Like a lot of mediocre films, the charm of Yellow Rose is mostly in the idea.
In this case big pitch is an intriguing one: an undocumented Filipina immigrant, Rose Garcia, attempts to make her way in the U.S. chasing her love of country music.
Such mashing together of east and west, the newly immigrated to the New World with some of its longest established cowboy motifs, sounds promising on a billboard, like a pop-up restaurant that fuses together different world cuisines.
In this case, though, the execution does not manage to meld anything very stimulating from its promisingly diverse ingredients.
Part of the issue might stem from the overall quality of the ingredients: not much in the film – from the story and photography to the supporting performances –manages to rise above B-movie grade.
Some of the supporting performances are particularly underwhelming, lending the film an overall amateurish feel.
The main achievement of the Yellow Rose is undoubtedly the performance by lead actress Eva Noblezada. Her singing elevates an already strong performance to something like a road sign at a struggling country dance hall: flickering with real promise but linked up to underpowered machinations behind the scenes.
She performs very well, in other words, despite songs which will presumably never make it to radio and do not seem to provide full scope for her talent.
(Several of these she seems to have written herself, incidentally, and one cannot help but wonder what might result were she to team up with a writer of the calibre of her voice.)
Another weakness of the production is the major subplot in which Rose’s mother gets arrested by immigration officers.
Effectively evoking the challenges and constant anxiety of undocumented (aka “illegal”) immigrants, Yellow Rose’s treatment of the topic in too consistently hysterical to amount to much more than humdrum drama.
For example, at the prospect of her mother’s deportation Rose faces the difficult decision of whether to leave with her or remain in the only land she has ever considered home. This is a harrowing dilemma, to be sure, but while many tears are shed onscreen, the facts of the matter are represented in a such a direct and unimaginative way that the emotional impact is limited.
Passing reference is made to the mother and daughter’s Catholic faith, which appears to be more a matter of culture than pious conviction. We watch them cross themselves before a meal, for instance, and Rose’s bedroom is packed with kitschy knick-knacks – a prominent pair of candles, for instance, which feature musicians Prince and Dolly Parton.
This just about fits the film’s overall ethos: help and hope in life, at least for our heroine, do not come principally from faith or even family, but from the ragtag devotees of folksy homespun harmonies.
It’s a nice, optimistic idea but, in the end, a rather superficial assessment of real life.
While the film might appeal to die-hard fans of anything country-western, immigration-related, or Filipino, most viewers will walk away vaguely pleased yet mostly disappointed by a promising premise that ultimately underdelivers.