Antonio (Justin Chon) is a Korean American man living in the Louisiana bayou with his wife, Kathy (Alicia Vikander), and his stepdaughter, Jessie (Sydney Kowalske).  The couple is expecting a new baby girl, but after an altercation with the police, it is discovered that Antonio’s adoptive parents did not go through the proper channels when he was brought to the United States over 30 years ago to naturalize him and that Antonio is not actually a citizen.  Facing deportation, Antonio and Kathy search every avenue for a way to keep their family together. 

Focus Features’ Blue Bayou is written, directed, and stars Justin Chon.  It is a moving document that touches on many aspects of the social systems in the USA.  Specifically, it highlights the double-edged sword that was the Child Citizenship Act of 2000.  The legislature granted citizenship to all children who are adopted from overseas, however it does not extend this status to those who have turned 18 before it was signed into law.  Blue Bayou was four years in the making after extensive interviewing of families directly impacted by the Act as well as various advocacy groups. 

This is one of those films that is tough to talk about because it highlights a true problem, but as a film there were artistic and creative choices made which both help and hurt the cause. The narrative aspect of the film starts off strong but flounders under the weight of its 117-minute runtime.  Chon has taken great care of the story, which is undoubtedly all-too familiar for many, but as often is the case with conglomerate docudramas, he tries touch upon as many stories as possible and the effort would be better served as a strict documentary.    

Chon’s filmmaking style here takes on at once both a dreamlike atmosphere and starkly realistic.  Many scenes seem like he enhanced the natural lighting which illuminates his actors in a bright and harsh way.  He intercuts this many times over with glimpses of a woman staring back at the audience through the water, but beyond that many of his locations have a mess of colors and textures that blur together in the background.  He is never too specific about his locations, but he manages to set the tone and shape the world of the film quite well. 

Filling that world, Chon directs his core actors and fills the lead role with skill.  The performances of the family members, Jessie included, are all very natural.  When the errors of Antonio’s parents are revealed, the couple seeks counsel from Barry Boucher (Vondie Curtis-Hall), an experienced immigration attorney.  The expressiveness, and most importantly the passion, which he brings to the handful of scenes he is in makes him the runaway star of the show.   

There is also Parker (Linh Dan Pham), who has one of the most confusing roles in the entire film.  She plays a woman who engages in a pushing-the-limits-of-platonic relationship with Antonio and introduces him to Korean culture in a way he had never been exposed to before having been raised by white foster parents.  Her purpose in the narrative is a confounding one, mostly though she is used to hammer home the symbolism of the film to make sure that the idea of how someone can both belong to and be rejected by a society they call home is not lost on the audience.  She plays the role with poise, and while Parker is often a frustrating character to watch on screen, Pham manages to make us sympathize with her time and time again.     

The same cannot be said about the other ancillary characters of the film.  Most notably is the cartoonishly evil NOLA police officer, Denny (Emory Cohen).  As far as bad apples go, Denny is up there as one of the worst, but Chon’s script also saddles him as the comic relief character which lessens the message he is trying to convey about xenophobia and police brutality.  Chon continues this trend of mishandling his characters as he tries to paint Mark O’Brien’s Ace, Kathy’s manipulative ex who is also in law enforcement, and Toby Vitrano’s ICE Agent Merk as upstanding, sympathetic, and redeemable characters, all the while inexplicably sending Antonio down a life of crime and a questionable relationship with Parker. 

Blue Bayou ends in a poignant moment achieved through merits of the filmmaking alone – the score, lighting, framing, but not the script which remains a frustrating piece.  Chon’s fascination with melodrama really bogs this film down, especially as it stumbles into a conclusion.  With Biden’s Citizenship Act torn to pieces earlier this year, the film is incredibly timely in its release as we certainly have not learned from our past mistakes, but by leaning into these soap operatic story lines, the film really struggles to deliver its message in a coherent and respectable way.  It goes way too easy on the police.  It goes way too easy on ICE.  It goes way too easy on our immigration policy.  It only touches on it briefly, but it goes way too easy on the foster care program, too.  No single film is going to be able to solve these problems but given the way Blue Bayou delivers its messaging seems like it is a greater disservice than anything to any meaningful conversations that would be sparked by its viewing.