Rated PG for thematic elements and smoking
Cast: Jean-Claude Donda, Eilidh Rankin
Director: Sylvain Chomet
"The Illusionist" is a richly drawn, visually engaging animation from director Sylvain Chomet ("The Triplets of Belleville"). It's a gentle story that waltzes somewhere between enchantment and melancholy.
We open in Paris. The year is 1959. A lifelong performing magician prepares to take the stage. The crowd is already restless. Before the curtain goes up, the magician must tame his rather rebellious rabbit, who doesn't take too kindly to awaiting his emergence from a top hat. Eventually the lights come up and...
He's done this for nearly his whole life. We're not told this, but we can sense it. His posture, even when not performing, seems perpetually bent forward. As though he's in a constant state of bowing... an appreciation of anyone kind enough to spare a moment of attention. Yet an act of performance art that once held the interest of audiences worldwide has now given way to more "modern" performances. Most notably, rock 'n roll musicians. Not fully deterred, the magician continues to travel the countryside, seeking random employment where he can.
His travels eventually lead him to an isolated village in Scotland. There, he befriends a young girl whose interest is piqued upon his arrival. She is delighted by his act, though doesn't see it as performance art... still innocent enough to leave the possibility open that actual magic can exist. The eager young girl surreptitiously follows him aboard a ship toward his next destination. He is surprised, but doesn't shoo her away. (There's a nice moment when a ticket-taker asks for her pass. She looks around. Nervous. Then glances at the magician and points. He hesitates, but grins, nods, waves his hand and voila... a ticket appears in his hand. Her ticket.)
His reluctance to send her back seems little more than an appreciation for her innocence. The possibility of joy and delight is void in his life now, and he appears willing to afford her the belief that he can pull miracles out of thin air, even at the cost of his own financial situation. They can both receive joy from this friendship.
They end up on Edinburgh, take refuge in a second-rate hotel that seems a boardinghouse for lost and desperate artists. (A lonely ventriloquist, a heartbroken clown, and a trio of trapeze artists who double as canvas painters.) It's here where the magician must face the painful truth that enchantment will ultimately have to be husked from the ear of cold reality.
That must be painful for those artists who forever seek self-esteem solely from their craft. I've known people like this, and have always felt somewhat bad for them, though I know they wouldn't welcome the sentiment. (I don't like to think of myself an cynical, but the whole Peter-Pan-never-want-to-grow-up thing never resonated with me. I just can't bear the thought of clinging to an idea I knew those I loved would eventually grow out of.)
Working from a script by Jacques Tati, director Sylvain Chomet conveys the melancholic beauty of the story though marvelously textured animation. (The Edinburgh cityscape is especially alluring.) There is no dialogue here. Well, there's a few sporadic bits in french and Gaelic, but it's not used in the conventional sense. It's more like additional set pieces... we're given just enough to know what's going on. The strength of the film is how much is conveyed with visuals alone. There's an effortless narrative grace to animation that's not overdone with CGI.
The movie also incorporates various laughs. Some are better than others. I liked the scene where the magician, in order to make ends meet, takes a job in a department store display, pulling ladies' garments out of thin air. But there are awkward attempts at humor, too. At one point, the magician believes the girl has cooked his rabbit for dinner in a scene that seems forced and a bit out of place.
Despite a few awkward moments, I enjoyed the movie. It's enchanting, funny, and yes... sad. (The final shot in the film contains a revelation of surprising strength.) Despite the melancholic nature of the story, I left the theatre with an appreciation for what the movie reminded me of... that the wonder and joyous possibility afforded though art may be fleeting, but can live forever in the minds of those fortunate enough to think back to when magic was the focus of their universe.
* * * out of * * * * stars
We open in Paris. The year is 1959. A lifelong performing magician prepares to take the stage. The crowd is already restless. Before the curtain goes up, the magician must tame his rather rebellious rabbit, who doesn't take too kindly to awaiting his emergence from a top hat. Eventually the lights come up and...
He's done this for nearly his whole life. We're not told this, but we can sense it. His posture, even when not performing, seems perpetually bent forward. As though he's in a constant state of bowing... an appreciation of anyone kind enough to spare a moment of attention. Yet an act of performance art that once held the interest of audiences worldwide has now given way to more "modern" performances. Most notably, rock 'n roll musicians. Not fully deterred, the magician continues to travel the countryside, seeking random employment where he can.
His travels eventually lead him to an isolated village in Scotland. There, he befriends a young girl whose interest is piqued upon his arrival. She is delighted by his act, though doesn't see it as performance art... still innocent enough to leave the possibility open that actual magic can exist. The eager young girl surreptitiously follows him aboard a ship toward his next destination. He is surprised, but doesn't shoo her away. (There's a nice moment when a ticket-taker asks for her pass. She looks around. Nervous. Then glances at the magician and points. He hesitates, but grins, nods, waves his hand and voila... a ticket appears in his hand. Her ticket.)
His reluctance to send her back seems little more than an appreciation for her innocence. The possibility of joy and delight is void in his life now, and he appears willing to afford her the belief that he can pull miracles out of thin air, even at the cost of his own financial situation. They can both receive joy from this friendship.
They end up on Edinburgh, take refuge in a second-rate hotel that seems a boardinghouse for lost and desperate artists. (A lonely ventriloquist, a heartbroken clown, and a trio of trapeze artists who double as canvas painters.) It's here where the magician must face the painful truth that enchantment will ultimately have to be husked from the ear of cold reality.
That must be painful for those artists who forever seek self-esteem solely from their craft. I've known people like this, and have always felt somewhat bad for them, though I know they wouldn't welcome the sentiment. (I don't like to think of myself an cynical, but the whole Peter-Pan-never-want-to-grow-up thing never resonated with me. I just can't bear the thought of clinging to an idea I knew those I loved would eventually grow out of.)
Working from a script by Jacques Tati, director Sylvain Chomet conveys the melancholic beauty of the story though marvelously textured animation. (The Edinburgh cityscape is especially alluring.) There is no dialogue here. Well, there's a few sporadic bits in french and Gaelic, but it's not used in the conventional sense. It's more like additional set pieces... we're given just enough to know what's going on. The strength of the film is how much is conveyed with visuals alone. There's an effortless narrative grace to animation that's not overdone with CGI.
The movie also incorporates various laughs. Some are better than others. I liked the scene where the magician, in order to make ends meet, takes a job in a department store display, pulling ladies' garments out of thin air. But there are awkward attempts at humor, too. At one point, the magician believes the girl has cooked his rabbit for dinner in a scene that seems forced and a bit out of place.
Despite a few awkward moments, I enjoyed the movie. It's enchanting, funny, and yes... sad. (The final shot in the film contains a revelation of surprising strength.) Despite the melancholic nature of the story, I left the theatre with an appreciation for what the movie reminded me of... that the wonder and joyous possibility afforded though art may be fleeting, but can live forever in the minds of those fortunate enough to think back to when magic was the focus of their universe.
* * * out of * * * * stars
