Director Report Card: Jean-Pierre Jeunet (2013)

7. The Young and Prodigious T. S. Spivet

After the shrugging reaction that met “Micmacs,” Jean-Pierre Jeunet said he wanted to make an another adaptation next, for his next film to be in “someone else's world.” He found that other world in Reif Larsen's novel “The Selected Works of T. S. Spivet.” Jeunet was one of several filmmakers Larsen contacted about possibly adapting his then-unpublished book. “The Young and Prodigious Spivet” would be Jeunet's first entirely English language film since “Alien: Resurrection.” It would be filmed in 3-D, seemingly primed for a wide U.S. release.  This wouldn't happen, the film quickly disappearing after completion. Even while actively courting the American market, it seems like Jean-Pierre Jeunet can't make another hit.

Who is T. S. Spivet? He is a ten year old boy living on a Montana ranch with his family. His father is a rough and tumble cowboy. His mother is an eccentric scientist. His sister wants to be Miss America. T.S., meanwhile, is a genius. After designing a perpetual motion machine, he submits the blueprint to the Smithsonian Institution. They give the design an award and, assuming T.S. to be an adult, invite him to accept the trophy. The young boy runs away from home, traveling across country, to accept the prize in person. All the while, a personal tragedy hangs over the young prodigy's head.

I want to preface my following thoughts by saying I enjoyed most of “The Young and Prodigious T.S. Spivet.” However, this film was clearly designed to be Jean-Pierre Jeunet's commercial comeback. I mean, the author of the original book admitted he wrote the novel with the intentional of it being turned into a movie. Aside from being in English, its story of a precocious child going on an adventure has plenty of mass appeal. The film also heavily reminds one of “Amelie.” Both concern lonely outsiders, prone to elaborate flights of fancy, attempting to find their place in the world. Instead of being a dreamer, Spivet is a facts obsessed scientist. But the similarities stand.

In other words, “The Young and Prodigious T. S. Spivet” was an obvious attempt by the director to recreate his biggest hit. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, as long as you enjoy Jean-Pierre Jeunet's particular strain of whimsical nonsense. “Spivet” shows the director happily luxuriating in his trademarks. Despite clearly being set in the modern day – cellphones are referenced at one point - “Spivet” still feels like its set in some sort of idealized past. A literary style narration plays over much of the film. The director's trademark golden coloration plays a big role, usually in the form of the swaying wheat fields surrounding the Spivet ranch. This is such a Jeunet movie that the quirky characters, Rube Goldberg set pieces, and random Dominique Pinon appearance almost go without saying.

The most delightful of Jeunet-isms present in “T. S. Spivet” is the elaborate fantasies the young, prodigious protagonist builds. The ghost of his younger brother, Layton, appears to him throughout the film, the two having conversations. Before leaving his home, Spivet has a short conversation with the family dog, who responds in turn. (The same dog, it must be noted, was earlier seen eating a metal pail.) Jeunet displays Spivet's hyper-logical brain by having formulas and equations appear on-screen. The film's magical/realistic tone is such that when Spivet appears with a giant apparatus on his head, spitting lightning, you assume its another fantasy. T.S.'s sister even gets in on the action. In a sequence startlingly similar to Pixar's “Inside Out,” we get a peak into her mind, as different aspects of her personality discuss what to do with her little brother.

“The Young and Prodigious T. S. Spivet” is the film debut of Kyle Catlett, who would go on to the “Poltergeist” remake and a few TV credits of note. Due to Catlett's new comer status, it's hard to judge his performance. Catlett's Spivet is overly mannered throughout the film. Catlett often delivers reams of highly technical dialogue, dictating scenes as they happen. This, however, fits the character. Catlett doesn't hit too many false notes, though he occasionally slightly fumbles an emotional scene. Time, I suppose, will see if he's a very good actor who knows how to read a character or a slightly stiff child actor.

Being a kid who thinks too much, Spivet has a complicated relationship with his parents. He sees his cowboy father as distant, believing Dad never wanted him and preferred his brother. His rationalist mother, meanwhile, can be equally difficult to approach. Callum Keith Rennie, a character actor better known for his television work, plays the dad as a traditional cowboy. He gets a few expressive moment – when tying a noose for a louse or shooting a deadly viper – but mostly plays it close to the chest. More interestingly is Helena Bohnam Carter as Spivet's mother. Carter excels when playing up her character's eccentric side, coughing up scientific facts about insects. She livens the part up with bits of sly humor, such as the way she answer Spivet's question about a school bully, or meaningful emotion, such as the scene where she attempts to reach out to the boy.

T. S.'s relationships with his siblings are equally fraught. His sister, played by the interestingly named Niamh Wilson, is a bubble-headed teenage girl. She's usually annoyed with her little brother and dreams of becoming Miss America, something her hyper-rationalist is baffled by. Yet Wilson's best moments show that she cares about her little brother. Such as how excited she is to see him on TV. Or, during another fantasy sequence, where she begs him to come home during an imagined phone call. As a younger brother, it strikes me as a realistic depiction of a sibling relationship.

I'm less certain of how the film handles Spivet's brother. It's bluntly reveal after about fifteen minutes in that Layton is dead, killed in a firearm accident. T.S. blames himself for the death, certain his parents hate him because of it. Which is partially why he imagines conversations with the brother. These scenes are “Spivet” at its most mawkish. The film really pushes things when the boy tearfully confesses the details of the accident to a crowd of people. While not quite poorly handled enough to classify as awkward, this subplot threatens to derail the film several times.

Furthering its novel-like structure, “The Young and Prodigious T.S. Spivet” is evenly broken into three acts, title breaks included. The middle section depicts the boy's travel across country and leads to some of my favorite scenes. Such as a brilliantly funny moment where T.S. hides inside an R.V. display model, posing between two cardboard cut-outs. Or the especially clever way the boy sneaks aboard a moving train. The biggest action scene even has the kid leaping across a bridge, swinging over a river. It's during these scenes that we meet Dominique Pinon as a tall tale telling railroad worker and, in a less successful moment, Julian Richings as a slightly creepy truck driver. These scenes are the film at its funniest, swiftest, and most entertaining.

After accepting his award from the Smithsonian, “The Young and Prodigious T. S. Spivet” reaches its logical end point. In its final twenty minutes, the film makes an unexpected transformation into a satire about celebrity culture. Spivet's touching acceptance speech, young age, and groundbreaking invention makes him an overnight phenomenon. The museum overseer, played by an exaggerated Judy Davis, becomes his agent. She callously parades the boy around for the press, until an unlikely reunion with his parents ends the film. These scenes have little to do with the rest of the movie. Their points about celebrity and exploitation do not connect much with the film's overriding ideas. It's a very odd, totally unnecessary story shift.

One way this film is very different from Jeunet's other movies is its musical score. Dropping the accordions and pianos of his European features, “Spivet” instead features a country and western soundtrack. Provided by Denis Sanacore, the score features plenty of strumming fiddles and plucked bass guitars. The result brings the Montana setting to mind immediately while also providing a sense of adventure to Spivet's quest across country. For the more introspective moments, a softer melody is employed, utilizing a methodical guitar. While not as instantly memorable as some of Jeunet's other scores, the music perfectly fits the movie.

