Palo Alto - Film Review

Another year, another Coppola turning pastel and plaintive. This season, it’s Gia’s turn. She’s granddaughter to Francis Ford, niece to Sofia. Her debut is an adaptation of a short-story collection by beautiful, sad white person extrordinaire James Franco.
Franco’s collection has been condensed into a surprisingly effecting and moody portrait of privileged isolation. The film’s axis is sexually inexperienced, quietly self-assured high school student April (Emma Roberts, subtle and superb.)
Circling her are her attractive soccer coach (Franco, smarmy); her introspective but immature admirer Teddy (Jack Kilmer, sensitive); and Teddy’s volatile best friend, Fred (Nat Wolff, excellent.)
Addressing the same issues of superficiality and loneliness as The Bling Ring, but with empathy rather than satire, Coppola slowly allows the sad realities of these lives to reveal themselves.
April’s self-absorbed parents are never in the same room, never in the moment. Fred’s violent obsession with masculinity and homosexuality has deep roots. For many of the men, romantic projection and lust are an adequate replacement for real connection.
“I love you,” April is repeatedly told by men who barely know her. Though young, she’s wise enough to reply: “It doesn’t make any sense”.
Stories about disaffected California youth are not rare, and Coppola’s long, silence-filled shots and dream-like cinematography are reminiscent of her aunt’s work.
However, there’s a tenderness that elevates the material. And her visuals are striking. As April finds herself succumbing to an undeserving admirer, she looks straight to camera, angular shadows across her face. It’s a beautiful moment of personal disassociation, and audience connection.
“What are we doing here?” she seems to be asking. Looking pretty, feeling nothing, and desperately trying to understand why.