A shop-mechanic doofus demonstrates his karate moves to a nonplussed boss, and a seemingly badass teenager rides his motorcycle heroically into the sunset . . . until he’s passed by a bicyclist: these opening scenes set the tone for Roy Andersson’s debut film, inspired by the Czech comedies of Milos Forman. Chronicling a love affair between two teenagers as their parents’ lives slowly grind on (and out), the film quietly observes its actors’ all-too-human expressions of incrimination and incomprehension to underline the gap between generations—and the sadness in store for all. The young glow like chain-smoking Lolitas and moped-riding Lotharios, spinning through a summertime idyll of Coke bottle kisses and pinball afternoons, but their elders can only bicker in enclosed rooms, or comically disappear into a late-summer fog. “Come drink a toast to the refrigerator salesman,” one father smirks; a thirty-something woman seems to fade by the minute, while a grandfather sums up their desperation by sighing, “This world isn’t made for me. It’s not made for lonely people.”