It’s 5am in an east London warehouse. The aftermath of an S&M party is scattered across the floor. Joy is found. The man she slept with is gone.
To fill the no-man’s land between night and day, Joy casts her memory to the past. Breezing through random crap on the floor, she remembers when she was Italian and on the cusp of marriage. A French prostitute at the end of a shift. A young girl losing her virginity. A slave hot in the afternoon sun. The memories are at once fun and rotten, clichéd yet bizarre. A reference to the sex she had, or the archaic recollections of a zeitgeist?
JOY explores the fallout of the African diaspora and its point of departure is the aftermath of sex.
There’s a post coitus concert in town. The music has never been better (the woman has never been louder).