Boy and the World

The animation in “Boy and the World” initially may seem as simple as the title itself.

A stick-figure child in a red-striped shirt with a round head, three sprigs of hair and a pair of dark, vertical slashes for eyes occupies a blank, white screen. He doesn’t even have a name (although press materials refer to him as Cuca) and doesn’t really speak so much as giggle, and the limited dialogue that does exist in Brazilian writer-director Ale Abreu’s film consists of meager sprinklings of gibberish.

But it doesn’t take long for the vibrant beauty of Abreu’s vision to unfurl and take hold. “Boy and the World” is dazzlingly colorful and alive, often resembling a more elaborate version of the kind of childlike drawings you probably have stuck to your refrigerator door right now. His combination of rich hues and textures and evolving aesthetics makes “Boy and the World” a constant wonder and joy to behold.

As a parable about the perils of industrialization and the gaping disparity between the haves and have-nots, it may not say much that’s new (and it doesn’t say it in a way that’s terribly subtle). But as an artistic exercise, it’s a marvel of imagination. It is at once innocent and cynical, hopeful and hard-eyed.

Heavy stuff indeed for an animated film about a child’s road trip, but it’s a prime example of how “Boy and the World” keeps changing and challenging you, and it never goes in the direction you might expect.