It was only a matter of time before I found myself watching movies that reflected my growing youth in the aughts. Especially being a first-generation child of immigrant parents, I felt a newfound vitality when I received my first flip phone. Portable cameras seemed accessible, and outdoor activities consisted of making crude home movies with friends. YouTube was in its nascent stages, where one could upload anything and find an audience; social media profiling was a portal to those we felt were inaccessible; AIM sound effects jolted our senses and transfixed our attention.

It was a scary and exciting time to grow up while going through the classic trials and tribulations millions go through when transitioning from a pre-teen to a teenager. The bridge between middle school ease and the bustling hallways of high school would be crossed, and I wondered, “Is everything around me going to continue being confusing?” 

This is the central focus of every coming-of-age youth film. Sean Wang’s semi-autobiographical film, Didi (2024), is no exception and perhaps falls victim to the stock, typical trappings of these small introspective films where the filmmaker examines their youth through a lens of a unique background that bypasses certain blindspots people won’t be able to relate to. Sometimes, it’s about execution, and Didi finds an earnest, low-key approach to the coming-of-age process that feels personable and genuine.

Wang’s personified youth is embodied in the form of Chris (Izaac Wang)—often referred to by friends as “Wang-Wang,” a demeaning term that Chris soaks in as a form of endearment—a 14-year-old Taiwanese American kid who spends his summer days messing with friends and occasionally blowing up dead squirrels in neighbors’ mailboxes. His family life consists of an older sister, Vivian (Shirley Chen), a high school grad counting down the days until she moves away for college, and the pointed thorn in Chris’s clashing personality as they casually yell obscenities and fight like normal siblings. They’re both under the relaxed but worried umbrella of their mother, Chungsing Wang (Joan Chen), who has bear the brunt of her overly-critical elderly mother-in-law, Nai Nai (Chang Li Hua), as she views Chungsing as an ineffective parent without her constant traveling husband (who is never shown but talked about as a workaholic). Chris couldn’t feel any more distant and strange from his home life, yet he feels just as isolated, awkward, and adrift when trying to make his mark in his sunny California suburbs. 

Wang chronicles Chris’s summer as he tries to woo the affection of Madi (Mahaela Park), a girl in his same grade that perhaps would find him interesting if he can gain the courage and words to describe himself. His favorite movies are the ones he sees on her Myspace. He answers only in thuggish, cool-boy answers that he hopes will impress her. His identity is one void of being honest about who he is, and instead, he substitutes snide remarks, crude humor, and a deferment to vulnerability. Wang’s performance is almost too perfect–to the point where the air of cringe and awkwardness fills the frame, and all I wanted to do was save Chris from himself. It’s a tricky balance to play someone who is all-around unsympathetic and mean, yet his actions and words reflect his inability to be someone other than himself. 

Chris’s attempts to branch out and be someone different always seem to set him back. One subplot involves him befriending some older skater bros who need someone to film their tricks. Chris obliges them, promising he’s a great “filmer,” which compels him to want to perfect his camera craft. YouTube as a tool has never been more perfectly emphasized than how Chris needs to learn how to kiss a girl. Or how to shoot skateboarders. It’s scary how so many teens at the time could simply use this tool, and the limitations were non-existent. 

There is an innate desire and motivation to be the best version of himself. Chris may feel so behind everyone else that it’s become a race to catch up through any expedited lane. Yet, the facade is only as good as his grasp on his identity; Sean Wang presents his grip slowly releasing before he’s lost control of every situation. Or one sequence where he goes to a much more mature party than he’s ever been to, and his sense of reality is loosened quickly by ingesting every substance, as long as he feels accepted. These tropes are not unique or fresh, yet to watch Wang’s physicality maneuver and wiggle his way into a crowd of acceptance is marvelous to watch from a young performer. 

Joan Chen is the genuine heart of the film, as another aspect of Chris’s summer is how much his mother loves and wants the best for her son despite how unruly and rambunctious Chris can become. Chungsing hints at her past before she married and started a family as a hopeful artist who still wants to pursue her dream, as the house is filled with naturalistic paintings, and she submits to art contests. As a single mother who has to accept that her daughter is bound for greater success while her son stubbornly refuses to open his heart to her, all while feeling like all she can do is maintain a household that could fall apart by the slightest crack.

It’s a challenging performance for Chen not to succumb to hokey antics of distress and histrionics, but she does the opposite—she endures. Chungsing keeps her arms open for Chris despite his tantrums that eventually culminate into a cathartic, emotionally charged finale of Chris dropping his armor and acknowledging his own dissatisfaction with who he is. Chen—subtly and ever-so warmly—drops her armor and recognizes how much pride and joy it is to be a mom to two children who have the world at their fingertips. Wherever they chart their course, she reassures them how much of an emotional pillar she will continue to be, even when it feels difficult.

Even with the emotional reckonings and the heightened awkwardness, the film is devilishly hilarious. The back-and-forth dialogue between Chris and his friends provides a tremendous amount of levity due to the hearing kids talk about sex and throw out racial comments to one-up each other in their absurdity. (Chris lives in a bright hood that is diverse and multiracial, which opens a unique window of how kids of different backgrounds can afford to rib each other in good jest.) 

Didi moves through a collage of these small pointed moments that can often point out the lack of narrative structure or cohesiveness to Chris’s journey. The scatter-shot of Chris navigating himself doesn’t leave a major impression, so much so it lingers in the undefined realm of emotional perplexity. Much like how Chris is constantly second-guessing how to formulate the “perfect message” as he instant chats with people—almost like he’s equating human connection to the hardwiring and circuits of his computer or Motorola phone. What’s the correct way to phrase how we feel about someone? How do we initiate interest or examine our interiority? 

Instead of being ourselves, why is it easier to peruse through a person’s profile and capitalize on their easily-selected and curated interest? Fifteen years later, I don’t doubt teens similar to Chris are still traversing these waters, except the waves are much more turbulent than when going through puberty. 

Review courtesy of Amritpal Rai

Feature Image Credit to Sean Wang via IMDb