A remarkable odyssey from Sudan to Syracuse

“God Grew Tired of Us,” which won the Grand Jury Prize at the Sundance festival last year, opens on a cluster of young African men crowding around a bulletin board that holds a glimpse into their future. Immediately they have questions (what is an apartment?), and first impressions form. Looking at a map, it’s evident that Pennsylvania is a country and New York City is “very tiny.”

Christopher Quinn, who arrived in Kenya about six months after reading about the Sudanese “Lost Boys” in the New York Times Magazine in 2001, has made a remarkable movie out of a remarkable story. That year, a decade after having fled their country on foot to escape a brutal civil war and a decree by the northern government to kill all male children in the south, 3,800 of the approximately 12,000 Lost Boys languishing in the Kakuma refugee camp on the Kenyan border were selected under an International Rescue Committee program to relocate to the United States.

As survivors of one of the most bizarre diasporas in history, with its overtones of Herod and Peter Pan, and having lost all contact with their own families, the Lost Boys formed intensely close bonds. So, for the movie’s three main subjects, the sight of their names on the camp community board represented a bittersweet hint of a new life far away from their peers, in the impossibly exotic, entirely unfathomable lands of Syracuse and Pittsburgh.

Focusing on three charismatic figures -- John Bul Dau, Daniel Abol Pach and Panther Blor -- as they leave the camp, travel halfway across the world and adjust to their strange new life, Quinn discovers an unexpectedly funny, trenchant fish-out-of-water-eye-view of American life. From the moment they step off the airplane, they struggle to absorb the wonders of the strange new world. Airline food makes a terrible first impression, but doughnuts just produce bafflement. “Is this food?” one of the young men asks on their maiden supermarket voyage. “This is a doughnut,” says the lady behind the counter, not necessarily answering the question.

Something about these questions -- which are less Borat than spiritually evolved visitor from another planet -- get at the larger ones about the culture with a lapidarian precision that’s absolutely ruthless in its sincerity and innocence. I won’t spoil the queries about Christmas trees and Santa, but those alone are worth the price of admission. But mostly, “God Grew Tired of Us” (it refers to Daniel’s belief that, like figures from the Old Testament, they were forsaken) is a story about dislocation and community that dispels popular “before and after” fantasies about life in the U.S. at the beginner level. What becomes apparent after spending time with these extraordinary people is that it’s not this way of life, in particular, but life in general that is treasured -- though they are too gracious to say so to the lady at the pool who just wants to know how much more freedom they have now than before.

Narrated by Nicole Kidman (hard to spot in her native accent), and shot by Paul Daly, “God Grew Tired of Us” adopts a low-key observational style that takes us through the protagonists’ adventures from their point of view, though the filmmakers can’t help registering locals’ amazed reactions to their new neighbors. After finding their footing, John, Daniel and Panther funnel their energies into locating their families. They also become active in refugee groups, connecting with lost boys and girls all over the country. At a convention in Michigan, John is puzzled by the way some younger refugees have chosen to assimilate by adopting self-conscious hip-hop poses so highly stylized they border on kabuki. For John, Daniel and Panther, the key to survival is clearly related to remembering who they are, recognizing the opportunity they’ve been given, and helping others in return.

carina.chocano@latimes.com

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“God Grew Tired of Us.” Rated PG for thematic elements and some disturbing images. Running time: 1 hour, 23 minutes. Exclusively at Laemmle’s Sunset 5, 8000 Sunset Blvd. (323) 848-3500.