If “The Young and Prodigious T. S. Spivet” represents Jean-Pierre Jeunet repeating himself, it could be a lot worst. The film is still very entertaining, quite funny throughout, and characterized by an overwhelming charm. While Jeunet is clearly restraining his wildest instincts, there's still plenty of himself present in the final product. As always, he brings some brilliant cinematography along with him. The script this several road bumps, preventing the ride from being totally smooth. I would put “Spivet” on about the same level as “Micmacs,” a slight work that nevertheless fits in with the director's style, is fun to watch, and deserved to reach a wider audience. [Grade: B]

Since "Spivet's" underwhelming release, Jean-Pierre Jeunet hasn't worked much. It's evident that his string of commercial nonstarters has damaged his career. His most recent credit is a TV pilot for a "Casanova" series. He's done a few commercial and was recently in the news for expressing disgust at the "Amelie" musical. Supposedly he's hard at work on a new script which will ditch his retro setting for something edgier. I would've prefer a return to his weirder, early sci-fi days but I think a change of scenery is going to be good for Jeunet. Whatever he does next, and whatever part he sticks Dominique Pinon in next, I'll probably check it out.

Director Report Card: Jean-Pierre Jeunet (2009)

6. Micmacs
Micmacs à tire-larigot

“Micmacs” is a landmark film for Jean-Pierre Jeunet but not necessarily in a positive way. His previous two movies received a lot of attention, getting nominated for awards and earning positive reviews all over the world. “Amelie,” and “A Very Long Engagement” to a lesser degree, were break-out French films, connecting with English speaking audiences. “Micmacs” - shortened from the French title of “Micmacs a tire-larigot” - was none of those things. The reviews were positive but not overwhelmingly so. The film came and went from theaters without much attention. “Micmacs” is a movie that just kind of disappeared. Let's try and figured out why.

As a child, Bazil's father was killed while attempting to deactivate a landmine. As an adult, he lives a peaceful existence as a video store clerk. This is interrupted when a robbery goes wrong outside, leaving a bullet embedded in Bazil's head. Upon awakening, he looses his job and ends up on the streets. Soon, he meets up with a group of eccentrics, a family of quirky individuals living in a junk yard. After discovering the arms dealing company that made the bullet in his head and the mine that killed his father, Bazil devises a scheme of revenge against the weapons manufacturers.

“Micmacs” has an unlikely one-sentence summary. This is a whimsical comedy about the arms trade. That one line might make you expect a biting satire about the corporations and millionaires who profit off the death and destruction caused by guns and bombs. Considering the director doesn't usually approach political subjects, it might not be surprising to read that “Micmacs” isn't exactly a cutting edge satire. Instead, it essentially exports the wacky, humorous stylings the director displayed in “Delicatessen” and “Amelie,” using it to comment on a very serious real world issue.

After going a little light on his trademark style with “A Very Long Engagement,” the classical Jeunet hallmarks return with “Micmacs.” The film has the madcap comic energy of his earliest motion pictures. The family Bazil integrates himself with carries a circus like tone, with a contortionists and a human cannonball being among their numbers. A fascination with chain reaction-style comic set pieces return in a big way. While “Micmacs” is clearly set in present day France, the film feels more abreast with “The City of Lost Children” than the director's more recent features. The set design is more exaggerated, the urban setting more stylized. There's even a cameo appearances from two of “Delicatessen's” main characters.

“Micmacs” also presents an opportunity for Jeunet to indulge his love of surreal set pieces. Since Bazil has a bullet lodged in his brain, he's prone to elaborate hallucinations. After discovering the office building of the weapons manufacturer, Bazil imagines a whole orchestra playing behind him. After awakening in a car, he has a dream about a soccer field exploding with landmines. When certain of his death, Bazil thinks about the unlikely demises of various historical figures, which is presented as a demented cartoon. Even when not hallucinating, Bazil is a quirky character. Such as the clownish acts he performs on the street as a beggar. Dany Boon's game performance helps sell the character's comically fragmented state of mind.

A quirky love story has also, over the years, emerged as a trademark of Jeunet. “Micmacs” naturally features one too. Of all the friends Bazil make after moving into the junk yard, one in particular catches his attention. The character is only known as the Elastic Girl. A contortionist, she's introduced by unfolding herself out of a refrigerator. Throughout the film, she curls up inside a number of unlikely places: Shipping boxes, cabinets, closets, under blankets. She bickers with Bazil in a way that suggests mutual interest. Before the end, she outright declares her feelings for him, Bazil going along with it. It's not as well realized or touching as the love stories in “Delicatessen,” “Amelie,” or “A Very Long Engagement” but it's still pretty cute. Julie Ferrier is clearly the stand-out performer of the film, bringing a striking screen presence to the part.

The group of friends Bazil makes in the junk yard are clearly designed to be a family. Mama Chow, played by a warmth exuding Yolande Moreau, is clearly the matriarch of the group. She cooks the meals for everyone, seeing the guests as her children. Slammer, played by a charming jean-Pierre Marielle, emerges as the father figure. A former convict, hence the nickname, Slammer survived execution by guillotine and enjoys showing off the scar. Despite his sordid past, he's a welcoming, friendly figure. There's even a duo of little kids wandering around the lair, who admire the other members of the family that way you would an aunt or uncle.

“Micmacs” comes dangerously close to defining its cast members as nothing but quirks. Luckily, a talented cast makes them more detailed. Dominique Pinon, in his required appearance, plays Buster. A former human cannonball, Buster is adamant about breaking new records concerning distance and speed. Pinon brings the same likable clownish energy to the part that we've come to expect from him. Michel Crémadès plays Tiny Pete, a highly Jeunet-esque character who makes clockwork inventions out of trash. Such as walking tables or robotic strongmen. Omar Sy is very funny as Remington, a writer who constantly speaks in highly dramatic narration. My favorite of “Micmacs'” quirky family is Marie–Julie Baup as the Calculator, an eccentric girl who can intuitively measure anything. Baup has a twitchy energy that I like.

While Jeunet has frequently peppered his films with homages to silent cinema, “Micmacs” is one of the first times he's explicitly homaged another movie. During Bazil's last night in the video store, he watches a French dubbed tape of “The Big Sleep.” The opening credits that follow are done in the style of a 1940s movie. While “Micmacs'” plot is not quite as convoluted as a Raymond Chandler adaptation, it does feature instigators brewing trouble for bad men in high places. Later in the film, several scenes are set in the kind of wide, desert vistas that bring spaghetti westerns to mind. From this angle, “Micmacs” reminds me of “A Fistful of Dollars,” about an outsider playing two enemies against each other. Either way, it's clear that Jeunet had other films on his mind while making this one.

The funniest scenes in “Micmacs” are those devoted to Jeunet's trademark chain reactions. The best of which comes first. A weapons deal between the villains and a collection of shady crime lords is interrupted at an airport. Bazil's friends pose as pushy salesmen and distracting tourist. This allows Buster to entice a dog with a sausage. After the canine is let loose by Elastic Girl, a delightfully mad cap chase breaks out. Later, the night watchman at the villain's apartment complex is distracted by an adult actress performing vocally in a window across the street. While he watches, the gang slips a sleep inducing sugar cube into his coffee. Later, Buster gets to show off his abilities as a human cannon ball. But a malfunction happens, sending him wildly off course. That scene represents “Micmacs” at its silliest but even gags that big don't feel out of place.

