La Mission

Directed by: Peter Bratt

Review by: Roberto Azula

Heartfelt, well-crafted, but sunk by the most cliché screenplay this side of ABC afterschool specials, La Mission purports to be a touching portrait of San Francisco’s Latino lowrider community.  The film makes an honest effort to be just that, but the off-the-shelf formula script is so predictable that I called every scene with disappointing accuracy. Benjamin Bratt clocks in a competent enough performance, with an earnestness that gamely seems oblivious to the weak dialog and by the numbers story.  You got your single father with a checkered past. Check.  His son is gay, and the father flies into a rage and refuses to accept his son. Check.  Of course the son is perfect, and has been accepted into college. Check. There is one thug going around the neighborhood causing trouble. Check. You have the more liberal uncle and wife, who take in the son. Check.  The father and his hot neighbor hate each other’s guts, but eventually become romantically involved. Check.  And the whole family melodrama gets wrapped up before the credits start rolling. Check. Sigh.

It’s all too bad, as Peter Bratt has gathered together a very competent cinematographer, film editor, and good looking, strong cast.  But regardless its slick appearance of the film, the film remains amateurish and insufferably naïve. And the notion that a father, in this day and age, is unable to accept homosexuality in the middle of flippin’ San Francisco seems a bit of a stretch, even for a conservative former Latino gangster.  I couldn’t help but think “what a doucebag.”  It would be like me living in India, and being completely shocked and horrified that spicy food is being served and eaten everywhere. The end result is La Mission is a timid, preachy, and ultimately self-congratulatory session designed for middle-brow audiences to feel progressive and with-it on an issue that is quickly becoming a cold potato. La Mission is about fifteen years too late.