Grade: B-
Good: Demian Bichir’s powerful performance as Carlos; Affecting portrait of a father’s struggle to provide, survive and thrive.
Bad: Grating, rote anti-gang subplot; Jose Julian as Carlos’ son Luis can be annoying in the early stages; Hints of a political agenda.
Ugly: The treatment some of the illegal immigrants face just to pursue a dream Americans take for granted.
Anytime I hear someone refer to the “American Dream” I can’t help but think they’re being a bit disingenuous, and arrogant. Americans aren’t, and never have been, the only people pursuing happiness, and America isn’t the only place to live a comfortable, fulfilling life. But, for so many, it offers the hope, and often nothing more, of a better life. Director Chris Weitz examines how far one father will go in pursuit of a better life for himself and his son in Summit’s new drama, A Better Life.
The immigration debate is at the center of this drama, which follows illegal Mexican immigrant Carlos Galindo (Demian Bichir) as he comes within reach of escaping a life of inconsistent work and constant paranoia. Carlos makes his living as a day laborer in East Los Angeles, using the scant, menial wages he earns to support his son, Luis (Jose Julian), a restless teen tempted by the gang life that swallows so many young men of color whole. When Carlos’ friend and most “reliable” employer, Blasco (Joaquin Cosio), offers to sell him a truck filled with landscaping tools, Carlos sees the opportunity to run his own business and pull his family away from the hard life in the East L.A. barrio. For a day, Carlos sees a better future, but, after the truck is stolen, he embarks on a desperate mission to reclaim his future and reconnect with his son.
No matter what side of the immigration debate you fall on, you will be moved by Bichir’s restrained, yet powerful performance as Carlos. Bichir is superb, giving Carlos the quiet dignity and reserve of a leading man from a bygone era. Bichir’s Carlos is selfless—he sleeps on a couch while his son has a bedroom to himself—fearless—he climbs an easily five-story palm tree without hesitation just to cut a few leaves—and genial—in the search for his truck, he shows all those who help him the utmost compassion, often offering what little money he has in return for information—in a way that few lead characters are today. In the era of the HBO-style anti-hero, Carlos is refreshingly retro, an old-school “man’s man” hero in the place where audiences would least expect him. He is also a man of resounding depth. He may bottle up his emotions, but he does not disregard them. When Carlos faces a devastating circumstance near the film’s end, every ounce of emotion he reveals rings true and will surely move the most jaded viewers to tears.
Jose Julian, as Carlos’ son Luis, fares less impressively, playing a fiery counterpart to his father’s noble stoicism. Luis is unmotivated, aggressive and annoying, everything his father is not—and seeing Carlos forced to deal with his son’s brattiness is infuriating. Even worse, he’s saddled with a rote subplot about potentially joining a gang that is populated by some pretty sad Chicano stereotypes, including the tatted gangster (Gabriel Chavarria), boorish chola (Chelsea Rendon) and mouthy wannabe (Bobby Soto). As a counterpoint to his father and an example of the disconnect between American-born children of immigrants, Julian’s Luis is effective, but he’s so unlikeable that it’s hard to connect with him until the midpoint of the film. A scene where Luis and his father attend a traditional Mexican rodeo is particularly effective in making Luis more than a typical movie teen while cementing his father’s motivations.
Despite some missteps with Luis, director Chris Weitz, best known for daring to tackle adaptations of The Golden Compass and Twilight: New Moon, paints a solid picture of the immigrant struggle. Granted, images of East LA filled with day laborers, gangs, and muted sunshine are not terribly original, but Weitz never plays the exploitation angle. The people of these neighborhoods are generally rendered with the respect and compassion they are due. Just seeing so many of the adult East Angelinos working crap jobs under discouraging conditions shows how far these folks are willing to go to survive and, maybe, thrive. If anything, Weitz film shows that the “American Dream” is still alive, even if Americans aren’t the ones pursuing it.
Aside from its compassion toward its subjects, the film’s greatest assets are the simplicity of its plot and the palpable air of paranoia. Carlos is not pursuing some one in a million opportunity to become extraordinarily wealthy. He simply wants the opportunity to work and provide for his son. The fact that this all revolves around a pickup truck with tools is great because that truck is no mere McGuffin; it is both a symbol of that better life and the means to reach it. The only thing that stands in Carlos’ way is the possibility of being caught and deported. There is an inconsistent sense that any mistake Carlos makes will expose him to the authorities. In the early goings, the concept of deportation seems like a boogeyman, but near the climax it becomes a true threat. If Weitz had put a bit more emphasis on this throughout, the film would have been measurably stronger.