And what of the bad guys at the center of “Micmacs,” the men who happily make themselves rich supplying weapons to war zones? Nicolas Marie plays Francois Marconi, a CEO who likes to compare himself to poets. He lives in a penthouse suit and constantly belittles everyone around him, even his young son. Marie has fun playing the part as an utterly smug bastard, the kind of character you anticipating getting his just desserts. Across the street is the rival CEO, Andre Dussollier's Nicholas De Fenouillet. Where Marconi is smug, DeFenouillet is odd. He collects the body parts of famous people, reveling in his wealth. Both actors excel in their parts, creating adversaries you can root against.

As I said, “Micmacs” is mostly too silly to be accepted as a statement about arms dealing. Except for that climatic scene. The arms dealers are kidnapped and dropped into a desert zone. Stack atop each other, they are marched through a valley littered with landmines. Near-by, women in burkas watch, while holding pictures of children missing limbs. Under pressure, the arms dealers confess to all the terrorists and criminals they've sold their guns and bombs to. In one moment, the film brings the effects the sale of implements of death have on innocent people, an effective sequence. The tone then ricochets back around to silly and comedic, in a reveal too satisfying to discuss here.

Did “Micmacs” deserve to slip so totally under the radar? The film can't compare to Jeunet's best work. It doesn't have the raw creativity of his early, sci-fi flicks. Nor does it have the genuine emotion of “Amelie.” However, it is a lot of fun. The film sees the director returning to the anarchic spirit of his earliest films. The script makes one or two interesting statements about the world we live in. Mostly, “Micmacs” cooks up a collection of lovable, eccentric goofballs. The warmth among Bazil's new family and the camaraderie the filmmaker feels with them might be the main reason you return to “Micmacs,” a minor but gratifying motion picture. [Grade: B]

Director Report Card: Jean-Pierre Jeunet (2004)

5. A Very Long Engagement
Un long dimanche de fiançailles

After the international success of “Amelie,” Jean-Pierre Jeunet set out to make his most ambitious film yet. Re-teaming with Audrey Tautou, the director would mount “A Very Long Engagement,” one of the most expensive French films made at the time. Aside from the sheer scope of the project, the film presented many other challenges to the director. It was his first adaptation, based off a novel by Sebastien Japrisot. It was his first historical film, his first war movie. Neither the surreal sci-fi of his early films nor the everyday whimsy of “Amelie” would play much of a role in this. The risk would pay off, mostly, as the film would exceed its budget at the box office, win positive reviews, and earn a few Academy Award nominations.

Mathilde and Manech are young lovers, engaged to be married. Their love affair is interrupted when World War I breaks out, dragging Manech away to the blood soaked trenches. Manech winds up among five soldiers sentenced to death for self-mutilation. During the march to be executed, all five men disappear. Mathidle is crestfallen by the news but refuses to give up hope, believing Manech to still be alive. She follows a convoluted series of event, hoping to track down the man she loves, even though everyone else is convinced that he's dead.

Befitting its literary roots, “A Very Long Engagement” shares the novel-like structure that “Amelie” had. Both films feature sporadic narration, describing the events from on high and filling in background details. Jeunet's tendency towards meandering stories, featuring lots of narrative side paths, are also carried over to this film. This reveals “A Very Long Engagement's” true motivation. The film is structured like a mystery, as the lead character follows leads, trying to parse out the truth for herself. Unlike a standard mystery – where the goal is to find a murderer or something stolen – what's at stake here is hope. Mathilde's ever-lasting hope that her lover is still alive is challenged by everything around her, threatened to be snuffed out, but always finds a way to persist.

Though the majority of Jeunet's films have been set in some sort of future, there's always been a retro quality to his movies. “A Very Long Engagement,” as a period piece, takes this tendency to its natural conclusion. Set in the 1920s, the film features several sequences reminiscent of silent films, reveling in Jeunet's frequently displayed love of that format. Even when shooting scenes in color and with sound, Jeunet features many of the visual tropes of silent films. Such as irises or floating images. Moreover, the director shoots most of the movie through a golden-hued lens. This creates a warm, nostalgic glow to the picture, placing it even further in the past.

Despite its differences in story and tone, it's clear that “A Very Long Engagement” stands in the shadow of “Amelie's” success. You wonder if the director reunited with Audrey Tautou, in hopes of recreating that film's success. Tautou's Mathilde shares some similarities with Amelie. Both are eccentric young women. Mathilde plays little games in her head, deciding Manech is still alive if certain events within a certain time frame. Another thing the character has in common with Tautou's most famous role is that both had lonely childhoods. Mathilde's parents died when she was long and her childhood polio put her in a brace, making her lonely and withdrawn. Yet Mathilde's strength manifests in different ways then Amelie's. She is driven to achieve her goal, no matter the odds against her.

“A Very Long Engagement,” among its many other elements, is also a beautifully realized love story. Mathilde and Manech's romance begins when they are little children, after the boy expresses concern for her leg. She's quiet at first but his continued kindness wins her over. Soon, they are running and playing through Manech's lighthouse. That sense of mutual understanding and playfulness powers their relationship. (The latter of which is beautifully displayed when the two make love for the first time, with Mathilde removing another layer of clothing every time the lights flick on and off.) All of this is shown through a flashback in the center of the movie, making the viewer understand why Mathilde is so devoted to this man.

The war sequences contrast directly with the sunny, beautifully photographed present day scenes. The WWI scenes are cold, characterized by a black and blue color palette. It's constantly raining on the battle field. The men are always soaked and exhausted. When the violence comes, it is totally unsentimental. For example: A comrade of Manech's is blasted to apart by a bomb, the boy splattered with viscera. Another scene has rows upon rows of soldiers gun down, the bodies piling atop each other. Corpses sit among the living, without much consideration. There's nothing stylish or entertaining about the violence. It's so casual, it's almost bloodless. This is life on the front, where death comes suddenly and brutishly, where dead bodies are just an every day part of the scenery.

Jeunet rarely gets political but an anti-war message quickly emerges from “A Very Long Engagement.” The film begins with a  lengthy prologue, explaining why the five men where sentenced to death. Each, eager to escape the horrors of the war, mutilate themselves in hopes of getting away from the trenches. When their deception is found out, they are sent to die. The script happily draws attention to the irony here. That the men are trained to kill but punished for shallowly harming themselves. In one case, a cigarette burn to the hand is sufficient enough to count as “self mutilation.” As Mathilde digs into the five men's lives, the film also draws attention to another sad reality of war. That normal men – carpenters, husbands, boys – are swept out of their everyday lives, dropped onto a battle field, and expected to kill.

The extended run time, of two hours and thirteen minutes, leaves room for plenty of seemingly unrelated story points. Some of these elements are more interesting then others. One lengthy scene features a surprise appearance from Jodie Foster, who speaks fluent French. It details the story of man so in love with a woman that he adopts her five children. As the war looms, he hopes to avoid being drafted by fathering a sixth child. But the man is sterile, so he insists his wife sleep with his best friend. She's resistant, loyal to him. When the affair begins, she falls in love with the best friend. It's another story of loyalty and vows being tested, quite different from the story of Mathile and Manech's ever lasting love.

