We ditched yoga last nite and watched Better Luck Tomorrow as recommended by my cousin Mark. I was all punchy from lack of sleep anyway, and my body hurts from the ravages of PMS. I only hit the gym once this week (Monday), and went to jujitsu once (Monday), didn’t run at all. Oh well, everyone’s entitled to a week off here and there, right?

I guess Better Luck Tomorrow was pretty well received, and the artsy factors of the movie were done well and interestingly, and I did reassume familiarity with some SAT words such as “punctilious.” The psychological discomfort that this movie leaves you with, however, is not a turn-on. My mind kept flashing back to certain scenes. It is, on a smaller scale, what watching Unfaithful did to me. As much as I could relate to the background of Better Luck Tomorrow better than Unfaithful because the setting may as well have been my old high school in Diamond Bar, the kids may as well have been my peers, the classes may as well have been my own classes, I walked away from both movies with an emotional gasp and gratitude that it’s not my own life that went horribly askew in the way of the characters’ lives. Just as I snapped out of Unfaithful being grateful I’ve never cheated on a relationship and with newfound motivation never to do so, as the credits rolled in Better Luck Tomorrow, I was glad I didn’t roll with the wrong group in high school or college, because it feels like I very well may have misstepped in the same direction. I don’t know that to be true, my moral compass tends to be fairly strong, but the story presented itself as the tragedy of everyman. That may be what’s most artful about the film, aside from the naked exposure of Asian American youth culture and youth (underground) subculture/counterculture.

Oh, yeah. And John Cho turns out to have range beyond the goofy token Asian boy in American Pie and Harold & Kumar go to Whitecastle. This is definitely a film noir.