The Lost Boys (Le Paradis) review – BFI London Film Festival 2023

The Lost Boys (Le Paradis) arrives in cinemas on December 15th.

In the United Kingdom, the reoffending rate for young people in juvenile custody sits at around 34.2%, while the number of young people from minority communities in detention remains stubbornly high, with Black young people representing 28% of the young prison population (Youth Justice Legal Centre). At the same time, nearly 50% of young people under 21 who have had contact with the criminal justice system have spent time in care (Home for Good).

Many would like us to believe that locking young people up works, that it acts as a deterrent and ensures public safety. But in reality, when we lock young people away, we institutionalise them and strip them of the ability to grow into young adults able to cope outside of state care. We create a revolving door where the outside steadily becomes more challenging to navigate than the inside. Zeno Graton’s debut feature Le Paradis, or The Lost Boys, explores the revolving door of youth custody and young gay love as a means of escape. In The Lost Boys, the love between two boys is the only light in a dark tunnel of failed state rehabilitation and care.

As Graton’s film opens, Joe (Khalil Ben Gharbia) recounts a memory from his childhood of visiting a frozen lake with his mum, who is now absent from his life. Joe says, “In the middle of the lake, we’d sometimes see fish trapped in the ice lined up beside one another. I thought they spent the winter there, then woke up in the spring. I thought they came back to life, and breathed like before.” Like those fish, it’s clear that Joe is trapped beneath thick ice and has been for some time due to his home life, social isolation, discrimination and offending. On sentencing, the ice finally blocked the light as he entered a correctional facility where he was stripped of his individuality in a cold sea of restricted physical contact, control and rules. It is no wonder Joe wants to escape to a warmer ocean, and that is precisely what he does as he runs from the detention centre to a seaside town, knowing he will soon be caught and submerged under the ice again.

When Joe is forcibly returned to the centre, a new boy, William (Julien De Saint Jean), has just arrived. A bond soon grows between both boys through music, art and moments of emotional and physical contact when no one is looking as Joe and William find freedom from their surroundings in each other’s arms. But as Joe’s release date nears and the promise of a fresh start evaporates, William takes matters into his own hands as he attempts to secure their love in a failed regime of revolving doors.

While Graton’s film centres on William and Joe, an outstanding ensemble cast of young talent enables Le Paradis (The Lost Boys) to explore some of the broader themes of the youth justice system and its failure to provide hope on release. Here, each boy suffers disappointment as the gates are firmly shut due to state machinery that keeps them locked up even when freedom is in sight. As we follow each boy, Graton beautifully explores how the detention centre staff work hard to circumnavigate the state restrictions surrounding them within a system that affords little wriggle room once the label of “young offender” has been attached.

Khalil Gharbia and Julien De Saint Jean’s performances are captivating as they reflect the insecurity, fear and anger of two young men failed by the state and the first sparks of a tender love that offers a glimmer of hope in a world of darkness. Here, art and music surround both boys’ exploration of each other and the fragility of their freedom in a world of locked doors. From Joe’s love of dance to Williams’ intricate tattoo designs of the ouroboros, a symbol of protection, infinity, rebirth, and unity, expression, art, and a delicate emerging love offer the only escape door in Graton’s extraordinary debut feature as Joe and William, like the ouroboros, become one.

Graton’s film is brave, bold and beautiful in its exploration of state control, incarceration and love as a means of escape, pushing the boundaries of queer cinema and storytelling while encouraging us to reflect on a broken youth justice system that too often denies rebirth and hope.