Yet not all of the additional story lines are equally compelling. A wandering subplot features Marion Cotillard as a former prostitute, who has formulated a series of elaborate schemes to avenge her dead lover. In typically playful Jeunet touches, these include falling shards of glass and a gun connected by a chain to a pair of glasses. Despite a passionate performance by Cotillard, this story line sometimes feel like an unnecessary addition. (Especially since it takes some time for the film to explain what it means.) Another lengthy flashback features another surviving comrades of Manech's. This also features a creative moment, when a bomb and a zeppelin collide unexpectedly, but definitely goes on too long.

An underrated aspect of “A Very Long Engagement” is its supporting cast. Mathilde's guardians, an uncle and his wife, are played by Jeunet's lucky charm Dominique Pinon and Chantal Neuwirth. Both are hugely nurturing towards their adopted daughter, projecting a genuine warmth. Pinon is very good at subtly suggesting that perhaps it's pass time for Mathilde to give up her quest, while remaining supportive of the girl. Neuwirth, meanwhile, is all homey warmth, making rich meals and laughing at dog farts. Near the end, there's a touching scene where we get a deeper peek at her character.

“A Very Long Engagement” is another proud reunion for Jeunet. Angelo Badalamenti scores the film, returning from “The City of Lost Children.” It is a lush, moving score. Badalamenti begins with a mournful oboe, drawing attention to the longing Mathile feels for her lost love before building towards a cascading wall of overwhelming strings, enriching the emotional struggle the characters are feeling inside. It's also a sonically big piece of music, full of huge emotion and powerful climaxes, matching the film's epic story.

By going as big as possible, Jeunet looses some of the emotional connectivity of “Amelie” and far too much of the quirky humor that characterized his previous film. It does feel a bit odd watching a Jean-Pierre Jeunet movie that doesn't have a single moment of surrealism or magic realism. “A Very Long Engagement” is, ultimately, a little too sprawling for its own good. Yet the film is still full of beautiful images, wonderful performances, and powerful moments. If this is what it looks like when a cult director goes mainstream, I guess the results are still pretty satisfying. [Grade: B]

Director Report Card: Jean-Pierre Jeunet (2001)

4. Amelie
Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain

“Alien: Resurrection” didn't destroy Jean-Pierre Jeunet's career. However, it's clear that the big Hollywood production left a bad taste in his mouth. Jeunet would return to France and make his most critically acclaimed and popular film yet. The original French title translates as “The Fabulous Life of Amelie Poulain” but stateside we just call it “Amelie.” The film would be nominated for five Academy Awards and become the favorite movie of that one girl everyone knew in college. It briefly made Audrey Tautou an international superstar and easily one of the most beloved French actresses. While of a different stripe then Jenuet's previous films, many would be happy to claim it as his masterpiece. 

As a lonely child, Amelie Poulain would retreat into an imaginative fantasy world. As she grew into a shy, withdrawn adult, Amelie maintained for penchant for whimsy. A chance encounter has Amelie making a sudden decision. She decides to improve the lives of those around her. Which includes befriending the ill man across the street, urging her father to leave the house more, and hooking up two loners at the coffee shop she works at. Amelie is so focused on adding some magic to the lives of those around her that she forgets to improve her own life. Soon, love comes calling and Amelie must grow if she wants to attain happiness.

“Amelie” begins with a narrator describing a series of seemingly unrelated events, happening simultaneously across Paris on the same day. In a direct quote from Jeunet's earlier short film, “Things I Like, Things I Don't Like,” the narrator relates the personal likes and dislikes of the characters. This lends two different, complimenting aspects to “Amelie.” The omniscient narrator grants a novelistic feeling to the film, adding insight to the fantasy world “Amelie” inhabits. By the same accord, it zeroes in on what a small story this is. Often, and to its benefit, “Amelie” feels like a series of events in the lives of ordinary people.

“Amelie' has been accused by some as being too whimsical, too quirky for its own good. This is not an unfair criticism. Without one major attribute, the film's capriciousness might have been overbearing. That attribute is Audrey Tautou. With beaming saucer eyes, a black bob of perky hair, rosy cheeks, and an entirely enchanting smile, Tautou immediately charms the audience. Tautou imbues every gesture and movement with an effervescent energy, showing pure glee and delight in countless scenes. The script refers to the character as “just pretty,” which is surely ironic as Tautou is utterly gorgeous. Tautou is so delightful, so instantly lovable, that she would have to take extra caution not be typecast in similarly daydreaming, flighty parts.

Premise wise, there doesn't seem to be much that connects “Amelie” with Jeunet's earlier, surreal science-fiction films. The always sunny, perfectly clean version of Paris seen in this film is a million miles away from “Alien: Resurrection,” that's for sure. Yet one element in particular emerges out of “Amelie” that connects it with Jeunet's earlier films. Amelie has a lonely childhood, raised by a nervous mother and a father that never hugged her. This resulted in colorful flights of fancy: Performing check-ups on a fuzzy green creature, clouds forming into teddies or bunnies. Out of the sweetness of childhood emerges an honest sadness about being alone.

As quirky as “Amelie” appears, it's also a film bordered by death, even in its cutest moments. One of the earliest scenes concerns a man marking a recently deceased friend's name out of his phone book. In a blackly comic sequence, Amelie's mother is killed by another person attempting to take their own lives. The death of Princess Diana floats throughout the entire movie, characters reacting to the beloved celebrity's sudden passing in different ways. Amelie's first act of kindness is reuniting a man with a box of beloved, childhood mementos. This prompts him to reconnect with his children, before he “ends up in his own box.” “Amelie” is a film that ravels in the beauty of life. This is all the more effective since it admires how short life truly is.

Amelie's random acts of kindness shift between the strictly adorable to more mischievous. She's at her most wicked when laying tiny pranks for a cruel grocer, all in a effort to get him to treat a belittled co-worker better. The meticulous quality of these scenes are especially amusing, as we see the man react to every trap she lays for him. She delivers video tapes of unusual events to the brittle-boned painter. My favorite of Amelie's scheme is what she plans for her own father. She kidnaps dad's lawn gnome – part of a shrine devoted to her late mother – and mails it around the world. Dad then receives photos of the gnome posing in front of various landmarks. The film saves as much room for Dad's reaction as the act itself, mining good-natured humor from the prank.

As a Jeunet film, “Amelie' is obviously a visual feast. The production design is flawless, while the photography is warm, inviting, and just slightly dream-like. Some of my favorite moments in “Amelie” is when Jeunet peppers this story with imaginative flights of fancy. After walking a blind man down a street, and describing everything she's sees, a cone of light emerges around the man. After setting up the first pranks against the grocer, Amelie imagines herself as Zorro, defending the defenseless. When flushed with feeling, we see her heart beat in her chest. When crestfallen, we see her dissolve into a puddle of water. Jeunet's direction becomes frenzied when capturing Amelie's nervous perception of the world. When indulging her flights of fancies – how many couples are having orgasms right now? - his editing is equally fast paced.

The film reaches its most dizzying heights when focused on the love story. Amelie meets Nino when she spots him fishing torn up pictures out of photo booths. Through fate, she comes upon his lost book collecting these photos. Before giving the book back, she sends Nino on a wild scavenger hunt. Again, in any other film, this probably would've been too precious. Jeunet tempers the cuteness with Nino's job in a sleazy sex shop. More importantly, he acknowledges that the games Amelie plays are another way to guard her secret, shy heart. When the two come together, it's truly earned, a joyous meeting of two like-minded dreamers.

