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Editor's note: "Through a Screen Darkly," a monthly commentary by CT Movies critic Jeffrey Overstreet,explores films old and new, as well as relevant themes and trends in cinema. The column continues the journey begun in Overstreet's book of the same name.

Bullies lurk in the corridors of Christian schools, too.

I remember them well. While my ability on the basketball court earned me some measure of respect from the bruisers in my junior high school, I still had four marks against me: I was an A-student, was awkward in social circles, had no spending money to achieve any kind of "cool" factor, and wasn't a partygoer. So when easier targets for the bullies' fists weren't around, I became fair game.

That's why big-screen scenes of bullying and cruelty are hard for me to endure. It's not that I have flashbacks; in fact, the insensitive ruffians became my friends when they finally matured. It's just that I feel for the one who suffers. And worse, I can usually guess where the movie is headed. I've had my fill of crowd-pleasing pictures in which the wounded finds some clever way to wreak revenge on the bad guys.

It's rare that we find thoughtful examinations of how young people suffer behind the backs of neglectful adults. 2004's Mean Creek and 2006's This is England are two brilliant exceptions to the rule. Both are honest, rewarding depictions of what can happen when young people have no good help in responding to mistreatment by their peers.

But this year, two more remarkable exceptions appeared—Choking Man and Ben X, both distributed by Film Movement, both about persecuted, alienated young men. There are considerable differences between the films, but they share some surprising things in common.

Choking Man comes from Steve Barron, who made a name for himself directing music videos (Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean," a-Ha's "Take on Me"). It follows Jorge, a young immigrant from Ecuador, played by Octavio Gómez Berríos. Jorge works with the multicultural staff of Rick's Diner in Jamaica, Queens, New York.

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As he washes dishes for Rick (Mandy Patinkin), the Greek-American owner, Jorge stares at the wall where a simple guide to the Heimlich Maneuver is posted. Jorge's illiterate, so he can't read instructions. But the simple diagram speaks to him on several levels. He sees a man who cannot breathe, and another man holding him in a stifling grip.

Meanwhile, Jorge's coworker Jerry (Aaron Paul) torments him for his lack of social graces and language skills. "You know," Jerry jeers, "I haven't heard you say more than twelve different words since you've been here. What's up with you? Do you know what illiterate means? It means you're ill."

The pretty, pixie-voiced Amy (Eugenia Yuan, the film's bright spot), the newly hired Chinese waitress who has a soft spot for Jorge, defends and encourages him. "Don't let it worry you," she tells him. "Like water on duck." But that only throws fuel on Jerry's fire. Soon he's dividing his attention between mocking Jorge and charming Amy.

Feeling hopeless, inadequate, and ashamed, Jorge tries to find a gift for Amy that will express his affections. But he faces further humiliation at every turn. One shopkeeper tries to take advantage of his feeble grasp of English. And at home, things aren't much better. Jorge's domineering roommate messes with his mind, urging him toward violence.

Eugenia Yuan as Amy

Barron has an eye for visual metaphors. In a moment of abstract expression, a glob of tomato soup at the bottom of a bowl disintegrates, and we know a young man's heart is breaking. But there are just too many big ideas packed into this little movie, and many of them seem lifted from other, better films—like Taxi Driver, Punch-drunk Love, Fight Club, and A Beautiful Mind. Worse, the director's endeavor to inspire feelings of claustrophobia and suffocation go beyond the effective depiction of Jorge's experience. Viewers may suffer asphyxiation themselves, and abandon the film before it's over.

That would be a shame, because it's a story told with the best intentions, a remarkable work of compassionate filmmaking.

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