Race relations in Los Angeles, 1991 are far from ideal. When Mexican-American Eladio goes to avenge the death of his older brother at the hands of a Korean-American merchant, he soon discovers that he’s not the only one with a reason to kill today. [NSFW adult language, F-bombs; graphic violence.]
By GUILLERMO GÓMEZ-PEÑA
Dear Ex-local artist, writer, activist, bohemian, street eccentric, and/or protector of difference…
Imagine a city, your city and your former “hip” neighborhood, being handed over by greedy politicians and re/developers to the crème de la crème of the tech industry. This includes the 7 most powerful tech companies in the world. I don’t need to list them: their names have become verbs in lingua franca; their sandbox is the city you used to call your own.
New Saturday Night Live cast member Sasheer Zamata just wasn’t black enough at the audition. [Contains N-word, girl!]
PREVIOUSLY ON CASTING:
I spent my two-week New Year’s vacation with family in Mexico. When I got back to L.A. I felt like I had crossed a finish line and, thankfully, made it back safe and sound.
My trip was not really over, though. Everyone at work and in my life was curious. “How was it?” people asked, waiting for me to tell them about my “homeland.”
Which version did they want, the sugar-coated one or the uncensored version? Normally, I would say “It was good. I got to spend quality time with my family and relatives and ate a lot of delicious cheap food!” But that hardly touches the surface.
I know that I am supposed to feel a deep connection, a feeling of being with my people, a sense of being “at home.” But when I am there, I count the days until I come back to the States. I feel like a bad Mexican.