Reviewed on January 28th at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival – Premieres Section. 103 Mins
Cast: Bowen Yang, Lily Gladstone, Kelly Marie Tran, Han Gi-Chan, Joan Chen, Youn Yuh-Jung
Genre: Comedy, Romance
Director: Andrew Ahn
In Irish Cinemas: Now
When Ang Lee’s The Wedding Banquet premiered in 1993, the sociopolitical landscape for LGBTQ+ people was markedly different. The AIDS crisis was still devastating communities, marriage equality in the U.S. was little more than a distant dream, and authentic queer representation in mainstream media remained sparse, despite the gains of the prior decade. It was a time of cautious progress shadowed by deep-rooted resistance. Fast forward to 2025, and while the fight for LGBTQ+ rights is far from over, especially amid renewed cultural and political backlash, the community has undeniably come a long way. Andrew Ahn’s heartfelt and consistently funny reimagining of Lee’s classic arrives in this new context, reflecting both the progress achieved and the remaining tensions.
Ahn’s adaptation, co-written with James Schamus (a collaborator on the original script alongside Lee and Neil Peng), updates the narrative for a generation living in a world where same-sex couples can legally marry, raise children, and live openly in ways previously unthinkable. As a result, the sources of conflict shift. Institutional barriers may have lessened, but the pressure of familial expectations, financial hardship, and cultural disconnect still looms large—particularly for queer people of color.
In this version, the story centres on a Seattle-based lesbian couple, Angela (Kelly Marie Tran) and Lee (Lily Gladstone), who are recovering from the emotional and financial strain of a second failed IVF attempt. With resources dwindling and spirits fraying, the future of their family—and their relationship—hangs in the balance.
Their housemates and longtime friends, Chris (Bowen Yang) and Min (Han Gi-Chan), are navigating a separate crisis. Min, the heir to a powerful Korean conglomerate, wants to marry Chris not only out of love but to secure his green card. Chris, however, remains wary of commitment. And Min has his secret to protect: if his family discovers his sexuality, he stands to lose everything. The group devises a plan. Angela will enter into a sham marriage with Min in exchange for his funding another round of IVF, allowing him to stay in the U.S. and placate his traditional grandmother (played with stirring complexity by Oscar-winner Youn Yuh-jung).
The film cleverly inverts the gender dynamic of Lee’s original, centring its emotional and ethical dilemmas around the women. Ahn’s direction balances this shift with affection and sincerity, allowing his ensemble to explore intimate vulnerability and sharp comedic rhythm. While some exposition-heavy dialogue slows the momentum, the actors’ chemistry, especially during scenes of casual banter or emotionally charged confrontation, feels lived-in and sincere.
The production design, courtesy of Charlotte Royer, becomes a narrative device in itself during a standout sequence where the queer quartet scrambles to “de-gay” the house ahead of the grandmother’s arrival. Art, literature, photographs, clothing—tokens of their authentic lives—are hastily hidden in a shed. The moment is both hilarious and poignant, a metaphorical return to the closet that illustrates how visibility can still be a risk even in more tolerant times.
When the matriarch insists on a traditional Korean wedding to validate the marriage to her family back home, the stakes rise. Unlike Youn’s famously warm and eccentric grandmother in Minari, her character here is layered with suspicion, cultural obligation, and quiet sorrow. And yet, she still manages to command the screen with sly humour and aching gravitas.
Much of the film’s humour stems from culture clash and generational misunderstanding, as in the original. Min’s grandmother is bewildered by the idea that queerness could be accepted, let alone celebrated. Her disbelief serves as a sobering reminder that progress in one country is not necessarily mirrored elsewhere—and that acceptance is not merely a legal matter but a social and emotional journey.
The older characters provide some of the most resonant arcs. Joan Chen delivers a standout performance as Angela’s mother, who, haunted by her initial rejection of her daughter’s identity, overcompensates with performative allyship. Meanwhile, Youn’s matriarch wrestles with her conflicted emotions, caught between loyalty to a rigid patriarchal tradition and genuine love for her grandson.
Although the film occasionally feels like it’s pulling its punches—one might wish it pushed further into riskier or more subversive comedic territory—it remains a crowd-pleasing, emotionally grounded dramedy. Its refusal to veer into raunch or cynicism makes it broadly accessible, but never at the expense of authenticity.
For Ahn, The Wedding Banquet marks another chapter in a versatile career that bridges the indie intimacy of Spa Night and Driveways with the glossier, more commercially appealing tone of Fire Island. While this update leans more toward the latter in scale and polish, traces of Ahn’s signature introspection remain, lending emotional weight to a story that could have easily relied on farce alone.
In the end, this reimagining doesn’t merely modernise Lee’s foundational queer film—it reflects a queer present still defined by joy and negotiation, liberation and compromise. It honours the past, embraces the present, and subtly questions the future.
Overall: 6.5/10
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