“Amelie” also pulls off another impressive act. Most romantic/comedies have that tedious injection of drama during the end of the second act. Usually, a character screws up and has to win their lover back with some big, grand gesture. In this film, we are presented with the one example of that troupe that actually makes sense. Instead of a contrived event keeping Amelie and Nino apart, the only thing separating the two lovers' are their own anxieties, doubts, fears, and neurosis. She nearly meets the man before hesitating, which cost her. It's only with the urging of a mentor that Amelie is finally willing to venture outside her own world and greet the love she deserves.

“Amelie” isn't an ensemble to the degree that “Delicatessen” was but still features a colorful supporting cast. Jeunet regular Rufus plays Amelie's father, an eccentric and sorrowful man trapped as much in his own world as his daughter is. Dominique Pinon – naturally, the director sneaked him in somewhere – appears as Joseph. A regular at Amelie's coffee shop, Joseph is bitterly spying on an ex-girlfriend. Amelie engineers a romance between Joseph and Georgette, a hypochondriac co-worker played with perfect humor by Isabelle Nanty. When the two finally get together, the result is thunderous, to say the least. I also like Jamel Debbouze as Lucien, the bullied stock boy with an interest in stage magic, and Serge Merlin as the painter next door, a wise man who mostly speaks in riddles.

Nearly as famous as the film's visual style is its soundtrack. Jeunet would score the film with pre-existing music from French pianist Yann Tiersen. “Amelie's” success and Tiersen's music go hand in hand. The accordion driven main theme establishes the Parisian setting, the film's impish sense of humor, and a jaunty sense of energy. Yet this can't compare to a piece of music used throughout the film called “L'apres-midi.” A devastatingly powerful piano piece, the music hints at the melancholy and power hiding within “Amelie,” summoning up an incredible wave of emotion during several key scenes.

A decade and a half after its original release, “Amelie” remains Jean-Pierre Jeunet's most critically acclaimed film. There was even a stage musical, so you know the movie must be popular. It's an enchanting experience, that runs over two hours but floats by like the most pleasant of dreams. “Amelie” is a movie that makes me happy, that fills me with the most genuine and heart-lifting joy imaginable. It is a touching, funny, beautiful experience that never fails to raise my spirits. [Grade: A]

Director Report Card: Jean-Pierre Jeunet (1997)

3. Alien: Resurrection

”Alien 3” seemed to provide a final conclusion to that series. Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley, the series’ hero from the beginning, was dead. Fans who wanted more xenomorph-bashing and space marines had an entire expanded universe of comics, books, and video games to fall back on. The third one didn’t even do that well at the box office. Despite these issues, 20th Century Fox demanded a new entry in the series. A script from up-and-coming screenwriter Joss Whedon got the producers excited. Quickly afterwards, Sigourney Weaver came on-board, Ripley being resurrected. The film spiraled through multiple directors, like Danny Boyle, Peter Jackson and Bryan Singer. Eventually, French surrealist Jean-Pierre Jeunet got the gig. Considering his experience with odd sci-fi, Jeunet probably seemed like a good choice. Fans that rejected “Alien 3” mostly liked “Alien: Resurrection.” Not me. I’ve always disliked the movie, considering it the colossally dumb low-point in the long-running series.

Two hundred years after Ripley threw herself into molten lead, Earth has been abandoned as a desolate wasteland. Man now exists among the stars. In this future, the military has cloned Ripley and with her, the Queen Alien. The anti-social clone awakens on a strange ship. Once again, man underestimates the xenomorph threat. They get free and run amok. Ripley-8 must team up with a motley crew of space crooks if she wants to survive. A terrifying new secret awaits her.

Last time I saw “Alien: Resurrection,” I had a viscerally negative reaction to the film. Re-watching it as a wiser man, my reaction is less visceral but no less negative. The fourth “Alien” film has many flaws that extend from one source: It is dumb. The movie brings back Ripley in a dumb way, cloning her from two hundred year old DNA. The script completely misunderstands how cloning works. Despite not being part of her genetics, the alien queen fetus is somehow cloned with Ripley. The movie never justifies why Ripley had to be in the movie in the first place. The cloning subplot climaxes with a massively silly sequence, where Ripley-8 stumbles upon the previous seven failed clones, grotesque hybrids of human and xenomorph DNA. It’s really silly and melodramatic.

The movie’s dumbness extends to the film’s evil corporate masters. After two hundred years, the Weyland-Yutani company is gone. (An especially stupid line of dialogue cut from the theatrical version explains that they were bought by Walmart.) Despite all that time passing, the evil corporation’s single-minded motivation has not changed. The military wants to develop the xenomorphs into weapons. Really, after all this time, would they still be at this? By now, haven’t the aliens been proven to be an uncontrollable asset? Is whatever weapons that could be developed from the aliens really worth the trouble? Aside from the silliness of their plan, the military is really bad at managing the penis-headed rape demons. They escape easily, thanks to an obvious oversight, and the people on the ship are hilariously inept at containing the threat. If anyone was paying attention, none of this would have happened.

If I don’t sound enough like a bitching fanboy already, let me point out something incredibly petty about “Alien: Resurrection” that offends me. The movie needlessly junks up the classic xenomorph design. Their heads are stumpier and shorter. More bumps and ridges are superficially added to their bodies. The tail is needlessly given a paddle-like extension. The legs receive extra joints, making the aliens resemble the raptors from “Jurassic Park.” All these changes do is make one of the most original creature designs in all of horror history resembles other, less interesting monsters. The movie doesn’t even get the xenomorphs' personality correct. One scene has a vindictive alien freezing a human with some ice gas. This shows a sadistic side the coldly cunning aliens have never displayed before or since. “Alien: Resurrection” frequently sacrifices logic for this cool-for-cool-sakes style of thinking.

Say what you will about “Alien 3” but at least it gave Ripley a proper send-off. Despite this, the Fox executives believed that she was the heart of the “Alien” series. Defying all logic, Ripley had to come back to life. The solution of cloning her is lazy. Making her half-alien, dumb as that idea is, showed some potential. The resulting character, known as Ripley-8, is not that interesting. Ripley’s humanity is striped away. Instead, she only has vague memories of her previous life. (This is another example of how cloning doesn’t work.) The character is beastly, more alien then human. Her personality is rough and animistic. She has a streak of generic bad ass in her that isn’t natural or involving. Her psychic connection with the aliens is poorly explained but the only thing about her that adds any color. She is simultaneously repulsed by and sympathetic towards the aliens. Instead of playing with this, the movie mostly has her as a tough warrior. Weaver’s performance lacks any of the raw vulnerability or human will to survive shown in the last three films.

Most of the film’s supporting cast is made up of mercenaries. The characters are very broadly written and borderline cartoonish. Befitting a Joss Whedon script, they fling the occasional zinger. In short: The characters are dumb and add little to the movie. At least the movie fills their ranks with memorable character actors. Jeunet regulars Dominique Pinon and Ron Perlman are present. Pinon plays the invalid Vriess, who has a cool shotgun hidden in his wheelchair. Mostly, he cracks weird jokes and hinders the other characters’ journey. Perlman is funny, even if his character is mostly pointless. Gravel-voiced Michael Wincott plays their leader. Just based on Wincott’s slithery style, the character doesn’t seem trust-worthy. These guys have more distinct personalities then Gary Dourdan’s Christie and Kim Flower’s Sabra. I can’t remember much about either of them, aside from Christie’s obsession with guns and Sabra’s physical appeal.

