‘Jamojaya’: Sundance Review

Dir: Justin Chon. USA. 2023. 92mins

A father and son’s relationship implodes in paradise in Jamojaya, an often-poetic character study set in Hawaii where the beautiful landscape and soothing ocean sounds stand in stark contrast to the long-held tension between the central characters. Director/co-writer Justin Chon recruits Brian Imanuel (a.k.a. Indonesian rapper Rich Brian) for his first leading role, casting him as a rising talent whose hip-hop dreams are in conflict with his contentious relationship with the father who used to manage his career. The two men share a traumatic past — the death of the rapper’s brother — and much of Jamojaya is devoted to their lingering anguish, calmly observing as their discord slowly escalates. 

The gentle, lyrical Jamojaya takes bigger swings in its second half, introducing dramatic conflicts

Chon has previously premiered two other films at Sundance — Gook (2017) and Ms. Purple (2019) — so it’s fitting that his latest makes a bow in Park City as well. Both a look at the cutthroat music industry and an exploration of family fissures, Jamojaya is mostly muted, although the film pushes into more extreme emotional terrain in its final stretches - not always convincingly. As a result, the picture may prove to be only a modest theatrical player, with VOD and streaming perhaps more likely destinations.

James (Imanuel) has just arrived in Hawaii to record his album, which his new label hopes will be his breakthrough. Encouraged by savvy new manager Shannon (Kate Lyn Sheil), this up-and-coming rapper feels optimistic about the future, despite the pressure on him to deliver hits. He’s facing another pressure as well, however: his father Joyo (Yayu A.W. Unru) is tagging along, still not entirely comfortable with the idea that his son doesn’t want him handling his career, which he’s managed since James was an adolescent. An accumulation of past grievances between the two will build up over the course of several days — specifically, their inability to move on from the fact that Jaya, James’ brother, died in a plane crash.

Chon, whose last feature was 2021’s Blue Bayou, prefers to plunge us into James’ world rather than neatly explain everything. There’s a dreamlike quality to Jamojaya, which is appropriate considering how surreal the surroundings are: James is buttressed by slick producers, slimy executives and pretentious video directors ready to make him a star, even if we sense a little hesitation from the rapper. He must also contend with his father, who insists that James likes Hawaii because it reminds him of his childhood in Indonesia. Cinematographer Ante Cheng captures the island’s otherworldliness — the film was shot on location in Oahu using 35mm cameras — as James and his father return again and again to a particularly striking banyan tree, their difficult conversations juxtaposed with that majestic, towering plant.

Unru plays Joyo as doddering and melancholy, an older man who hasn’t accepted that he has been pushed aside by his son — and, in some ways, by the wider world. It’s a sympathetic performance, but Joyo’s controlling tendencies, which include insisting that they celebrate Jaya’s upcoming birthday together, suggests a passive-aggressive undercurrent which James desperately wants to escape.

Making his big-screen debut, Imanuel easily conveys James’ musical prowess behind the mic, while also pinpointing the character’s guarded insecurity. As gorgeous as the setting is — and as hyped-up as those around him are for what they perceive as his guaranteed success — James has a permanent doubtful look, recognising the faddishness of the music business and suspecting that his moment in the sun will be short-lived. Imanuel conveys an artist quietly riddled with a self-doubt to which, it’s hinted, may be due in some way to James’ complicated relationship with his father.

The gentle, lyrical Jamojaya takes bigger swings in its second half, introducing dramatic conflicts between James and his record company, as well as an escalation of the pent-up anger between father and son. Chon illustrates the heights of their animosity but also the stubborn bond they share. As much as Joyo still longs to run his son’s career, he also wants to protect him, and the film subtly explores the cultural isolation James feels around the privileged white executives trying to mould him.

Hawaii’s lush vegetation and tranquil air make it appear to be an earthly eden, but Jamojaya simultaneously frames the island as a picturesque purgatory in which these two men find themselves trapped. Some of the film’s later twists feel forced, but the tragedy of family members in perpetual torment is potent enough to smooth over the story’s less-compelling moments. Both in his music career and around his father, James simply cannot find his groove — Jamojaya honours the young man’s spiritual rut.