and not returning for the evening celebration. And perhaps the hardest hitting, a seemingly small comment of "are you okay to drive?" when it's shown clearly at the start that Michael's only modes of transportation are his own two feet. There's a beauty and sadness to the local watering hole. I can see this movie being a comfort watch for me until I'm able to return a place like it.