A second serving of ‘The Wedding Banquet’ leaves audiences feeling overstuffed

Gay marriage was illegal when Ang Lee released 1993’s “The Wedding Banquet,” a New York-set romantic dramedy about a queer Taiwanese man, his white male partner and the female Chinese immigrant he marries to placate his conservative parents. But Lee, wise to how the heart stutters, didn’t pander to audiences with bromides like love is love. That small, assured masterpiece (only Lee’s second film) insisted that love is also selfish, hurtful, short-sighted and confusing, and that many of its wounds come from worrying about what outsiders think.

Today, the cultural battle lines have been redrawn, so the director Andrew Ahn (“Spa Night,” “Fire Island”) has rebooted “The Wedding Banquet” with more characters and higher stakes. Teaming up with Lee’s longtime co-writer James Schamus, he’s concocted an out-there plot that’s all complications and little soul.

Instead of one couple, we now have two: boyfriends Chris (Bowen Yang) and Min (Han Gi-chan), and girlfriends Angela (Kelly Marie Tran) and Lee (Lily Gladstone). The foursome lives at Lee’s home in Seattle, with the women in the main house and the lads in a barn-like bunker in the yard. Over the course of the film they’ll fight, kiss and crack jokes, and ultimately walk down the aisle with the wrong person.

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Interview with the main cast of “The Wedding Banquet”: Bowen Yang, Lily Gladstone, Kelly Marie Tran and Han Gi-chan.

April 11, 2025

Chris and Angela have been codependent chums since college. They hooked up briefly as teenagers, presumably as part of freshman (dis)orientation, although their sexual fluidity is blurry. What’s clear is they’re twin souls, two flip and emotionally risk-adverse forever-children afraid of adulting, as the dialogue’s millennial parlance might put it. Today, each one can legally marry their significant others. They just don’t want to. The blame has shifted from society to personal inertia.

Their respective partners, however, want to settle down. Min, a fabric arts student, already has an engagement ring in his pocket. The scion of a billionaire Korean fashion conglomerate, Min cashes checks from his grandmother, Ja-Young (Youn Yuh-Jung), while dodging her request to take over as its creative director. “You are not working for the company — you are the company,” she insists.

Meanwhile, Lee is an earthy bohemian goddess who spends much of her screen time gardening. (Gladstone’s flowery knitted outfits are a fun contrast to Tran’s Metallica roadie duds — great work across the board by costumer Matthew Simonelli.) An aid-worker for LGBTQ+ youth on a ticking-clock quest to bear children of her own, Lee has endured two wrenching rounds of in vitro fertilization and, just as painfully, her partner’s ambivalence about having kids at all. Angela’s strained relationship with her own mother, May (Joan Chen, diva-fabulous), a showy ally who is closer to her PFLAG buddies, has made her unrehearsed in maternal warmth. The most credibly-written character, Angela is terrified to play mom herself; it’s improv without a net. (One great comic beat comes when May consoles her daughter by cooing that Angela might not be as awful of a mom — she could be worse.)

Min needs a green card. Lee needs cash for a third shot at IVF. Chris and Angela need more runway for their inertia. So Min and Lee brainstorm an unusual proposal: a partner swap that will solve one set of problems while creating a pile-up of others. For reasons too eye-rolling to explain, Min and Angela must marry and commit to the ruse when Ja-Young arrives to investigate whether her grandson’s fiancée is a gold-digger. The four leads are yanked not by their heart strings but by the machinations of a plot that steers them from one contrived scene to another, just so it can point to the skid marks and call them a sketch of the new American family.

Bowen Yang, front, and Han Gi-chan in the movie “The Wedding Banquet.”

(Luka Cyprian / Sundance Institute)

In 2025, unlike 1993, Ahn and Schamus don’t take it for granted that foreigners like Min want to live in America at all. “Your trains are so slow!” he groans. Rich, charming and pop star-pretty (his skincare regimen is a playful runner), Min only wants to stay in the states for Chris, which is too much pressure to put on Yang’s callow and underwritten role. Despite those limits, this is one of Yang’s best parts. Now that he’s established himself as larger than life on “Saturday Night Live,” he has the confidence to play a human being.

Han knows he must exaggerate Min’s daffy naivete to get us to buy into his zeal to live in a small shack with noncommittal Chris. He and Chen give the film’s least naturalistic and most delightful performances. (“My own daughter, marrying a man!” Chen’s preening progressive wails despondently.) They’re the only actors who’ve internalized that this is screwball stuff, despite the realistic cinematography that throws wet burlap on the nonsense.

The cast is strong enough to sell us on the movie’s idea of love, even when it bends conventionality into a balloon animal. But its conception of mega-wealth is truly phony. Min’s lack of ego would be unusual if he was merely upper-middle class, but as the sole heir of a lineage that makes headline news, it’s preposterous. I’m not saying that Min has to be a privileged twit. But if he can impulse-buy IVF as casually as a round of beers, then the film has to respect the viewer enough to answer the obvious follow-up questions: How unbalanced is this marriage-for-medical-treatment proposition? If Min is this desperate to escape his grandmother’s fashion business, why does he sew her an impressive jacket for her hanbok? And, at minimum, why can’t the guys rent their own house next door?

The overall tone feels like Ahn asking us to trust him to make this modern romance work. But he hardly includes any of the genuinely true stuff like tough conversations about mistakes and forgiveness. There are no bonding scenes between Min and Angela. These longterm friends suddenly act like the other has cooties. Odder still, Ahn has a too-clever tic of cutting away from big confrontations. It’s as though we’ve been invited into this home only to be ordered to butt out.

Lily Gladstone, left, and Kelly Marie Tran in the movie “The Wedding Banquet.”

(Luka Cyprian / Bleecker Street)

When the drama is at its most compelling, the camera instead chooses to focus on Youn’s grandmother staring at the youngsters from a window. The goings-on affect her Ja-Young least of all, but we’re stuck watching her and whatever thoughts she’s too reserved to express. I get that Youn, who won a supporting actress Oscar five years ago for “Minari,” is a lucky talisman. However, the way the film forces her into moments she doesn’t belong in makes her feel like an albatross — especially when it forgets that Gladstone’s Lee exists for an insultingly long stretch and never gives that more central character a chance to speak her peace.

There’s something about the homespun aesthetics, in the gravity of Gladstone and Youn’s expressions — trapped within scenes where the dead air is filled by the sound of birds — that make this good-hearted movie seem embarrassed that it’s a comedy. When the gags arrive, they’re clumsy and desperate: a discordant vomit explosion, some shenanigans at a court house. The humor comes off like a wallflower at a party who is racing with so many awkward thoughts that when it’s finally time to speak, they blurt out something rude.

How strange that everyone involved here loves the 1993 film so much that they’ve remade it — or in Schamus’s case, rewritten it — without much of its cultural and character-driven wit. Ahn gets a couple giggles in his depiction of a hasty, half-baked Korean marriage ceremony with Chris promenading around with a wooden duck and the unlucky couple getting pelted with chestnuts and dates, symbology that no one in attendance totally understands. It’s a neat way to make the point that traditions must be reexamined.

But I still prefer a punchline Ang Lee delivered personally in his original “The Wedding Banquet.” Playing a reception guest surrounded by drunken hijinks, he quips, “You’re witnessing 5,000 years of sexual repression.” Come to think of it, this redo doesn’t even have a banquet. There’s just leftovers.