BUDDHA OF SUBURBIA

It illustrates what it means to be a son, a nephew, a cousin, and a friend—in essence, what it is to be human.

If you've enjoyed Naveen Andrews' recent rise to fame on Lost and in movies like The Brave One, you'll undoubtedly want to check out the 1993 BBC series The Buddha of Suburbia. Andrews may be a fairly new face to American audiences, but he's been on the international radar for a solid fifteen years. Though he was only in his early twenties when he starred as Karim Amir, he carries this quirky and engaging series like a veteran actor.

In this adaptation of Hanif Kureishi's novel, The Buddha of Suburbia examines what it meant to be a young Indian man living in England in the 1970s. Karim Amir (Andrews) is enduring the typical trials of teendom when his home life is turned on its ear. His Indian father has begun acting as a sort of spiritual guru, and it seems he's been engaging in some extracurricular activities with his most enthusiastic student. He makes no effort to hide the affair from his son, and Karim finds himself spending time with "the other woman" and her pot-smoking son even as he lives under his mother's roof. Torn between loyalties to both parents, Karim finds himself alone in the middle.

The middle ground Karim inhabits is the central theme of the series, and he does a surprisingly seamless job of negotiating two different worlds. There's his very English mum (Brenda Blethyn) and her Anglo relatives on one side, and his deeply traditional Indian relatives on the other. Though there's pressure to pick a side, Karim refuses to reject one identity in favor of another. At the end of the day, he is neither Indian nor English—he's just a kid trying to make sense of his life.

As Karim begins to make choices in dating and to fall in love with a cute blond girl from school, his smart, feisty cousin is struggling to deal with her arranged marriage. The two storylines parallel one another nicely, and are portrayed with humor and sympathy. The new husband turns out to be sloppy, lazy, and fat, and to top it all off, he's got some sort of deformed hand that seems at once elephantine and nonexistent. He's icky and annoying all around, although at times it's hard not to feel a little sorry for him. He's as much a fish out of water as anyone, and his new in-laws aren't exactly pleased at his ineptitude. He was meant to carry on their grocery store, but if he's their only hope, they're in deep trouble.

Despite his own confusion, Karim's patience and understanding makes him a rock to those around him and a compelling character for the audience to relate to. All of the characters are intensely human, and are perfect in their imperfection. Set against an excellent soundtrack featuring David Bowie, The Buddha of Suburbia is alternately funny and poignant, and nicely illustrates the experiences of a young man of mixed race. More importantly, it illustrates what it means to be a son, a nephew, a cousin, and a friend—in essence, what it is to be human.