This immigration story drowns in problems

 

    Topical subject matter isn't always enough to carry a movie.

    That's the case with Blue Bayou, an overloaded immigration drama from director Justin Chon, who also wrote and stars in the movie.

   Chon plays Antonio LeBlanc, a Louisiana-bred man who arrived in the US at the age of three. Born in Korea, Antonio speaks with a southern accent and has never thought of himself as anything but  American. He has only dim memories of the Korean mother who gave him up for adoption.

   Antonio lives with Kathy (Alicia Vikander), a woman with a daughter (Sydney Kowalske) Antonio loves and who loves him back. The couple is expecting another child. 

   Sometimes, it seems as if Chon never met a problem he could resist; his screenplay staggers under the weight of too many difficulties.

   A tattoo artist by trade, Antonio wants to earn more money to support his growing family. An early brush with the law resulted in a criminal record, which means he has trouble landing jobs. 

   Many of the scenes (an early job interview, for example) have power, but Antonio's personal life proves overly complicated and fraught. 

   Vikander's Kathy was once married to a New Orleans cop (Mark O'Brien), a man who fears Antonio and Kathy will move to Korea and take his daughter with them. The former husband's policeman partner, an unabashed racist played by Emory Cohen, has it in for Antonio.

    Pushed into trouble with the law, Antonio comes to the attention of ICE. Turns out that his adoptive parents never filled out the proper forms, which means Antonio is classified as an illegal immigrant. 

  An immigration attorney (Vondie Curtis-Hall) knows Antonio faces an uphill struggle but tries to keep Antonio from being deported.

  To further complicate the story, Antonio must persuade his adoptive mother to testify on his behalf -- not an easy task as it turns out. He hasn't spoken to her for more than a decade.  The reasons for this  eventually are revealed.

   Antonio also makes the acquaintance of a Vietnamese woman (Lin-Dan Pham). Although she's dying of cancer, she shares her experience as a Vietnamese American, inviting Antonio and his family to a festive family lunch.

   Chon proves convincing as a desperate man but the screenplay piles obstacles so high they begin to lose credibility. In reality, such a story might be possible. On screen, a bit of honing would have helped.

Hard times in Los Angeles’s Koreatown

Director Justin Chon tackles cultural dislocation in Ms. Purple, the story of Kasie (Tiffany Chu), a young woman trapped in a life that revolves around men, notably her dying, comatose father and the abusive, demanding customers at the karaoke bar where she works. An affluent boyfriend (Tony Kim) -- also a karaoke bar patron -- gives Kasie money but treats her like a pet. Kasie lives a life of desperation in Los Angeles's Koreatown. Her mother long ago left to pursue a more affluent life. Kasie grew up with an immigrant father who called her a princess but did little to prepare her for adulthood in America. Now in a coma, Dad (James Kang) requires so much care that Kasie must call on her wayward brother Carey (Teddy Lee) for help. Flashbacks tell us that Carey's difficult relationship with his father explains, at least partially, why the young man remains shiftless and unemployed. At times, Carey pushes his father's bed -- with dad in it -- through the neighborhood, an act that's both amusing and hostile. Who does that to an unconscious man? Ms. Purple draws us into the multi-cultural environment of LA, sometimes using Mexican music in the background. Chon also introduces an under-developed Mexican-American character (Octavio Pizano). A guy who parks cars for a living, Pizano's character takes a liking to Kasie and invites her to his sister's quinceanera. Perhaps Chu wants to contrast a more rooted part of LA's diverse population with the more unsettled Korean enclave he depicts. Chon gets a lot out of his cast and he deglamorizes life among a segment of LA's Korean population. The story of second-generation alienation and exploitation can seem disjointed, but amid the chaos of Kasie’s life, Chon finds enough heartbreak to make his movie stick with you.

Turn 21, drink until you drop

What? You expected more than a raunchiest from the guys who wrote The Hangover?
I was still in college on the day I turned 21. I remember walking into a bar near campus and finding a seat. I secretely hoped that the bartender would look at me suspiciously so that I could whip out my driver's license and demand the service to which my new maturity entitled me. Instead, I got a half-hearted request for an ID, followed by an even more indifferent, "What'll you have?"

So went my unceremonious entry into the world of legal drinking.

The new comedy 21 and Over revolves around the events accompanying one young man's 21st birthday. He's Jeff Chang (Justin Chon), and his friends always call him by both his first and his last names. On the eve of an interview for admission to medical school, Jeff Chang veers from the straight and narrow. The reason: He's visited by two long-time friends (Miles Teller and Skylar Astin) who insist on helping him celebrate his birthday.

They don't much care that Jeff Chang's demanding father (François Chau) is scheduled to pick up his son for the interview in the morning.

Now, you'd have to be entirely blotto not to realize what's about to happen. Jeff will engage in an epic bout of binge drinking that will bring him to a near comatose state while the comedy turns into the expected ruanchfest.

Written and directed by Jon Lucas and Scott Moore, the writers of The Hangover, 21 and Over continues a streak that thus far has been based on partying, substance and alcohol abuse, sexual humiliation and male nudity.

In some ways, 21 and Over simply drops the Hangover formula onto a college campus, a move that presents ample opportunity for bar-hopping, parties and co-ed ogling. Judging by this and other movies, no one who attends college in a comedy ever has seen the inside of a library. In fact, college looks like a libidinous playground for young people who face adult life as if it were a prison sentence.

But about that raunchfest. At one point, Jeff Chang stands on a bar and urinates on the gathered crowd. Projectile vomiting? Of course. And before the night is done, Jeff Chang will eat a tampon.

Maybe you consider those comic spoilers, but you probably should know just how raunchy some of the raunch gets.

Early on, Jeff Chang's two companions (who remain relatively sober) walk across campus nude, except for the white socks that cover their penises. The movie then proceeds to tell us how they got that way, a story that involves retribution for a sorority invasion.

Comedies such as 21 and Over stagger from one ribald set piece to the next, but have become so familiar that I couldn't work up much by way of disgust. Besides, Astin's character proves reasonably likable, and the movie isn't nearly as mean-spirited as it could have been.

Still, 21 and Over provided me with few laughs as I waited for the inevitable interjection of some supposedly redeeming drama.

As it turns out, the stressed and depressed Jeff Chang doesn't really want to be a doctor; the more reserved of the trio (Astin's character) loosens up when he meets a blonde co-ed (Susan Wright); and the wild man and instigator in the trio decides to turn over a new leaf, but not until the actor who plays him (Teller) gets to practice sounding a lot like Vince Vaughn.

In a way, reviewing movies such as 21 and Over is pointless. The audience for this kind of movie is not review driven, and, as the saying goes, people who like this sort of thing probably will like this particular thing. They may also tend to overuse the word "awesome."

21 and Over is one more comedy that satisfies adolescent cravings for moments of pseudo-transgression. So if it's your keg of beer, I'll leave you with one simple and heartfelt thought, "Party on, dude.