That collection of characters would be enough for most films. For some reason, “Alien: Resurrection” continues to expand its cast as the movie goes on. Early on, we meet General Perez, played by the hirsute and shifty eyed Dan Hedaya. Perez has a ridiculous death scene. Dr. Wren, played by a boring J. E. Freman, tags along with the crew of mercs for a while. An obviously evil solider named Distephano, played by Raymond Cruz, appears for half the movie. His presence is not especially important and what he’ll do next is very easy to guess. Also added to the cast is Purvis, played by Leland Orser, a human chosen to incubate some aliens. Purvis is whiny and annoying, needlessly padding out the already too-large cast. The only member of the supporting cast that’s interesting is Brad Dourif as Dr. Gediman. Dourif brings the expected amount of greasy craziness to the part. After being captured by the xenomorphs, he goes totally nuts. During the end, he delivers a sweaty, ridiculous monologue in the exact same voice Dourif uses when voicing Chucky. It’s as dumb as anything else in the movie but at least Dourif is entertaining.

The writers and producers of “Alien: Resurrection” probably had the following thought: This is an “Alien” movie. So somebody has to be a robot. Winona Ryder plays Call, the android. The movie reveals this truth dramatically, even though it’s easy to guess. Ryder does okay in the part, bringing some much-needed charm and humanity to this mindless movie. More interesting is the bound that forms between Ripley and Call. The two share a few scenes together which expands on both of their personalities, the only character beats in the film that is successful. Though some have read a homoerotic subtext into their relationship, I see it differently. Call is another surrogate for Ripley’s long-dead daughter, following in Newt’s footsteps. Maybe if the movie had focused on this relationship more, and how it causes Ripley-8 to become more human, this film might have had more of a heart.

Along with androids and evil corporations, every “Alien” movie also has to add something to the creatures’ life cycle. Thus, the film introduces the Newborn, a hybrid between xenomorph and human DNA. How this creature comes to exist is dumb. Somehow, because of the share genes with Ripley, the Queen Alien develops a uterus. It gives birth to a live child. How or why this happened isn’t important. The result is the albino Newborn, a big new threat the movie can throw in at the end. As a design, the hybrid is bizarre enough to be interesting. There’s nothing especially Giger-esque about it. Yet I like the human-like eyes in its hollow sockets. The hybrid has a born-in bond with Ripley which, again, makes no sense. However, this ridiculous plot twist provides something no other “Alien” movie has: A sympathetic monster. The Newborn is a killer and a monster, possessed of the same brutal cunning as the rest of its species. Something about it is very human though. As it’s ridiculous and needlessly violent death occurs, Ripley and the audience starts to feel sorry for the beast. The creature’s existence is entirely nonsensical but at least it looks interesting and adds something to the film.

If “Alien: Resurrection” resembles any of the previous films, it’s “Aliens.” Like that sequel, it attempts to fuse the series’ action and horror attributes. In that way, it fails utterly. “Resurrection” is never scary. As an action movie, it’s strictly functions on a lizard brain level. There are dumb gags, like pop-out guns attached to wrists or someone duel-wielding on a ladder. Ripley climbs up through Michael Wincott’s dead body. Aliens are shotgunned and blasted in various colorful ways, spraying their acid blood all over the place. Some of these moments are especially mindless, like a grenade bounced into an escape pod or a chest-burster busting through someone’s head. Like many things about the film, the action scenes exist on the plain of comic book-y extremeness. They are dumb, of course, but occasionally entertaining.

How does “Alien: Resurrection” hold up as a Jean-Piere Jeunet movie? Most of Jeunet’s artistic sensibilities are buried under a thick layer of Hollywood stupidity. Occasionally, some of his trademark style shines through. The production design has a similar look to “City of Lost Children,” even if the film lacks that movie’s surreal power. Most importantly, occasionally Jeunet sneaks a memorable visual through. A xenomorph bumps its head against some glass. A body is bent in half through a hole in the floor. Blood splatters on the inside of a window. The camera zooms into a mouth, to show the chest-burster wiggling inside. My favorite is when Ripley is abducted by the xenomorphs. She rests on a floor of writhing matter, a sight Giger might've approved of. The aliens carry her to the Queen’s lair, cradling her like an infant. That’s poetic and interesting. The movie needed more of that visual energy.

In conclusion, I still dislike “Alien: Resurrection.” The script is full of so many holes. The movie lacks any sense of internal logic. The character are broad. The empty-headed and hollow-hearted story is puffed up with silly action scenes. Mostly, there’s little thematic connection to any of the previous “Alien” films. The fourth entry in the series plays like bad fan fiction. I don’t really blame Jean-Piere Jeunet, who surely suffered under harsh studio control. I partially blame Joss Whedon, as the bad script still carries many of his trademarks. Mostly, this dumb movie is the product of a dead franchise being extended pass its logical end point. “Alien: Resurrection” is an undead film, a zombie movie, and as brainless as that description implies. [Grade: D]

Director Report Card: Jean-Pierre Jeunet (1995)

2. The City of Lost Children 
La cité des enfants perdus
Co-directed with Marc Caro

“Delicatessen” attracted enough of an audience around the world that Jean-Pierre Jeunet and Marc Caro were able to move forward with the project they originally wanted to make in the first place. When “The City of Lost Children” came out, it was hailed as a masterpiece in some circles. While clearly indebted to other works – such as German expressionism, European sci-fi comics, and the films of Terry Gilliam – Jeunet's instant cult classic would become a clear influence on future video games, anime, and music videos. Despite the cult following and stylistic impact Jeunet and Caro's movie would have, “The City of Lost Children” isn't discussed very often today. Even with its slight retreat from the minds of weirdo cinema fans, the film remains as impressive today as it was in 1995.

In the waters outside a strange city, a mad scientist named Krank lives on an abandoned oil platform. He orders his minions – a collection of clones, a dwarf wife, a brain in a jar – to retrieve lost children from the city. After capturing them, he attempts to steal the youngsters' dreams, as the scientist is unable to dream himself. Among the stolen children is Denree, the adopted little brother of One, a circus strongman. In order to rescue Denree, One will team up with Miette, a young girl who picks pockets for a cruel pair of conjoined twins. Together, they form a unique bond, seeking to rescue all of the lost children.

In order to make a film about dreams, Jeunet and Caro have crafted an intoxicatingly surreal motion picture. “City of Lost Children” sets out its intention in the opening scene. The camera pans over snowy fields outside a window and children's toys on a shelf, leading up to an infant child's encounter with Santa Claus. Yet then more Santas fill the room. One drinks alcohol, the other cradles the child threateningly. To end the scene, a reindeer shits on the floor. We hard cut to Krank's screaming face, bawling like a frightened child. Throughout the film, Krank longs for the simplicity and sweetness of children's dreams. He finds this more and more difficult to attain. Much the same way we're all nostalgically hungry for the seemingly simpler days of our youth. Within the same film, we see children kidnapped, abused, and manipulated by cruel adults. Which suggests that the pureness of childhood, that Krank and many others search for, never existed in the first place.

