Gay, Asian, Immigrant – The Cost of Playing Along

From its very first moments, Gay, Asian, Immigrant announces itself with confidence—a catchy, ironic intro tune that feels ripped straight from a sitcom, signaling both the humor and the self-awareness to come. But beneath that playful melody lies a cutting, deeply personal story about identity, assimilation, and the quiet exhaustion of performing for acceptance.

In this sharply observed short, writer-director Ushmey Chakraborty brings biting humor and emotional intelligence to a scenario that’s as funny as it is painfully real. When a privileged gay Asian immigrant lands a job by leaning into a stereotype that flatters his white employers, he sets in motion a spiral of deception that comes crashing into his personal life. The real tension unfolds when his boss shows up at his doorstep—forcing him to maintain the façade in front of a potential lover.

The premise may sound like pure farce, yet Chakraborty’s writing resists broad comedy in favor of something richer and truer. The laughter here is uncomfortable—the kind that catches in your throat—because the absurdity is rooted in the lived experiences of code-switching and self-erasure. As Chakraborty has explained, the story isn’t funny to the characters; it’s funny to us, watching them bend and break under invisible cultural pressure.

Performing double duty as writer-director and star, Chakraborty commands the screen with disarming vulnerability. His character’s composure falters in fleeting moments—a strained smile, a glance held too long—and those cracks become windows into a quiet kind of despair. Supporting turns by Dre Matthews and Janet Carter are equally grounded, adding warmth and contrast to the protagonist’s brittle charm.

Visually, Gay, Asian, Immigrant is a treat. The film’s color palette begins in bright, pulpy tones—an artificial world as glossy and fake as the lie at its center. As the truth seeps in, those colors fade, leaving behind something raw and stripped down. It’s a clever metaphor for shedding pretense and rediscovering authenticity, all executed with striking visual precision by Chakraborty and his team.

And yet, even as the tone darkens, that cheeky opening tune lingers in memory—a reminder of the absurd performance that so many undertake just to feel seen. It’s catchy, yes, but it’s also haunting in retrospect, like a laugh track echoing after the audience has gone home.

Ultimately, Gay, Asian, Immigrant is a film about choice: to live in truth or remain trapped in a lie. It’s funny, fearless, and quietly devastating, proof that the sharpest satire often comes wrapped in empathy. Chakraborty delivers a work that entertains as much as it provokes, offering a deeply personal story that speaks to anyone who’s ever dimmed their light to make others comfortable.