Buzzclub may peter out at the end, and bog down here and there, but the whole thing's like a superlong version of that ecstatic split second at a party when your eyes lock onto a stranger's. Buzzclub reminds you how great it is to watch other people dance. If you're of a certain age, it can trigger prelapsarian pangs, the remembrance of things past. The tape, although made over the course of two years in England and in Holland, seems to encapsulate a single night. Starting slowly, it picks up speed, gets going, keeps going and goes a little further.
Anticipation is followed by reverie.
Beer gives way to drinks, intimations of E and coke, then bleary-eyed spaciness and early hangovers. Things mellow out. It ends with the dual projection of a lone woman trying, one last time, to find the beat. Buzzclub passes over you like a meteorological event. In the first scene, a fresh-looking girl in a white dress sips a beer, waiting for the party to begin.