Palo Alto (2014)

Palo Alto is special because it doesn’t lecture or sensationalize adolescence—it simply watches it with clear eyes and a surprisingly tender heart, finding poetry in the awkward pauses, the bad decisions, and the longing underneath. Gia Coppola shoots this affluent California haze like a memory you can’t quite trust, all sun-bleached beauty and quiet dread, while Emma Roberts and Jack Kilmer give performances that feel lived-in rather than “acted,” as if you’re eavesdropping on real kids trying to outrun loneliness. The vibe is dreamy, naturalistic, and compassionate, even when the behavior turns ugly, and that honesty is exactly what makes it linger. It’s not for everyone—if you want a tidy coming-of-age arc or you’re wary of heavy teen substance use and sexual content, it can be a hard sit—but if you’re open to a mood piece that understands how fragile youth can be, it’s worth your time.

Palo Alto is clearly aiming for a hazy, slice-of-life portrait of privileged teens spiraling under neglect, with a melancholy, indie vibe rather than a tidy coming-of-age story. The problem is it often feels like it’s watching these kids drift instead of actually building toward anything, so the pacing can drag and several characters and threads land as underwritten sketches rather than people you truly understand. It’s also heavy on teen sex, drugs, and ugly behavior, presented in an observational way that can feel more numbing than illuminating if you’re hoping for insight, catharsis, or consequences that hit hard. If you’re patient with mood pieces, you’ll find some strong atmosphere and a few affecting moments (especially in the quieter, lonely scenes), but if you need a clear plot, satisfying arcs, or likable leads, this will test your goodwill.