Chop Shop is a drama starring Alejandro Polanco, Isamar Gonzales, Ahmad Razvi, Carlos Zapata and Bob Sowulski. Directed by Ramin Bahrani.

I am amazed how much this deceptively simple film moved me. For a brief 84 minutes, I felt as if I was simply observing the life of a 12 year old orphan and his sister. Yet, without any sensationalistic camera tricks or plot contrivances, I found I cared deeply about them and this feeling stayed with me, long after the film was over.

The opening shot sets the tone beautifully. In a scene now familiar in many American cities, Hispanic day laborers stand by the side of a road, waiting for work. Among these men (not out is front) is a boy of about 12. A driver selects a few men, but tells the boy he cannot use him. The boy still hops in the truck bed as it leaves and tries to hide.

The film then cuts to the truck stopping along a busy highway. One of the men up front forces the kid to get out (he does give the kid a few bucks and tells him to buy some breakfast). As the kid walks dejectedly back along the highway, the camera captures the familiar skyline of Manhattan in the background. It is separated from the boy by a steel fence and a river. It is a close as he, or we, will get to the more familiar and glamorous New York of many other movies.

The remainder of the film takes place in Willets Point, Queens, a 13 block area jammed between just behind the outfield wall of Shea Stadium (home of the New York Mets) and LaGuardia Airport. Also known as the “Iron Triangle,” Willet’s Point is a chaotic mess of iron, asphalt, glass and mud. There are no official residences in the district, but instead primarily a mishmash of “chop shops,” or auto repair shops and car parts (often illegal). It is a dirty, bustling noisy area, with chants of “LET’S GO METS!” from one side, jets arriving and departing at the other, the rumble of trains overhead and the whir and grind of buffers and auto repair equipment in the middle.

It is to the credit of cinematographer Michael Simmonds that he captures the grungy, sad realism of this area, yet makes it oddly beautiful at the same time. You can almost smell the area the characters live and work in (my guess is it’s a strong odor of gas and wet gravel, with a faint aroma of hot dogs). He captures the white noise of Willets Point during the day, its dark, bleak emptiness at night and the gold, pink glow of the setting sun reflecting off an elevated train. This is the world of the boy, Ale (Alejandro Polanco).

Ale is a resilient, streetwise orphan. He lives in a small room in a garage run by a tough as nails, yet compassionate shop owner (Bob Sowulski). Ale has one family member that we know of: his older, but less mature sister Isamar (Isamar Gonzales). She has left a safe house to come live with him for awhile until she leaves for a potentially better future at a school in Florida (based on the advice of a rather unreliable friend of hers). In an oddly powerful and moving scene, Ale’s pride in his little room and his love for his sister are quite evident as he shows off his room, complete with a microwave and a fridge (which he has stocked with her favorite grape soda).

Ale’s dreams for himself and his sister are small, but focused. He works all day at the shop and, at night, sells on the street whatever he can get his hands on (be it candy bars, porn DVDs, or stolen cell phones). His dream is to buy a vending truck so that he and Isamar can have their own business and eventually carve out a life for themselves. He thinks he might have found that opportunity when his best friend’s uncle offers to sell a beat up truck for $4500. Then life, with all its surprises (pleasant and unpleasant) gets in the way.

Director Bahrani is clearly a champion of neo-realism and dares to follow in the formidable footsteps Italian masters such as Robert Rosselini and Vittorio de Sica. Indeed, it follows many of the tenants of neo-realism:

• The film is shot documentary style (no fancy cuts or camera angles).
• There is no score except during the closing credits (unless one counts the music coming from inside the various cars in the picture as the score).
• The Willets Point location is such an essential element that is arguably the third main character.
• Polanco and Gonzales are clearly not professional actors (and Sowulski is the actual garage owner).
• The dialogue seems unforced and borne from actual conversations, rather than intent on advancing the plot. It also seems authentic (even when rather shocking language sometimes emerges from young Ale).

Most importantly, what happens in this film seems to occur naturally. What happens to these characters seems borne not out of the mechanics of a screenplay but out of life. It would have been very for this film to become melodramatic just by the insertion of one or two dramatic plot points. This film could also have become “preachy” quite easily as well. However, Bahrani impressively resists these temptations. He simply observes as life happens to his characters. In many ways, the main crisis that occurs to the main character is all the more moving precisely because it could actually, even likely, happen.

At its core, Chop Shop is a simple, non-romantic love story between a boy and his sister, who really have nothing but each other. Ale is no saint (and there are times you might become mad at him), but I couldn’t help but care deeply for him and Isamar and pull for them to make it. The final shot of the film, like the whole movie, is so deceptively simple, yet moving. As another review observed, it is neither too upbeat, too downbeat, nr too preachy. It is just right. Things have not changed much for the siblings, but neither have their dreams.

Extras:

• Commentary by the director Ramin Bahrani, the star Alejandro Polanco and the cinematographer Michael Simmonds.
• Clips of rehearsals of key scenes.
• Trailer
• Scene selection.
• Subtitles (English only)
• Trailers for 6 independent films, including Bahrani’s Man Push Cart.

Watch the Trailer:

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