Crazy Rich Asians review: a mouthwatering slice of deluxe romcom escapism

Dir: Jon M Chu; Starring: Constance Wu, Henry Golding, Michelle Yeoh, Gemma Chan, Awkwafina, Ken Jeong. 12A cert, 121 mins

As Hollywood’s first all-Asian studio production in 25 years, Crazy Rich Asians arrives burdened by expectations no glamorous romantic comedy should have to bear. (Imagine white people were only given one swing at a film of their own every quarter-century, and decided to gamble everything on Sex and the City: The Movie.)

Nevertheless, Jon M Chu’s film has arrived in the UK fresh from cutting a swathe through the American box office, where it took $137 million in a little under a month, making it the most commercially successful romcom since The Proposal paired Ryan Reynolds with Sandra Bullock in 2009.

Happily the success is well earned, not just by what the film stands for but what it is: a snap-crackling bolt of deluxe escapism that plays like a Jane Austen novel crossed with a Mr & Mrs Smith brochure.

It opens with a quote from Napoleon – “Let China sleep, for when she wakes she will shake the world” – then gives us the preliminary yawn and stretch. We are in London, 1991, where a hotel manager sniffily declines to check Eleanor Sung-Young (Michelle Yeoh) and her children into the master suite, suggesting they might prefer somewhere in Chinatown instead.

So Eleanor, the wife of a Singaporean property mogul, just buys the hotel and moves in. That titular “crazy” is meant as an intensifier rather than an adjective – as in, these Asians are crazy rich, bro – but they’re occasionally crazy crazy too.

Fast-forward to 2018, and Eleanor’s adult son Nick (Henry Golding) is the heir to the Young property empire, but has been studying in New York, where he has fallen for Rachel Chu (Constance Wu), a second-generation Chinese-American, and lecturer in economics. The leads’ chemistry fizzes rather than smokes, but as a screen couple Wu and Golding look matinée fabulous, so the swooning mostly takes care of itself.

Joining Nick on a trip to Singapore for a friend’s wedding, during which she will also meet his relatives including his absurdly beautiful and refined cousin Astrid (Gemma Chan), Rachel realises that her beau’s description of his family as “comfortable” undersold things somewhat: they are in fact leading lights among the city-state’s blingocracy. Rachel has a well-off Singaporean friend of her own, Peik Lin (Nora Lum, AKA the rapper Awkwafina, from Ocean’s 8).

But Peik Lin’s riches are decidedly nouveau – her home decor was inspired by the Palace of Versailles and Donald Trump’s bathroom – whereas the Youngs are old money, a contrast the film milks to consistently rib-tickling effect. (Awkwafina’s stunned reactions to the Young estate are a delight.)

But much of this elite circle, including Eleanor at its centre, regard Rachel as a bad match for Nick who needs to be sent packing. So the westernised girl must learn to navigate the social scene before it eats her alive.

Crazy Rich Asians’ milieu may feel all-new, but its underlying principles are not. Some feel a little standard-issue – the catty gay sidekick, the dash to the airport – but it has an interesting kinship with the New York-set romantic comedies of the 1950s and 1960s, in which the city setting itself seems to thrum with pulse and promise.

Singaporean landmarks such as the Marina Bay Sands – three svelte towers linked by a continuous roof garden – look like the architectural manifestation of a bright future, in the same way the Manhattan skyline as seen from the balcony in How To Marry A Millionaire surely once did.

Then there’s the local food, regularly showcased in hunger-pang-inducing close-up and invariably sautéed in symbolism, from the deep-rooted familial ritual of dumpling making to the harmonious clash of cuisines at a raucous night market. 

The same goes for the clothes: each outfit is mouthwatering, but comes loaded with social and cultural tells – some subtle, others less so, such as the gold Versace tracksuit worn by Peik Lin’s father (Ken Jeong). Wu gets a gown-changing montage, because of course she does, but the real power dresser of the piece is Yeoh, who exudes a hushed, don’t-cross-me regality, and whose character’s own well-masked vulnerabilities offer an intriguing new angle on the Tiger Mother type.

At a time when Hollywood seems intent on making films that might have come from anywhere, all hail the romcom that understands specificity is strength.