Release Date: November 2, 2001
Starring: Audrey Tautou, Mathieu Kassovitz, Rufus, Michel Robin, Yolande Moreau
Directed by: Jean-Pierre Jeunet
Written by: Jean-Pierre Jeunet, Guillame Laurant
Distributed by: Miramax Zoë (Miramax Films)
MPAA Rating: R (sexual content)
The most surprising thing about Amelie is not its frenetic visual flair or its defiance of any one particular genre, but the fact that its director, Frenchman Jean-Pierre Jeunet, also made the 1997 sci-fi dud Alien: Resurrection. This is his first film since then and only his fourth in the last ten years, which means on Hollywood's speedometer he works at something of a snail's pace (although mostly because his limited entries aren't the ones of bright multiplex marquees). But Jeunet isn't a Hollywood director and, as is clearly evident in Amelie, success has nothing to do with how often you get behind the camera.
Jeunet's success comes with a film that is fairly vague in terms of self-identity. When Amelie is released on video and the poor blokes at Blockbuster are forced to find a place for it on their shelves, they'll probably put it with the comedies. Which makes sense: It's a lighthearted movie featuring an amiable protagonist that will have audiences feeling good when its two hours are up. But even though the basic story involves a reclusive Parisian girl seeking her enigmatic soulmate -- the basic girl spies boy, girl falls in love with boy, girl pursues boy to happy ending checklist -- it isn't the bubble-gum sweet romantic comedy that Hollywood has become notorious for serving up.
Instead, the film is less about the romance than it is about the sensational experience of that romance. Jeunet's film is one that assaults the visual and aural senses to a level that most mainstream domestic films can't touch, and like most so-called "different" films, it's an unsettling experience at first. Popular cinema in America has become an altogether too cozy genre.
Which isn't to say that Amelie doesn't have its heartwarming moments -- its entire premise is setup within a Mother Teresa-like fairy tale atmosphere. Amelie (Audrey Tatou), alone in her Montmarte flat one evening, discovers a small tin box hidden in her bathroom filled with the childhood keepsakes of young boy. She hunts down the box's owner, and in secret, returns the box to him, watching with glee as memories of his childhood come rushing back and he decides to reconcile himself with his own estranged son. And so Amelie begins her impromptu program of good works, a little like the characters in Pay It Forward -- until one of her good works leads her to meet Nino Quincampoix (Mathieu Kassovitz). Amelie immediately falls in love with him, but, shy as she is, cannot bring herself to initiate the relationship she so clearly desires.
Like most romantic comedies, the leading man and woman are apart for most of the film, so the movie's question mark is what happens in between the opening credits and the climactic amalgamation between the two characters. Rather than filling that void with sweet nothings, though, director Jeunet (who also co-wrote the script with Guillame Laurant, his conspirator on 1995's The City of Lost Children) delivers a play-by-play of everyday life in Montmarte -- one that becomes so important that the story of Amelie and Nino is almost forgotten.
The effect is that the film's romantic elements seem less extravagant and not nearly as artificial as their Hollywood counterparts. In a typical domestic romantic comedy, characters are placed in beautiful settings and given perfect dialogue to recite -- all of which tickles the typical American's fancy for amorous drama but in reality is simply a grand escapist concoction. The argument that Americans enjoy their cinema for its escapist tendencies is another argument altogether, but audiences everywhere should appreciate Amelie's wonderfully downplayed nature.
On the other hand, there's absolutely nothing subtle about Jeunet's delivery. His style is quintessentially European, filled with quick cuts, artificially accelerated tracking shots, and irregular camera angles -- he takes the base of conventional, within-the-rules moviemaking and builds on it with a style that is very much the essence of directors from the other side of the pond. This may be enough to turn off more than a few American viewers, who in recent years have become accustomed to the more Hollywoodized foreign language products like Life Is Beautiful and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.
Still, Jean-Pierre Jeunet's distinctive technique is what provides the movie its identity. The film's story may not fit snugly into one of the traditional categories of film, and the plethora of supporting characters within are all essentially stock types (which might also be said for Amelie and Nino, except for the performances of Tatou and Kassovitz). But Jeunet's style makes the film different -- a very helpful quality for an import like Amelie in a time when domestic products are looking more and more alike.
all contents © 2001 Craig Roush