Che Rivera (Benjamin Bratt) defines himself not merely by his ethnic and spiritual culture, but also by street culture, growing up tough and maintaining that image on a daily basis. Living in the Mission district of San Francisco, he earns the respect of his neighbors by being the very definition of masculinity: Physically strong, emotionless except for anger, able to finish a fight should one start. He’s also passionate about restoring classic cars, a hobby that requires intensive manual labor. He has served time in prison, but he’s now working towards reforming himself. He has quit drinking. He earns a living as a bus driver. He wants to do right by his teenage son, Jes (Jeremy Ray Valdez), who he’s had to raise on his own since the death of his wife. Jes is a high school honor student who will soon graduate and head south to attend college at UCLA. Che has every reason to be proud of him.
 
But Jes has a secret. He’s gay. He doesn’t know when or how he’s going to tell his father. For the time being, he assumes, he will continue making school-related excuses for staying out late. Che discovers his son’s secret entirely by accident, unleashing a torrent of anger that leads to a public fistfight and Jes being kicked out of his home. His son can’t possibly be gay. There is, after all, a reason God created men and women. Why would he choose to be something that’s so clearly wrong? Is Che being punished for his past sins? His best friend and fellow car enthusiast recounts how he asked himself the same thing when his sickly son was hospitalized. He also tells Che that, in the end, he was just glad that his son was alive. Che eventually lets Jes move back in, although we quickly realize that he hasn’t really come to terms with anything. He’s merely pretending that Jes is something he isn’t.
 
As father and son walk on eggshells around each other, Che begins a relationship with his new neighbor Lena (Erika Alexander), who’s a caring and supportive staple at an abused women’s shelter. At the same time, she’s headstrong and saddled with emotional baggage, the latter qualities revealing themselves as their attraction grows physical. Is it possible for her to love a man with such a terrible history? She’s seen his kind before – violent men who have no healthy outlet for their anger. Is it possible for him to realize that his macho reputation isn’t getting him anywhere? And can she get him to see things from a different angle when it comes to his son?

One could ask these questions all day long. But you know how men like Che are. They’re stubborn. They live by an unspoken but well-understood street code. And homosexuality is a concept completely outside their range of comprehension. This is perhaps a bit broad, but Bratt manages to make his character convincing, mostly in the way he navigates the emotional range; Che can be volatile, but there are also times when he’s great to be around, especially when he’s with his low-rider buddies. It’s also interesting to watch him around Jes – the anger, the embarrassment, the denial that allows him to treat his son with some degree of respect.
 
We know, of course, that the problem lies not with Jes but with Che, which means he will spend the rest of the film working towards accepting his son for who he is. One of the film’s more interesting approaches is that it’s told from the father’s perspective; it’s not about the son reaching out to the father, but the father having to learn how to reach out to the son, if such a thing is even possible. It’s about Che having to deal with himself before dealing with Jes. It’s about coming to terms with an image that may not have much to do with the person inside. Of course, this also presents some problems, namely that it’s awfully one-sided. Jes, as depicted, is so decent and likeable that he he’s obviously in service of the film’s message. Why couldn’t he be just as flawed as his father? What if he realized he was prejudiced towards straight people?
 
Or what about Jes’ lover, Jordan (Max Rosenak)? He’s an all-around pleasant guy from an affluent and supportive family, although that’s pretty much the extent to which he’s developed. Is there nothing more we can learn about him? Does he not have his own insecurities or weaknesses or intolerances to sort through? I began to wonder all this late in the film, when he and Che have ... an encounter; while the intent of this scene is clear, the execution comes off as overbearing. Much like Jes, Jordan is merely a plot device, solely created as a way for the filmmakers to get a point across. This could have been a great movie had it not been so insistent on telling us something we’ve heard many times before. As it stands, “La Mission” is a good movie, lacking complexity but livened up with an engaging story and believable performances.

- Chris Pandolfi

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