One of the earlier megastars of Banged Up Abroad has apparently been giving lectures in schools about the dangers of drug-dealing. Noticing no great change in the recreational habits of the young, I reckon she might make more impact by just showing them this film.
Anything more off-putting than redundant postman Jimmy Kelly describing the cynical and sordid life of Bangkok's revolting red-light zone would be hard to imagine. Half the film is just a close-up of his face, full of lowlife stupidity and greed, tracing his predictable rise and fall as the only westerner on the local club scene. A friend warns him that he'll need to bribe the right people, especially the police (as though anybody would need warning).
At this point, we get one little gleam of insight, as he confesses "I wasn't sure if I was the right person for it, or not". But the profits from the lethally addictive crystal meth ('ice') are too tempting, and he briefly enjoys a bit of status, with the girls calling him Boss instead of Jimmy. One of them seduces him and asks for a fix, which he is happy to supply free on the house. But she insists on pressing money into his hand, which he finds rather odd - and with good reason. For she is a police informer, and Jimmy is promptly arrested for dealing, having presumably not bribed them enough.
That could have meant a quarter of a century in the unspeakable local jail, but after two years, his brother empties his life-savings into the lawyer's coffers, and Jimmy is allowed to serve the rest of his sentence in England. The emotive regrets and guilt-talk make no impression, just the usual birdsong. What impacts on us most is the sheer depressing cheapness of this man and the world he lives in, obvious from the moment he starts to speak, with all those slovenly syllables and sawn-off half-statements that reflect the mind of the no-hoper. I would be surprised if your local sixth-formers would see it much differently.