Visually, “The City of Lost Children” builds upon “Delicatessen's” aesthetic in a very clear way. It's easy to imagine the apartment building from Jeunet's previous film existing in this film's titular city. Both are characterized by an amber, rusted brown color palette. (Though Jeunet and Caro punctuate “City” with burst of neon green.) Everything appears old, rusted, leftovers from the turn of the century. This is most evident in the underwater diving suit used in one key scene. Yet this is clearly a science fiction setting, a surreal world different from own, with technology unavailable in our present. “City of Lost Children” is more fable then hard sci-fi but the director still creates a story outside of time, both retro and futuristic.

That retro atmosphere is most clearly present in the role sideshow performers play in the story. Mr. One is an old-style strongman, introduced breaking chains just by flexing his muscles. One of the villains in the film – one of many adults attempting to abuse children – is the Octopus. Conjoined twins, they are cast offs from a circus. An associate of their's is also from the circus, who commands a collection of uniquely talented fleas with his organ grinder. Not to mention the dwarfs and clown-like clones that also factor into the plot. By purposely recalling turn-of-the-century circus culture, “The City of Lost Children” successfully cements a tone that is both grotesque and whimsical.

Another element that intentionally recalls older stories is the clan of pick-pocket kids, employed by a selfish adult. Combined with the sooty, decay city setting, the film gains a purposely Dickensian mood. At the center of this story is Miette, played by Judith Vittet. Vittet summons an astonishingly strength to play the young girl. Despite only being a child, the character is jaded and cynical. At story's beginning, she's certain that no one can be trusted. That everyone is just waiting to rip you off. Through this journey to rescue the kidnapped children, she rediscovers her own sense of innocence. Vittet never hits a false note, playing the part as honestly and fully formed as possible.

There's many things to like about “The City of Lost Children” but the relationship between the two main characters may be my favorite . Ron Perlman plays One, the strongman. Perlman, you'll notice, is not a French actor. He had to learn his lines phonetically. Despite the language barrier, he delivers a nuanced, emotional performance. Though he towers over everyone else, Perlman's One isn't much more then a child himself. He frequently talks in the third person, speaking in short, simplistic sentences. So One is a child in a man's body, while Miette is a child with an adult's mind. Together, they compliment one another. This bond is best displayed when the two hold each other under a blanket, to keep warm through the night. Any potentially creepy subtext is dismissed by a deft approach, making sure the audience understands that both characters are innocents. By the end, they've formed a family of their own.

This idea of arrested development extends to the story's villains. Krank, though a mad scientist who kidnaps babies, is prone to child-like outburst of emotions. His temper tantrums – after a dream becomes a nightmare or a Santa themed dress-up session goes wrong – are petulant and whining. His collection of clones – Dominique Pinon playing seven different roles – all have a child-like mentality. In order to avoid trouble, one of the clones makes up a rambling anecdote, like a kid trying to worm his way out of trouble. The brain in the jar is a frequently ignored superego while the dwarf is an overly naturing mother figure, all complacence in the kidnapping of the kids. These are bad people yet Jeunet's baths them in sympathetic neurosis and absurdist humor, making them interesting and likable.

Just like his debut, “The City of Lost Children” is a film of boundless imagination. Among the other grotesques and innocence are other bizarre characters. Such as a cult of “cyclops,” men who willingly pluck out one eye and replace it with a cybernetic visor. Maybe the most impressive of all the film's sets is the Cyclops' lair, a huge underground complex where men sit in cascading rows, up against the wall. (Cult movie fans may notice Francois Hadji-Lazaro – Gnaghi from “Cemetery Man” - among the Cyclops.) The Cyclops are undone by another unique character. Jean-Claude Dreyfus returns from “Delicatessen.” Marcello the organ grinder, a pathetic alcoholic who loves his fleas, is the polar opposite of the beastly butcher Dreyfus played previously. Marcello's flea deliver tiny viles of green liquid, a drug that drives its victims into a murderous rage. Again, Marcello is sympathetic, a man forced by fate to do wicked things.

In “Delicatessen,” Jeunet and Caro frequently stringed together impressive sequences, engineering ludicrous series of events to connect divergent plot points. “City” only features one such scene but it's memorable. A flea bounces from a series of animal hosts – a pair of humping dogs, a skittering sewer rat – setting off a series of events that begin with a car striking a fire hydrant, includes a collection of topless strippers fleeing a building, and concludes with a boat colliding with a dock. Animals remain chaotic neutral agents of nature throughout the film. A bird appears at the last minute to neatly wrap up any dangling plot points.

Yet not all of the film's impressive scenes are so manic. Others are more melancholy. A fog of green mists floats through the city, instilling a series of strange memories in several strangers before finding the correct hosts. The film's various themes, of confused memories and longing for lost childhood, collide in the final act. The conclusion has the hero and the villain fighting inside a dream, characters aging in opposite directions while the room around them shifts strangely. It's an almost inscrutable conclusion, a powerfully surreal piece of filmmaking, a dream/nightmare that must be approached intuitively to be understood.

Providing the music for the film is Angelo Badalamenti. Considering Badalamenti is most famous for his collaborations with David Lynch, it made sense for him to score a similarly surreal film like this. Badalamenti's music is a gorgeous mixture of sweeping strings, plucking harps, and mournful woodwind with droning organs representing the circus-esque villains. Badalamenti also composes the vocal theme song, “Who Will Take My Dreams Away?,” sang by Marianne Faithfull. Faithfull sings of friendship and evil being defeated but also notes the end of life and how irreplaceable lost loved ones are. It's an enchanting collection of music, perfectly suited to the film.

“The City of Lost Children” would go on to become a landmark steampunk film, though it features none of the billowing smokestacks or mechanical top hats you associate with that genre. You can see its fingerprints on future films and video games. (Including, interestingly enough, a PlayStation game directly adapted from the film.) This is befitting such a fiercely original, enchanting motion picture. The film successfully juggles several tones – funny, whimsical, unnerving – while making an interesting point about nostalgia and adulthood. It's also visually arresting the entire time. Though a convoluted script prevents it from being a masterpiece, it's still a deeply impressive film, easily on the director's best. [Grade: A-]

Director Report Card: Jean-Pierre Jeunet (1991)

For a while, it seemed like Jean-Pierre Jeunet was going to be the next great French director. He started his career with two visually arresting cult classics. After a mostly failed attempt at Hollywood franchise film making, he would rebound with his most critically successful, internationally beloved film. Yet, in the last decade, Jenuet's work has tapered off, with many of his recent films slipping into obscurity and failing to break through with English-speaking audiences. While it's easy to criticize his movies as overly quirky or self-involved, there's no doubt Jean-Pierre Jeunet presents visions of worlds that aren't quite like anybody else's.

1. Delicatessen 
Co-directed with Marc Caro

After making a few short films together, Jean-Pierre Jeunet and his partner in crime, Marc Caro, decided to try their luck with a feature film. Initially, they had planned to make an ambitious, surreal science fiction fable named “The City of Lost Children.” However, as first time filmmakers, they couldn't allocate the necessary budget for that story. Instead, the two cooked up a smaller but no less absurd story. Called “Delicatessen,” the film would win several awards on the festival circuit and develop a following all over the world.

