At the outset of Hannah Peterson’s elliptical film debut, “The Graduates,” the writer/director stages a scene that we’ve seen before. In it, a shy 12th grader, Genevieve (Mina Sundwall), is given a writing prompt by her English teacher. Her teacher tells her to write about who she “sincerely is as a person.” Mina doesn’t know how to begin, simply staring down at the paper. 
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In a different movie, this scene might come off as a cliché. How one navigates the trials of high school in the lead-up to graduation has been a fertile creative prompt for young directors since “The Last Picture Show.” But, unlike the one-night comedies (“Dazed and Confused,” “Superbad,” “Booksmart,” etc.) and the more grounded character-driven explorations (“The Spectacular Now” and “Lady Bird” come to mind), Peterson’s grows out of the aftermath of a school shooting. Genevieve doesn’t know how to respond to the prompt, not only because she’s 16 but also because she has witnessed a horrific act of violence that hangs over her school, her friends, and her family. It’s also an act that took her boyfriend, Tyler, from her.  
While there’s been no shortage of films that have dealt with the aftermath of a school shooting, “The Graduates” stands out for the empathy it gives to its characters. This is not a preachy film but, instead, one that adopts the grammar of a coming-of-age story while openly wondering how those affected by a tragedy can keep going. It’s rooted in a collective grief that sometimes feels oppressive but nevertheless ends on a hopeful note. That tragedy clouds not only Mina’s life but also Tyler’s other friends. Chief among them is Ben (Alex Hibbert), who changed schools after the shooting, only to drop out and try to complete his GED. His return to the friend group at the beginning of the film leads to a reconnection with Mina, one that splits the difference between grief and a budding romance. 
Here, we get the stock scenes of a shy courtship, a drunken outburst at a house party by Ben, and eventually, a reconnection. If the scenes themselves offer variations of things we’ve seen before, Peterson brings a naturalism to the proceedings. It helps that Sundwall and Hibbert embody the awkwardness inherent to teenagers figuring themselves out while also portraying the weight of what it means to survive such a tragedy, where everything around you serves as a reminder.   
Supporting turns by John Cho, the school’s basketball coach, and Kelly O’Sullivan, the guidance counselor, round out the film. Cho, in particular, is quiet and revelatory in a role that could dip into melancholy with a different actor. Tyler was his son, and his decision to finish coaching the season while his wife and youngest daughter moved away may have isolated him from his family for a time, but it’s evident that the team gives him a connection to Tyler. A scene where he asks his team to share their dreams and goals after graduation is stunning in its narrative simplicity and emotional impact. O’Sullivan is given less to do, as the film correctly centers on its teenagers. Still, a scene between her and Ben, where she tries to convince him to complete his GED early so that he can walk with his former classmates, is another quietly shattering moment.
Peterson was mentored by both Sean Baker and Chloé Zhao (who serves as a producer here). Their impact is obvious from the lived-in realism that Peterson brings to the school and supporting characters and her willingness to linger on individual moments. It’s a quiet film in every sense of the word. One that relies on the expressions of its actors over the words that they are saying, but it’s also one of the more compelling debuts in some time and a film that’s well worth seeking out. [A-]