Simply put, Gus Van Sant’s newest film, “Paranoid Park,” is an exploration in isolation, guilt and delinquency. And yet, simplicity does not befit this complex tale of a boy who, amidst dealing with unspeakable tragedy, finds a will to live.

All Alex (Gabe Nevins), an awkward, introverted skateboarder wants to do is skate. From Alex’s first moments in the film, we can tell he is a genuine person, not a willing conformist, but a boy who walks his own road. When this road leads him to “Paranoid Park,” Alex finds himself an accomplice to a night he cannot forget.

The film is told through a fragmented chronology, one accurately reflecting a teenager’s life thrown into turmoil. This style works most effectively in showing Alex’s development and his realization that growing up will come much sooner to him than many of his friends. Van Sant captures the seemingly minute moments in Alex’s life, ones that take on new meaning following the film’s brutal accident, and, in doing so, he shows how Alex is beginning to become his own man. However histrionic coming-of-age films tend to be, “Paranoid Park” is not cut from the same cloth. Van Sant addresses such issues with as much subtlety as possible and, more importantly, a pronounced typicality befitting of teenage life.

The story alone would make “Paranoid Park” a passable film, but what takes it to the next level is the heartrending beauty with which Van Sant imbues the film.  Shot by perhaps the best cinematographer in the game, Wong Kar Wai collaborator Christopher Doyle, Van Sant has created his most visually arresting film to date. Dream-like shots pervade the film, emphasizing the delirium of Alex’s life. Drawn-out scenes of unrelated skateboarding transition between and propel the film’s major narrative points, while simultaneously showing the simplicity of the life Alex knew before the film’s events transpired.

“Paranoid Park” is the embodiment of visual art, a too-often-ignored purpose of film. It takes a movie like this to remind us what kind of mental and emotional state a cinema can put us in, and, in doing so, we are enlightened to, if not what Alex is feeling, how he is feeling it. It is deliberately paced, and it does not judge its characters. It simply presents to our eyes what Alex experiences in his heart, a heightened sense of feeling and numbness, guilt and a desire to forget, and, unforgettably, a desire to transcend past mistakes and find a life worth living again.

Van Sant’s predilection for non-professional actors can sometimes be distracting, but “Paranoid Park” is a prime example of exactly why Van Sant and others prefer this strategy. The film is charged with emoting and becoming a character itself, utilizing its visuals to convey what its characters don’t, leaving out the baggage of big stars and providing the audience with an ethereal experience like no other film can.

Van Sant’s habit for getting preachy gets in the way a bit, but works more often than not. His need to offer commentary on the Iraq war (which I won’t get into) is unnecessary and does little to propel the film, but his omission of adult influence is painfully felt. While no parent or teacher’s face is in focus or in the shot, the one example of adult presence in the film is Detective Lu, a representation of the only manifestation of rule or order that finds its way into teenager’s lives in the modern world.

Is Van Sant saying that Alex’s story could have ended radically different had his parents not been getting divorced, been more actively involved in his life, etc? No. Is that assessment true? Probably. Inevitably, people grow up, one way or another. “Paranoid Park” is a meditative, wistful and tragically picturesque look at how this process came to be in the life of one shy, inarticulate boy who happened along an unfavorable event. - A-

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