The apartment complex is above a butcher shop. Due to some sort of global collapse, the shop never receives shipments of meat. And yet, from time to time, Clapet the butcher serves up chops to the tenants above. Louison, a former circus clown who has fallen on hard times, arrives at the apartment, hoping to move into a recently vacated room. He immediately develops a rapport with Julie, the shy girl upstairs who happens to be Clapet's daughter. She's reluctant to reveal the truth to Louison. That the meat in her father's shop is from the unlikely boarders, that the entire apartment complex willingly participates in cannibalism. And Louison is on the menu next.

The first thing you'll notice about “Delicatessen” is its setting. The first shot of the film shows a crumbling building, silhouetted against brown fog, in a city that is falling apart. Clearly, some sort of disaster has befallen the world. Food is scarce. Seeds and shoes are used as currency. Riots are spoken of in the city. Despite obviously being set in a near or post-apocalyptic world, “Delicatessen” doesn't clearly take place in the future. The characters wear clothing that recalls the 1950s. The televisions and record players we see are older models. There's an evident age to the cars and rooms, the beds and furniture. In presentation, “Delicatessen” is set in both the distant future and the near past, taking place in an absurdist netherworld.

Of course, the nonchalant acceptance of cannibalism is clearly the biggest sign that something bad has happened in this world. Jean-Claude Dreyfus plays the butcher as a blustering beast, massive in frame and influence. The villainous butcher is a monster of a man, exerting his fanatical control over the entire apartment complex. Aside from his willingness to murder, he bullies the families that rent his rooms. His clear control over the entire complex is brilliantly illustrated in one of the film's most memorable sequences. As the butcher fucks his mistress, their bed springs squeal. The noise spreads throughout the entire apartment. Every action in each room – painting a ceiling, knitting a sweater, playing a cello – falls into the same rhythm. And when the butcher has his noisy orgasm, everyone else in the house similarly looses their composure.

There are many reasons to like this movie but what I find most charming is the love story at its center. Dominique Pinon, in his first of many appearances in Jenut's features, plays Louison the clown. Marie-Laure Dougnac, also reappearing from Jeunet's short films, plays Julie. Pinon brings a child-like innocence to the part, apparent when he performs a magic trick with bubbles for the kids. She, meanwhile, is blind as a bat without her glasses. That last fact is hilariously shown in a sequence when she attempts to serve him tea without her glasses, resulting in some good-natured slapstick. Their whimsy compliments each other. This is most apparent when they perform an enchanting duet. She plays her cello. He plays a bent over saw. Pinon and Dougnac share a clear chemistry yet maintain the characters' innocence. It's darling how sweet Dougnac is, late in the film, when the two characters strip down to their underwear together.

Louison being a former clown presents many opportunities for Jeunet's trademark visual playfulness. One delightful moment has Lousion dancing with an artificial third long, an amusingly choreographed scene. He carries a knife he calls an Australian, a “Krull” style blade that flies through the air and returns to its owner. We learn, through dreams and flashbacks and posters, that the other half of Louison's act was a chimp named Livingstone. In one of the many brilliant ways Jeunet mixes the whimsical and the melancholy, we learn that Livingstone was torn apart by a hungry crowd, desperate for any sort of meat. Julie believes Livingstone to be human at first. Even after discovering that he was an ape, she doesn't sacrifice the sadness she feels over his passing.

“Delicatessen” isn't just about the butcher, his daughter, and the clown that catches. As in many films set in apartments, the other tenants emerge as memorable characters. A family lives in one room. The father is an inventor, whose gadget include a rat summoning whistle and a device that detects bullshit. His two sons like to snatch woman's underwear off their clothesline. The elderly grandmother has a habit of wandering off. They tie tin cans to her ankles so she's easy to find. In the basement lives a pair of toy makers, two men living together in an ambiguous relationship. They scrutinizes their creations, little boxes that make animal sounds, discarding most of the prototypes they create.

These are interesting sketches and I appreciate the peeks we get into their lives. Yet they are not my favorite tenants inside Clapet's building. That honor befalls to two characters. The first of which is an old man who lives in a water logged room, accompanied by a horde of frogs. He eats the snails that crawl around his room, tossing their empty shells into a massive pile. Even more amusing is Silvie Laguna as Aurore. A wife to an unimposing man, she's quite ill. She hears voices, whispered from the pipes, saying nasty things about her. In order to rid herself of the nagging voice, she sets up complex suicide rituals. Each time, the mechanism is more elaborate. Each time, it falls apart brilliantly. This speaks to the morbid but clownish humor running through “Delicatessen,” which Jeunet revels in with childish glee.

It's not just the film's costumes, sets, and visual design that is interesting. Even from his first film, Jenuet displays an inventive directorial style. The opening scene shows the previous boarder attempting to escape the butcher by disguising himself as a pile of trash, a brilliantly composed sequence cutting from inside the trash can to the men carrying the bin around. Later, Julet has a vivid nightmare. In frenzied close-ups, we see Louison threatened by his pet chimp. This leads to a scene of him strung up like a pig, shot in halting, stretching dutch angles. Jeunet is also found of sticking his camera in unexpected places. He peers into pipes, following it down into the water below, or looks from out of static-filled televisions. The film's impish sense of humor begins in its script and extends into its shooting.

You can call “Delicatessen” a science fiction film, due to its otherworldly setting. You can certainly call it a comedy, due to its puckish sense of humor. Even with the focus on eating people, you can't quite call it a horror movie. Yet the act of cannibalism is one rift with deeper meaning. The renters of the apartment complex often complain about how the rich always get the first slices of meat. The butcher's victims are frequently unemployed vagabonds. So there's definitely something here about how the rich eat the poor, literally and figuratively. “Delicatessen” doesn't quite commit to this metaphor because it's not that kind of movie. Any serious social commentary would undermine the absurdity Jeunet and Caro are going for.

Notice I said “serious” social commentary. The silly kind is still on the table. The butcher and the militant postman that sometimes visits rant about the Troglodytes, a group of militant vegetarians that live in the sewers. The group is built up to be dangerous rebels, serious about their cause. This intentionally contrasts with how the Trogs actually act. When we meet them later in the film, they're a bunch of buffoons. While climbing through the interior of the apartment, one Trog pauses to admire a woman's behind. Later, they snatch the same woman when they were suppose to grab Louison. Instead of admitting the obvious, the group stands around arguing about the specifics of the language. In the world of “Delicatessen,” it seems any attempts at political organizing quickly degrades into buffoonery.

Like a brilliant performed trapeze act, a finely tuned if deeply silly sense of balance characterizes most of “Delicatessen.” Until the final scene. As Louison flees from the murderous butcher, it sets a series of events in order that undoes Clapet's tyrannical control of the apartment. Water – a disrupting but cleansing element – sweeps through the building, causing the rooms to crumble apart. Frogs bounce down stairs, guns explode before being fired, and cleavers fly through the air. The villain's strict order is undone, Louison's clownish chaos taking over and freeing the entire building. From this emerges the film's most vital political message: That humor and hope are the greatest weapons against tyrants.

Upon coming to America, “Delicatessen” would immediately develop a reputation as a cult movie. It's combination of vivid visual style, morbid story, and absurd humor would make it a favorite among the specific crowd that enjoys those things. Rewatching the movie, it's surprising how fresh it still feels. From the beginning, Jean-Pierre Jeunet knew exactly what kind of movies he wanted to make, creating worlds that weren't exactly like anything else out there. He would build on “Delicatessen's” lovable style throughout most every feature he made next. [Grade: B+]