The spirit of that French master of mime, of nonverbal, physical comedy, Jacques Tati, lives on in Sylvain Chomet’s wonderful The Illusionist. This eccentric animated tale of the friendship forged between a struggling, aging French magician and a young Scottish girl is based on an unproduced 1956 screenplay by Tati.
Chomet, responsible for The Triplets of Bellville (2003), has delivered a poignant adaptation that keeps its symbolism well concealed; the fact that Tati’s intentions were to illustrate some of his self-perceived failings as a parent will matter little to casual observers. The idiosyncrasies alone are what ensure this ultimately heart-breaking tale is so compelling.
Opening in Paris, 1959, we observe the struggles of the aging magician (Jean-Claude Donda) who, battling an annoying, less than willing white rabbit, performs his modest act to little noticeable effect. Travelling from one tiny rundown venue to the next he’s used to being virtually ignored but like a true professional, his routine honed through repetition, he simply does his thing and vanishes from sight.
Leaving France for a small Scottish island, he encounters a little more enthusiasm from the locals but that may be due more to their liberal imbibing of the local bitter. One audience member notices him however Alice (Eilidh Rankin), a young girl whose curiosity gets the better of her. Once his engagement is fulfilled she decides to sneak away with him, sneaking aboard his ferry for Edinburgh.
Though paltry in dispensing dialogue, Tati’s narrative is crammed with minute, juxtaposed details that provide subtle depths to this bittersweet tale of unlikely travelling companions. With hardly a word passing between them, Alice and the magician somehow understand one another; they see to share a harmonious bond that both defies logic and yet seems entirely natural in its way. There’s an obliqueness to their union that defies explanation but which might just as easily be attributed magical properties.
Another factor weighing heavily into the film’s success is Chomet’s own marvellous score; his melancholy main theme and some gorgeous variations add to The Illusionist’s already rich texture, whilst providing a unique, abstract musical dialogue of its own to aid the flow of images.
The Illusionist (2010) is a unique, rarely utilised form of storytelling. Though its more abstract characteristics will keep some at a distance, there is much to treasure – and no doubt much more to be revealed in repeat viewings. What is irrefutable is the impact of the ending which will surprise you with its powerful evocation of all things, good and bad, necessitating a voluntary conclusion. It may even leave you with a lump in the throat, Tati’s final statement one of confronting a painful truth.
I say: A wonderful film that superficially sounds like a thin premise fatefully overstretched, but will take you by surprise.
See it for:
The wordless interplay and colourful characters whose own Tati-like behaviour enrich the film.
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