I first saw Le Fabuleux Destin d’Amélie Poulain on a cross-channel ferry on the way home from a holiday in France, and immediately fell in love with it. It’s become a real ‘go-to’ film for Rachel and I: if the world is a bit sh*t and we need to be reassured of its goodness and joy and the magic of human relationships, Amélie sets us back on the right path.
It’s recently taken on a very prominent role in our household, but for more positive reasons than the world is completely sh*t (more of that later). Having not watched it for a couple of years, I must have seen it five or six times in the last couple of months, and become even more familiar, but without losing any of its charm or personality for me. When I checked what I had said about it at my Facebook/Flixster review page, I discovered this (rather pithy) review…
The most perfect imperfect film… it’s quirky beyond belief, stylish and stylised, deliberately, knowingly odd.
And I love every moment of its fabuleux, wondrous, charming, touching run-time. The ensemble cast are fantastic. The red-green art direction is lovely. The visual effects are brilliant. Watch it, watch it again.
Marvel at the details, bask in its glorious humanity, enjoy its foibles and flaws. This is beautiful.
…and I was right. But because it’s become so ‘important’ to us this year, indulge me. Here are three reasons why I love Amélie, and why I Reckon you should seek it out and watch it if you have an ounce of humanity. To be honest, I could probably work out thirteen reasons why I love this film. Give yourself up to its magical realism and quirks, and feel better for it.
This will contain spoilers, to both the plot and other aspects of the film…
The Importance of Seemingly Insignificant Moments…
From the opening shot on Rue St.Vincent in Montmartre, Amélie is filled with details that other films would leave on the cutting-room floor, or more likely would simply get cut out during the writing process. These give the film and its characters great depth and real humanity, that we can relate to. that we can care about. The quirkiness of characters is brought to life explicitly with “he likes…she dislikes”, celebrating very personal pleasures. There are countless moments like the beggar who declines Amélie’s offering as he “doesn’t work on Sundays”… Character flashbacks are wonderfully drawn and often incredibly rapid, giving us barely a glimpse, but even that glimpse is enough. The montage of orgasms lasts just a few seconds, but is utterly hilarious, better than 90% of jokes in other (ahem) comedies. We are told Amélie likes to skim stones on the canal, which the film then reinforces occasionally as we notice her stop to pick up and pocket a stone off the street. These details are priceless to us identifying with her. The opening sequences, in which we are introduced to Amélie‘s childhood, are simply gorgeous, from taking photos of animal-clouds to her cherry earrings and eating 10 raspberries at once…
It’s about people, not plot…
All those rich, nuanced, vibrant character details would be left out of most films, because writers and studios are usually obsessed with plot, with action, with the progression of the protagonist towards their goal, and how they will overcome their antagonist and other obstacles. The basic linear plot of Amélie is almost ridiculously simple, and spans just a few days. She’s a quirky young woman, who seems unable to form a lasting relationship, until she meets a young man in a train station. Will she make that connection with him?
But Jean-Pierre Jeunet uses this storyline as the carrier to encompass a whole milieu of characters from Montmartre, and explores them constantly, with tangents galore and flights of fancy. We become immersed in the world of the Café des deux Moulins and its staff and regulars. There are layers of ‘stakes’ in the film that apply to the different characters at different moments. Many of these people are hardly the stuff of Hollywood rom-coms, as in fact many are at best quirky, if not downright outsiders or ‘marginal’ in terms of a Hollywood society.
The romantic hero pf the film, Nino Quincampoix, works two jobs, one in a sex shop, the other on a ghost train, and seems to have little motivation except his collection of discarded passport photos. Joseph is basically a bitter misogynist who records conversations in the café. M.Dufayel is a failed artist, Hipolito a failed writer. Amélie‘s father is a withdrawn widower who barely ventures beyond his garden. M.Collignon is a crass bully and Lucien has more than a hint of being a bit pervy.
M.Bretodeau is (by his own admission) a bit of a loser, estranged from his daughter and grandson. But when, through Amélie‘s intervention, he recovers the tin box from his childhood, we are swept up in his bittersweet memories, and the final shots of the film give him and us wonderful redemption, yet he gets less than 5 minutes’ screen time. This richness and affection for all the characters is a joy to experience, and something virtually unique to Amélie.
It’s fabuleux for a reason. This is a fairy tale, wonderfully told…
I Reckon Amélie is one of my favourite examples of ‘magic realism‘. The sound design, camera movements and colour palettes are distinctive, definite and deliberate, and Jeunet repeats things throughout the film. The camera swoops in on faces, the narrator plays a huge role as an omniscient presence. Household objects even come to life and talk to Amélie. Meanwhile, she’s not afraid of breaking the 4th wall with abandon, whether it’s a glance, a smile or actually talking to the audience.
The relentless use of red and green makes Amélie look like no other film; it’s obsessive. From her clothes to the lighting in almost every scene, from the suitcases that go past in a station, with barely seconds on screen, to her Father’s beloved gnome, everything is red and green. These details, like the characters’ humanity, reward multiple viewings: they’re a real treat. The score is fantastic and utterly French, filled with both jaunty tunes and bittersweet melancholy. The film is filled with discovery and adventure, from Amélie‘s childhood to the truth about the man in the red sneakers to the word-pictures she paints for the blind man.
I love love love this film. Just writing about it has made me happy, which is something the late, great critic Roger Ebert also acknowledged in his review, describing it as
…a delicious pastry of a movie…You see it, and later when you think about it, you smile…
It is so hard to make a nimble, charming comedy. So hard to get the tone right and find actors who embody charm instead of impersonating it. It takes so much confidence to dance on the tightrope of whimsy. “Amelie” takes those chances, and gets away with them.
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