Despite his inconsistent accent, Glover can be inviting as Deni, full of life and full of purpose. He represents the last bastion of Guavan magic that hasn’t been commodified by the Red family. “We live in paradise but none of us have the time or the means to actually live here,” he tells a coworker. But it’s unclear how his planned festival will remedy this injustice in the long run. Instead of a festival, why doesn’t he organize a strike?

When one cargo worker explains his plan to save enough to bribe his way to America, Deni scoffs. He knows America to be no less money-grubbing than Guava, no less devoid of opportunity. “America is a concept,” he pontificates. “Anywhere where in order to get rich you have to make someone else richer is America.” Cue a rendition of “This Is America” performed as a musical number with the cargo contraptions as instruments and workers as back-up dancers. Unlike the other performances in the movie, it’s the only one that feels totally surreal. Murai, who also directed the whirlwind violence of the “This is America” video, loosely transposes its choreography to address a new context: wherever you go, even in the Land of the Free, there is no escape from the tyranny of evil men. Better to stay and fight for home. Better the enemy you know.

These are the core ideals of Guava Island: stand up to local tyrants for the sake of a better community and find the fuel to persevere through music. The message is a noble one, if not a bit idealist, but Glover and Murai and their team have banked too heavily on aesthetics and star power to be bogged down by empty dialogue and thin plotting.

Rihanna, who was born and raised in Barbados, is in her element as a woman from a small island with big dreams, and she plays Kofi as cynical and knowing. But she doesn’t get to exist beyond being Deni’s muse. She is a supposed pragmatist who doesn’t see their home through the same rose-colored glasses, offsetting Deni’s free-spirited idealism, but because the universe of Guava Island revolves around him, she can’t help but be awed by his optimism. Her drives get lost in his, until he becomes her only motivation. As if to add insult to injury, Rihanna never performs a song, despite being the superior artist. Watching her carefully maneuver within Glover’s orbit here, staying a chronically underused talent as he erects a monument to himself, can be maddening.

Many of the best episodes of “Atlanta” were written by Stephen Glover and directed by Hiro Murai, but Guava Island doesn’t share that same careful sketch work. The scenes they create together on the show are often masterful in their intimate portrayals of black humanity, balancing the humor and fucked-up-ness of persisting as struggling artists in slice of life vignettes. Guava Island misses the mark while seeking a similar destination. It almost never gives its capable cast anything to actually do. There aren’t nearly enough meaningful characters to purposefully populate an island this poorly conceived.

As a vehicle for Childish Gambino songs, Guava Island makes for a pretty good music video. As a movie, Guava Island is little more than coherent. The creative team behind the film want to imagine that a paradise lost can be found again in song. At its best, it’s hard to take seriously. At its worst, it’s utterly self-indulgent.