The premise of Blue Bayou stirred my curiosity quite raptly. I know people who were overseas adoptees, raised in Canada among white people with anglicized names and values, and I’ve wondered about the ways in which their everyday life is effected by that, and exactly what their relationship is to their country of birth. However I’ve never had to think about the possibility of them being deported, which as Blue Bayou illustrates is a genuine risk in the United States. You can live all your life there, but still there’s a chance that because of major oversights in immigration law, you can be sent back to a country you’ve never been to and don’t even speak the language of.
Justin Chon based his film (which he wrote, directed, produced, and starred in) on accounts of people he grew up with and cases he’d heard of -which has sparked something of a legal battle over intellectual rights and possible plagiarizing in this movies’ content. Nevertheless, it’s a sad situation, legally adopted adults being deported, that happens all too frequently -especially with the recent crackdowns by ICE. Blue Bayou however tries not to be a political movie -which it of course fails at, immigration status being one of the most politicized topics in American discourse. As much as he can though, Chon endeavours to make it a very human story.
There are a series of other factors working against Chon’s Antonio LeBlanc though, a New Orleans tattoo artist with a tenuous job and a criminal record who grew up in the abusive foster care system, and is only now starting to make a real life for himself with his expectant wife Kathy (Alicia Vikander) and step-daughter Jessie (Sydney Kowalske). When the deportation order comes in, he’s not in a good place to defend himself. Chon illustrates with apt frustration the hardship of the myriad circumstances Antonio is up against, even while those circumstances are all rather blunt. Certainly elements of his story, particular scenes, have the sting of sensationalism, and Chon ultimately finds himself entertaining more than a few contrivances in Antonio’s choices and the effect of the world around him. His screenplay, and his dialogue notably, can get lazy -especially where it concerns antagonists, the most significant being a pair of police officers, one being Jessie’s absent biological father (Mark O’Brien), and the other a one-note angry racist caricature (Emory Cohen). By contrast, the one ICE agent who does appear in the film is actually a friend and regular customer of Antonio’s -an attempt perhaps at a balanced image of ICE that doesn’t fit with the intents of the film. Any time Chon makes to adopt an air of political neutrality like this, it backfires and risks delineating the point he’s trying to make. This story and its’ tragic immediacy doesn’t have space for nuance.
Chon’s clearer skills as a filmmaker lie outside of narrative though, and with tone more than theme. Wistful naturalist imagery breaks up scenes of emotional strife, little glimpses of the things that Antonio cherishes in his private creek or neglected neighbourhood. He shoots New Orleans with care, not sugar-coating any of its’ dismal avenues but keeping the roads in and out meditative, the riverboats on the bayou at night gorgeous. An excellent emphasis on how entrenched Antonio is in this place, where he belongs more than he ever would in the Korea he never knew. His one reflection to that, Chon nicely illuminates in sporadic dreamlike illusions before revealing their truth, and an even further trauma to Antonio’s history.
As Antonio deals with these repressions coming back to the surface in tandem with the uphill battle to make a case for himself as a valued member of society -his choices and secrets in light of this driving a wedge between him and the family he’s desperate to stay for- a story is paired alongside this of a Vietnamese-American Parker (Linh Dan Pham), a war-era refugee with terminal cancer. It is by a stretch Chon’s most interesting detour, as the friendship Antonio develops with Parker both opens him up to the Asian cultural experience he never had, and creates a healthy point of reference and empathy that he can’t find elsewhere. Pham is also just really good in the role, caring and kind, wise and contented -the kind of infectious spirit that really could alter your perspective. She also acts as a good contrast for what Antonio could have had had his childhood turned out differently.
Chon plays well that sombre understanding, as his whole past is made to come back and determine his future. It’s quite a good performance, as Chon digs deep into Antonio’s emotions and desperation. He goes all in on the Louisiana accent and personal style too, making it as abundantly clear as possible how far from Korea this man is. And while he illustrates the worse impulses of Antonio’s nature, how that criminal history is within arms’ reach when vulnerable enough, he does a fine job showing the family man, how tender and close his relationship is to Kathy and Jessie. What makes the family dynamic at the centre of this movie so effectively moving though is the chemistry of all three. Vikander is a touch awkward in moments with her less convincing accent, but really brings considerable weight to the most devastating scenes -especially in one breakdown outside the hospital where she works near the end. Between this and The Green Knight it’s wonderful having Vikander back delivering knockout performances on the regular again. For her part, the young Kowalske just needed to be adorable -which she is, but is also ultimately the crux of a couple high moments of melodrama, relating them with exceptional authenticity.
These generally occur in the movies’ closing scenes, which certainly push the limits of sentimental posturing, but are effective nonetheless through a committed believability. Because Blue Bayou doesn’t take the easy route, Chon knows where the story must go to achieve its’ purpose, an audaciousness I admire. It’s a bit of a clumsy road getting there, Blue Bayou bears the marks of a filmmaker still learning his craft (particularly where the script and plotting are concerned) -but the heart and conviction is on full display. The postscripts include a series of examples of real adoptees who either have been deported or are in the process of deportation to hammer home just how common this tragedy is. Chon genuinely wants to raise awareness, and film is as good a way as any to do that.
As Antonio deals with these repressions coming back to the surface in tandem with the uphill battle to make a case for himself as a valued member of society -his choices and secrets in light of this driving a wedge between him and the family he’s desperate to stay for- a story is paired alongside this of a Vietnamese-American Parker (Linh Dan Pham), a war-era refugee with terminal cancer. It is by a stretch Chon’s most interesting detour, as the friendship Antonio develops with Parker both opens him up to the Asian cultural experience he never had, and creates a healthy point of reference and empathy that he can’t find elsewhere. Pham is also just really good in the role, caring and kind, wise and contented -the kind of infectious spirit that really could alter your perspective. She also acts as a good contrast for what Antonio could have had had his childhood turned out differently.
Chon plays well that sombre understanding, as his whole past is made to come back and determine his future. It’s quite a good performance, as Chon digs deep into Antonio’s emotions and desperation. He goes all in on the Louisiana accent and personal style too, making it as abundantly clear as possible how far from Korea this man is. And while he illustrates the worse impulses of Antonio’s nature, how that criminal history is within arms’ reach when vulnerable enough, he does a fine job showing the family man, how tender and close his relationship is to Kathy and Jessie. What makes the family dynamic at the centre of this movie so effectively moving though is the chemistry of all three. Vikander is a touch awkward in moments with her less convincing accent, but really brings considerable weight to the most devastating scenes -especially in one breakdown outside the hospital where she works near the end. Between this and The Green Knight it’s wonderful having Vikander back delivering knockout performances on the regular again. For her part, the young Kowalske just needed to be adorable -which she is, but is also ultimately the crux of a couple high moments of melodrama, relating them with exceptional authenticity.
These generally occur in the movies’ closing scenes, which certainly push the limits of sentimental posturing, but are effective nonetheless through a committed believability. Because Blue Bayou doesn’t take the easy route, Chon knows where the story must go to achieve its’ purpose, an audaciousness I admire. It’s a bit of a clumsy road getting there, Blue Bayou bears the marks of a filmmaker still learning his craft (particularly where the script and plotting are concerned) -but the heart and conviction is on full display. The postscripts include a series of examples of real adoptees who either have been deported or are in the process of deportation to hammer home just how common this tragedy is. Chon genuinely wants to raise awareness, and film is as good a way as any to do that.
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