Despite knowing very little about Rosemead beyond the blurb of synopsis from the festival, my interest was piqued twofold: debut director Eric Lin promised a deep dive into Asian culture, and lead Lucy Liu was also on board as a producer. Based on a true story, this searing portrait of an immigrant’s experience protecting her son goes to some shocking places that left the audience gobsmacked. First time performer Lawrence Shou steps into a complicated role that hinges on the entire plot to function. A beautifully tragic tale about a mother’s love and the disgusting stigma behind mental illness, Rosemead weaves vital messaging with a masterclass performance from underrated starlet, Lucy Liu.
Irene (Liu) and her athletic son, Joe (Shou), may live together, but they are both hiding major secrets from one another. For Irene, she is undergoing an experimental cancer treatment in private. For Joe, he tries to impress his friends, but his schizophrenia tends to get in the way. The more Joe avoids taking his prescribed medication, the worse his condition becomes. He sketches horrific drawings of skeletons and spiders all over his schoolwork, and his fixation on mass shootings evolves into an obsession. Irene only has so much bandwidth to deal with his mental health issues. In the midst of her cancer treatments and transporting Joe to his therapist, Irene also runs a printing store called I&G Printing. With an uncertain future looming, Irene must contemplate the unthinkable when it comes to protecting her baby.
Much of the dialogue in the film heavily features Chinese with English subtitles that nicely integrates itself into the narrative. Liu takes on the role of Irene with a heavier accent than expected, yet somehow it completely fits her like a glove. Irene’s deep motherly love presents shades of complications when it comes to her friends, and their role within the community. She fights for Joe’s wellbeing at school tooth and nail; though it may be a cultural thing to have resistance towards mental health struggles, Irene eventually embraces this aspect as well once it becomes clear something is very wrong with Joe internally. Liu and Shou have a natural chemistry that fully embraces the mother/son dynamic. Shou has the showier role, whilst Lui gets to be more subdued with eventual bursts of emotional release.
Driven by immaculate sound design, Rosemead practically immerses the viewer in Joe’s headspace each time we experience one of his intense episodes of psychosis. His vision goes blurry, and the voices in his head reach a cacophony. Both of these aspects are nailed with pinpoint accuracy by Lin’s clever direction. Shou plays the different sides to Joe with a quiet ease reflective of the special quality he possesses as a performer. Whether a school drill or a poolside swim that sets him off, Joe can explode without notice, making him a difficult character to get a read on. When with his mother in their most tender state, Joe can truly flourish. A vital memory that becomes a recurring motif of the family’s stay at a hotel shows glimmers of the promise inside Joe; another section where Irene and Joe play together on the beach tugs at the heartstrings.
As lovely as their relationship may seem at times, Rosemead is never afraid to go to the darker spaces that unfortunately come with the territory. As we barrel towards a devastating climax, the raw power of Liu’s stripped-down performance takes center stage. How far can a mother’s love go? Why is there such a stigma towards mental health and medication, especially when it can be life-saving? How can a story so heart-wrenching actually be a true one? There are no easy answers to many of these questions. However, with this topic being more important than ever, Lin and screenwriter Marilyn Fu craft a timeless drama that will not soon be forgotten.
Rosemead premiered at 2025’s Tribeca International Film Festival.
