Blue Bayou

Words spoken just that little bit too loudly in a supermarket aisle. Entitled cops. A face that doesn't quite fit in. Three ingredients that make up the worst day of Antonio LeBlanc's (Justin Chon) life. Korean born but American made, he's been living in New Orleans for most of his life and the day he's arrested is the day he finds out his adopted parents never went through with the process of making him an American citizen. It's news that breaks the hearts of his pregnant wife Kathy (Alicia Vikander) and his step daughter Jessie (Sydney Kowalske) and now he's facing deportation if he can't prove that he's valuable to American society, which as an ex-con, is going to be a struggle.

Those of us who grew up watching American films and TV in the 80's and 90's were conditioned to see the United States as the world's savior, the place that could do no wrong, a bastion of liberty and freedom. Once again it takes an POV considered as the other to show the place up for the cesspit it is, slavishly sticking to outdated ideals and twisted by systemic racism. Antonio's American, he has the Gulf twang, he's spent years running from his past, hiding it from those closest to him, he breaks the law occasionally as a necessity but he's been built by the system, made who he is by American law. And now they want shot of him because of something he couldn't do anything about. This story, based on so much true life tragedy was written by, directed by and stars Justin Chon. It pushes a little bit too hard at times but it will leave you spitting fire when it finishes.

It's Antonio's story but Kathy and Jessie are equally affected by it all. Jessie's about the lose a man who's been a better father to her than her real father ever was and Kathy's losing the man who she created a new life with. Even worse is her finding out that he's been lying to her by omission about the facts of his youth for all the time she's known him and it's here that Alicia Vikander nails the heartbreak for all involved in the soul destroying process of deportation. She's hanging on by a thread and in a beautiful moment that shows just how tenuous her grasp is she sings the Roy Orbison (by way of Linda Ronstadt) song that gives the film it's title. A song that's an indelible piece of Americana, appreciated by all who've come there for shelter, sang at a party hosted by Parker, a new Vietnamese friend of the family. Her appearance and subsequent friendship with Antonio stirs up all the memories of his childhood, memories that make him even more determined to stay but at the same time reconnect him with a culture he's worked hard to escape from. The ties that bind us are never straightforward and the story makes pains to show us things are never black and white.

It never shies away from painting Antonio as a complicated individual either. He's a thief when needs be, he can be an asshole to those around him and Chon's turn is a strong one, creating someone who feels real rather than a cypher designed to tell a story. As a director he garners fine performances from everyone onscreen with the exception of Emory Cohen's cop Denny, a broad caricature who feels like he wandered in from a whole other film. It's the one real slight on an otherwise fine film built on dreamlike imagery, superlative performances and rage inducing truth. 

Blue Bayou is in cinemas and streaming online now. It's well worth your time.