Growing up in a motel must mess you up to a degree. A young Chinese-American girl asks her mother why so many people stay at their “house,” why they stay for only hours at a time, and why they make so much noise during their “naps.” She seems okay with glossed-over explanations, but her 13 year old brother has it harder. Ernest was born into a childhood of scrubbing toilets and changing the stained sheets of transients. Definitely not the best environment for building self-esteem. He seems to handle himself well enough when passers-through tease him for his race, his weight, and his life. But probably only because it’s become repetitive background noise in a monotonous routine. Ernest not-so-secretly pines for his only friend, a girl who works at the Chinese restaurant next-door. Dealing with pubescent longings is tough enough, without the poor influence of a loose-living dude renting a room after screwing up his affairs. When not entertaining prostitutes, Sam plays at being a father-figure for Ernest, who doesn’t exactly welcome the intrusion. Hesitantly, Ernest learns to drive, play catch, and gets some “sure-fire” tips at seducing women. Not surprisingly, most of it backfires. The Motel is slightly awkward and painful, appropriate for a comedy about a geeky adolescent. It has the feel of quirky indie yarns like Napolean Dynamite and Me, You and Everyone We Know, but its real life familiarity stings a bit more. Like those films, its more of a character sketch than a deep story. And as such, I wish roles like Ernest’s strict mother and laid-back grandfather were fleshed out more to their potential. For a mostly single-setting movie carried by a nerd, it’s not as sleepy as I expected. And yes, that’s a compliment.

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