This is the second article in a series on Ramin Bahrani, the all-star indie director who will visit Northwest Film Forum on April 29 with his third film, Goodbye Solo.  Last week, I reviewed his early movie, Man Push Cart. 

Chop Shop (2007), Ramin Bahrani’s breakout film, is a classic coming-of-age story. The pre-pubescent Ale (played by lay actor Alejandro Polanco)—short for Alejandro and pronounced “ah-lay”—works in the chop shop garages of Queens. It's here, in a sun-drenched yet muddy auto parts wasteland, that the ambitious Ale (precocious does not begin to describe this tireless orphan-entrepreneur) supports himself and his older sister, Isamar (Isamar Gonzales). 

Chop Shop  has a lot in common with Bahrani's previous movie, Man Push Cart. Like Ahmad, Man Push Cart’s alienated protagonist, Ale is an immigrant who dabbles in the black market to survive, selling bootleg DVDs to supplement his chop shop cash. In a scene that contains one the film’s best lines, he also hustles stolen candy on the subway:  “I am not going to lie to you and tell you this is for a school basketball game.  If you want me back in school today, I got some candy for you.”  Like Ahmad’s, Ale’s professional life takes over his personal life—he lives in the garage where he works, and he plays in the streets where he nabs customers with defective automobiles to come to his shop. 

And Ale struggles in vain to gain a foothold in this precarious environment, culminating when he purchases a taco truck—the end game of his dreams for success—that turns out to be a $4500 piece of worthless junk, for which he holds the equally worthless title. 

Ale flits about this alternate universe—the environment  seems more foreign than it should (it’s just Queens, after all)—with inappropriate comfort. This is an adult’s world, where Ale often, obliviously, gets in the way.  In the film’s opening scene, after being told that the guy picking up day laborers has no use for him, Ale simply jumps into the back of the truck.  The driver has to stop the truck, get out and lift Ale out and send him packing. On the way back to the chop shops, Ale stops at a pay phone.  Arguing with the other party, he squeaks out a hilarious “You fuck off!” in his still high pitched voice. 

Later, Ahmad, who hires Ale to help out at a garage party, gives the kid beer, and tells him the hard facts about his new taco truck.  “I used to own one of these things; I know what I’m talking about.”   

Ale cannot remain oblivious.

There are other things to be learned about the grown ups: It's Ale's best friend's uncle who screws Ale over on the taco truck. And—at the core of the story—Ale is devastated by his sister’s secret life: She give blow jobs for extra cash in the parked trucks on the outskirts of the neighborhood. 

But where the life lessons in  Man Push Cart turned out a dark, seedy, and threatening film,  Chop Shop—mostly set in bright, chaotic daytime scenes featuring a sea of cars, mechanics, and taco vendors shot in a  palette of primary colors—retains a lively optimism. Where Sisyphean overtones weigh heavy in Man Push Cart, Chop Shop is rooted in Ale’s youth. He is resilient, in spite of his suffering.  Yes, he learns hard lessons, but they are just that—lessons.  And when, in the final scene, Ale lures pigeons in close with a small tub of seed, while his sister stomps to scare the birds into gorgeously rapid flight, it is hard to despair. Instead, this film functions as a reminder that even though the world can be an ugly place, beautiful things still exist—if you know how to make them come to you.