People tend to ask me why I cant stand going back to California, my state of origin, as a born n' raised Angeleno. Exhibit "Clika".
The Michael Greene production shows exactly what it takes to make it in Cali :
A) You have to be Hispanic
B) You have to be heavily involved in the movement of narcotics
C) You must have an intact family unit
D) You have to be tolerable of banda corridos
None of these things I was able to do, which is why I did not have a wonderful time growing up in my stomping grounds circa the new millenium.
Usually, I admonish films that push on ethnic stereotypes, but I didn't find much that wasn't on the nose in "Clika", other than that Jay Dee's (Dilla is turning over in his grave) character would have been recording chicano rap, not corridos over machata strings.
I like that the film took audiences around So Cal, showing some of the differences between I.E. and L.A., but I thought that Jay Dee's street-wise sense in the film was abnormally lacking for somebody supposedly So Cal raised.
Also, nobody wears the ProClub logo on the outside of their T-shirt !
At least the police brutality and dealings between cops and criminals for both their lucrative gain was front and center during the climax, as well as the hypocrisy and cognitive dissonance drug runners have when they go legit and act as if their criminality wasn't the base as to why they and their family will never go hungry again.
Those are the highlights of a Chicano Scarface rehash set in Yuba of all places (probably because of the lack of real criminal activity there to tie back to the square cast for fear of misrepresentation, as if there needs to be another "American Me" / Mexican Mafia situation) where a kid who's dumb enough to not realize a GNX been a hot car before K.Dot, lucks up in life because he's a drug mule waving the Mexican flag on U.S. soil while looking like a descendant of the Conquistadors singing self incriminating ballads to build a fanbase.