A Better Life is at its best when it allows the audience to witness and empathize with Carlos’ struggle. Sure, Carlos comes off as a little bit too good to be true, but who’s to say that a fair number of people in his position aren’t decent and hardworking. Conversely, the portions focused on Luis and the encroaching threat of gangs is hackneyed and grating. Audiences may roll their eyes at Luis storyline, but they’ll be hard pressed to not feel something when the movie zeroes in on the growing connection between father and son. Now, folks in the audience who are sensitive on the immigration issue may bristle at this film—as there is a clear agenda in place—but if they can get beyond their views, they’ll be rewarded with an affecting portrait of the new face of the American Dream.
The immigration debate is at the center of this drama, which follows illegal Mexican immigrant Carlos Galindo (Demian Bichir) as he comes within reach of escaping a life of inconsistent work and constant paranoia. Carlos makes his living as a day laborer in East Los Angeles, using the scant, menial wages he earns to support his son, Luis (Jose Julian), a restless teen tempted by the gang life that swallows so many young men of color whole. When Carlos’ friend and most “reliable” employer, Blasco (Joaquin Cosio), offers to sell him a truck filled with landscaping tools, Carlos sees the opportunity to run his own business and pull his family away from the hard life in the East L.A. barrio. For a day, Carlos sees a better future, but, after the truck is stolen, he embarks on a desperate mission to reclaim his future and reconnect with his son.
No matter what side of the immigration debate you fall on, you will be moved by Bichir’s restrained, yet powerful performance as Carlos. Bichir is superb, giving Carlos the quiet dignity and reserve of a leading man from a bygone era. Bichir’s Carlos is selfless—he sleeps on a couch while his son has a bedroom to himself—fearless—he climbs an easily five-story palm tree without hesitation just to cut a few leaves—and genial—in the search for his truck, he shows all those who help him the utmost compassion, often offering what little money he has in return for information—in a way that few lead characters are today. In the era of the HBO-style anti-hero, Carlos is refreshingly retro, an old-school “man’s man” hero in the place where audiences would least expect him. He is also a man of resounding depth. He may bottle up his emotions, but he does not disregard them. When Carlos faces a devastating circumstance near the film’s end, every ounce of emotion he reveals rings true and will surely move the most jaded viewers to tears.
Jose Julian, as Carlos’ son Luis, fares less impressively, playing a fiery counterpart to his father’s noble stoicism. Luis is unmotivated, aggressive and annoying, everything his father is not—and seeing Carlos forced to deal with his son’s brattiness is infuriating. Even worse, he’s saddled with a rote subplot about potentially joining a gang that is populated by some pretty sad Chicano stereotypes, including the tatted gangster (Gabriel Chavarria), boorish chola (Chelsea Rendon) and mouthy wannabe (Bobby Soto). As a counterpoint to his father and an example of the disconnect between American-born children of immigrants, Julian’s Luis is effective, but he’s so unlikeable that it’s hard to connect with him until the midpoint of the film. A scene where Luis and his father attend a traditional Mexican rodeo is particularly effective in making Luis more than a typical movie teen while cementing his father’s motivations.
Despite some missteps with Luis, director Chris Weitz, best known for daring to tackle adaptations of The Golden Compass and Twilight: New Moon, paints a solid picture of the immigrant struggle. Granted, images of East LA filled with day laborers, gangs, and muted sunshine are not terribly original, but Weitz never plays the exploitation angle. The people of these neighborhoods are generally rendered with the respect and compassion they are due. Just seeing so many of the adult East Angelinos working crap jobs under discouraging conditions shows how far these folks are willing to go to survive and, maybe, thrive. If anything, Weitz film shows that the “American Dream” is still alive, even if Americans aren’t the ones pursuing it.
Aside from its compassion toward its subjects, the film’s greatest assets are the simplicity of its plot and the palpable air of paranoia. Carlos is not pursuing some one in a million opportunity to become extraordinarily wealthy. He simply wants the opportunity to work and provide for his son. The fact that this all revolves around a pickup truck with tools is great because that truck is no mere McGuffin; it is both a symbol of that better life and the means to reach it. The only thing that stands in Carlos’ way is the possibility of being caught and deported. There is an inconsistent sense that any mistake Carlos makes will expose him to the authorities. In the early goings, the concept of deportation seems like a boogeyman, but near the climax it becomes a true threat. If Weitz had put a bit more emphasis on this throughout, the film would have been measurably stronger.
A Better Life is at its best when it allows the audience to witness and empathize with Carlos’ struggle. Sure, Carlos comes off as a little bit too good to be true, but who’s to say that a fair number of people in his position aren’t decent and hardworking. Conversely, the portions focused on Luis and the encroaching threat of gangs is hackneyed and grating. Audiences may roll their eyes at Luis storyline, but they’ll be hard pressed to not feel something when the movie zeroes in on the growing connection between father and son. Now, folks in the audience who are sensitive on the immigration issue may bristle at this film—as there is a clear agenda in place—but if they can get beyond their views, they’ll be rewarded with an affecting portrait of the new face of the American Dream.
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