One of the most visually absorbing viewing experiences comes from Dominican writer/director Jose Maria Cabral, who drops us into the vibrantly energized streets of the Capotillo neighborhood in “42nd Street” or “La 42”. The documentary follows artists, musicians, and dancers who live alongside drugs, violence, and police crackdowns in the titular address in Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic, which is described as “600m of streets where anything can happen.” After premiering at last year’s SXSW Film Festival, the film was released in the DR late last summer, and now makes its way to the Chicago Latino Film Festival (CLFF).

Most of Cabral’s perspective offers an intimate, ground-level view of the bustling nightlife that goes from sundown to sunrise. This is a place where new sounds and dance moves are created and where new talent is discovered. Some are making money, while others are there just for the fun of it. It’s a place where a community has developed into an artistic movement.

Many of the performers are part of the “teteo”, or “the rave that never stops”. This is where techno is infused with Latin beats in fresh, organic music that belongs wholly to Dominica, offering a new sense of pride: no longer a cultural backwater, but a place with a voice of its own. It’s a place of untamed inspiration for artists such as Akon, Bad Bunny, and Arcángel; the place of origin for the face-contort dance and the dembow songs, where people are “trucho” but “rulay”, the former meaning “fake” or “lame”, and the latter of which is a Dominican slang meaning to be “lit af” or “chill” in a carefree, uninhibited state of being.

As motorbikes weave in and out of the crowded streets, so does the camera, manned by cinematographer Hernan Herrera, creating a frenetic, sensorial experience that brings the documentary to life. There are moments when Cabral, who also edits his own film, takes a break from the chaos and follows or interviews people closely connected to the party life. Meeting them is akin to being introduced to magnetic strangers at a party.

Cabral incorporates multiple styles into “42nd Street” while using an anthology structure. There’s an unseen narrator guiding us along, who shares early on how, “Drug control agents murdered me in my own home while I was asleep.” Floral tributes are laid around lit candles. The documentary introduces friends, connecting them to a place in a way that binds the narrator’s identity to the streets themselves. The narrator introduces Demetal, his best friend, “one of the leaders of “the movement,” whose film, “Los Zombies Truchos”, aka “Stoner Zombies”, we get to see a part of over the closing credits.

We also meet the enemies of the titular location: the police. They are seen as people who just don’t understand the scene. One of them explains, “This neighborhood needs peace and quiet,” she says despairingly. Trying to keep order isn’t just a lost cause; it’s obvious it’s an unmanageable endeavor, but it’s also clear that the violence that develops stems in part from the police being under-resourced and outmanned. Cabral shows the absurdity in the attempts to clamp down on drug use when it’s literally everywhere, and when it’s an intrinsic part of a cultural phenomenon that is also seen as a marketing opportunity.

While Cabral and Herrera immerse viewers in the infectious atmosphere, they also remain on the periphery of gratuitous violence. The noise of a cock fight can be heard, and feathers are seen flying, but the camera never captures any of it directly. The same can be said for the gambling and talk of sex work; both are mentioned, but never in any detail. We do see something of the rivalry between wanna-be posers and the creatives who live on the street each night, but mostly the focus is on those considered regulars. Cabral takes us through the movement’s different stages of development, allowing the artists and their community a place to breathe before it disappears, is commodified by outsiders, or is defined by others.

What remains throughout and long after viewing is the music. It’s from another world, sometimes melodic and sometimes aggressive, and even out of tune. There are sounds that blend with the ambient noise, along with a certain quality of light, to capture the spirit of the place. There is so much to see that Cabral often uses split screens to capture it all, pulling disparate parts together to make a whole, to form it into something seen from within. At times, the film and its geographic subject feel like a defiant rallying cry, a place where the overlooked cannot be ignored.

RATING: ***