Set in a Belgian juvenile detention centre, Zeno Graton’s The Lost Boys may, at first glance, appear to follow in the social-realist tradition of the director’s fellow countrymen, Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne. However, there is much more to this lyrical and tender love story than its isolating surroundings. Joe (Khalil Gharbia, Peter von Kant) is fast approaching the day when he’ll leave the centre, but newcomer William (Jean De Saint Jean, Lie With Me) catches his eye. The two are immediately drawn to one another and begin a sensual, achingly romantic relationship that puts a contemporary spin on Jean Genet’s 1950 classic Un Chant d’Amour. Beautifully balancing the teenagers’ passionate desire alongside their frustration at the system, the film captures the boys on the precipice of explosive decisions that will change their lives forever.
Here, Zeno Graton discusses the inspiration behind the film, why he needed to create a new cinematic gaze, and casting two of Europe’s rising stars in this story of desire, rebellion and liberation
JADE TURNER: Where did the inspiration for this film come from?
ZENO GRATON: It came from two things. The first is that I really wanted to make a love story between two young boys because I wanted to create a ‘missing image’ – a film that I really wanted to see, and that I had wanted to see when I was younger. It’s very much inspired from my readings of the avant-garde French author Jean Genet, who was already talking about queer love without any inhibition, in a very flamboyant and political way, decades ago. But also, in a very fucking sexy way. The second thing is that I know this arena well because my cousin was placed in a centre like this when we were teenagers, and I had witnessed and already developed a critique of these places. It was a way for me to open a window on those invisible places and try to make a romantic movie, while raising a social issue about these young kids who are placed away from society.
The Lost Boys (2023)
JT: It’s interesting to hear about your cousin because the boys’ experiences in the detention centre feel very true to life. How did you ground that aspect of the film in reality? Are the stories based on things that your cousin told you?
ZG: When I started writing, we received authorisation from the Ministry of Youth for me to go into one of these places. Out of the six centres that we asked, only one said yes – it was the only one run by a woman, by the way, who was a former psychologist. Anyway, she really welcomed me and let me talk with the kids, but also with the educators. I was there for one month at the beginning of the writing process. They all knew I was only doing research, and, after a month, they really trusted me with some of their stories. Most of the time I was not talking, I was just witnessing.
Most of the group scenes and storylines with the other characters are based on these observations. And then I went a second time at the end of the writing process, and I confronted the script with this reality again and asked more precise questions. This really helped create a non-black-and-white representation of these places, and I tried to keep this complexity and talk about the fact that the educators try 100% to make sure these kids go out and have a better life. What I witnessed is that the bad guys are not the educators. It’s more about the system itself and how it’s built – how our whole justice and punitive system is built.
The Lost Boys (2023)
JT: I really like how you don’t know much about the boys in the film. You’re asked to take them at face value. Was this your intention from the beginning, or was there ever a version with more backstory?
ZG: It was there from the beginning. These kids are constantly described by what crime they committed – ‘crime’ isn’t the word in French, it’s less than crime – which leads to the marginalisation of these people because it narrows their identity into one aspect of who they are (although there are a thousand more!). It was very important for me to enter the story with what they want, what they fear, what they like to play, what they like to eat, if they have parents or not. And this creates a whole new cinematic gaze, especially for the minorities, you know, where it’s not about objectification.
I’m half Tunisian and I am queer. I’ve seen a lot of representations of those identities in movies that are always the same. Minorities are always objectified into either victimisation or exoticisation, and they are always the objects of the love story. I wanted to create characters who were subjects of their own story and had their own drive. So, I wanted to create a queer leading character who would have his own desire for William, and where his Arabic identity would not be an obstacle to this. The obstacle to his drive is outside – it’s the walls, it’s the system, it’s the homophobic society that we all live in. It was very important for me to put that in this order and try to put the viewer in a different gaze.
The Lost Boys (2023)
JT: What was the casting process like for the two leads, Khalil Gharbia and Julien De Saint Jean?
ZG: We did a very classical casting. I opened it to a lot of alternative places like voguing ballrooms and dance institutions. But, at the end of the day, we picked the people who could really embody tenderness well, which is something that a lot of boys are challenged with. That’s what I was looking for.
For me, 90% of the work is done in casting, so we’re very careful there. We also brought the boys into the centres for one or two days for them to meet and talk to the kids. It gave them a sense of humility and responsibility to tell this story. We also had a very cosy and safe environment. All of the crew were friends of mine, and we also had an intimacy coordinator for the sex scenes; we created a cool cocoon place for them. I think the fact that we were primarily shooting in this facility also created a sense of family. The seven main members of the cast became friends.
The Lost Boys (2023)
JT: There’s a real dynamic between all of the boys that feels very alive. It sounds like a lot of that came from your research, but was it written on the page, as well, or was it found during filming?
ZG: Thank you. Yes, I really wanted that because what I witnessed is that when these kids enter these places, they are stripped of their identity and from the hierarchy that they can have outside, so they all become equal and are ‘friends of misfortune’. They become these lost boys in the same boat. Their only chance of surviving is bonding in front of the institution, in front of the authorities. I witnessed this solidarity, this tenderness between them. They give each other so much comfort because they are abandoned by their family. These places are so remote that they cannot really go out, and they’re often punished by losing their weekends out, as well.
JT: Have you shown the film to the boys you met in the detention centre and, if so, what did they make of it?
ZG: Yes. We couldn’t screen it in the centre because it’s a place of punishment, so the boys aren’t allowed any treats. It was an enormously warm moment that there was a premiere in one of the cities in Belgium near the facility. The educators are allowed to take them out sometimes for cultural activities, and they actually took them to this premiere. I didn’t know about it – I just saw them in the room at the beginning when I was standing with the microphone. Afterwards, we talked and, for them, the interesting thing about this movie is the depiction of the prison. They don’t really care about the love story. They’re thrilled and excited to see their daily life on screen.
The Lost Boys (2023)
JT: Could you speak more about that sense of longing and desire? It feels like such a fundamental human instinct within the film, and it’s obviously something that the boys are supposed to suppress.
ZG: It was very important for me to show tenderness. There are sex scenes in the film, but I think the most subversive moments are when they don’t touch. For me, it is about cinema. What is new to tell? I was through with stories about inhibition, shame and brutality; I think it’s time to talk about warmth and tenderness. We can show people who are happy to be themselves but are still trapped in this homophobic world. I think the movie is about that. It’s about this new generation who are longing for these relationships and connections, but they still face the rise of fascism that we all suffer from.
JT: The oppressive nature of the boys’ lives is there throughout, but there’s a sense that the love between Joe and William is a revolutionary act that galvanises the other boys to rise up against the system. Why was this idea of a single action and its repercussions important to you and the film?
All of our struggles are intertwined. I think queer liberation began in a moment of turmoil within all other resistances in the Seventies. Stonewall happened because the Black Panthers were marching and there were Vietnam War protests every day. There was this anti-imperialist, anti-capitalist vibe. I was in the US this summer and people told me about this moment. I think we live in a moment now where it’s happening again – the struggles are intertwined.
For this movie, I thought that their liberation, through their desire, would inspire the others. But the tattoo scene [where the other boys watch as William tattoos a dragon onto Joe] is also about how, when you see your neighbour liberating themself, you are inspired to do the same. And as long as your neighbour is not free, you will never be free. That’s what I was trying to channel. The movies that inspire me the most do not only have one issue. In life, you’re not only a woman, only a Tunisian person… you’re always all aspects of your identity. So, I think it was me trying to channel that and open the movie beyond just queer issues and more into emancipatory issues.
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