The Triplets of Belleville

From the moment I pressed play on the DVD remote, the whole family was transfixed by this wonderful movie. It was so good, that we immediately watched it again. So what was so good about it? Well, firstly Bruno has to be the best dog (either animated or live) in any movie. The subtle observation of its daily routines are among my favourite scenes. Second, the humour is refreshingly dark and constantly surprising (it's not too far removed from Gary Larson's The Far Side). The scene showing the expansion of Paris to convey the passing of time had us in hysterics. Thirdly, it's just so imaginative. Everything is exaggerated beyond belief. If you like your animation to have a touch of realism, then stay away. In Belleville, things are grotesquely exaggerated. I've noticed a few negative comments about this film, which raises the question of who is going to like it and who isn't. I guess the fairest comment I can make is to say that this probably isn't mainstream stuff. If your favourite movies are summer blockbusters, then maybe this isn't for you. If, on the other hand, you like discovering quiet gems from time to time, stumbling across something a little different on a cable channel, then this could be just what you're looking for.

What a wonderful gem of work this is, and I am glad that it was done RECENTLY.

In a time when Pixar is setting the standard for "animation", here comes a film that makes you remember why you liked animation in the first place. This is a wonderful technique film, a study of art film, an abstract film, a joy to watch. The story might be a bit complicated for most to keep up but the beauty of it is - it's complexity. The grandmother was wonderful as well as the dog and the cyclist -- but what blew me away was the overdrawn charatures of the characters.

And there will be no more "frogs" for me, ladies! :)

A deserved USA Oscar nomination. In a Pixar world, bring on more like these to keep the balance too!

While a lot of the comments here seem to see this as the antithesis of American Disney- or Pixar-style animation, its blood lines are not as far removed from those examples as you might think. Chomet explains in short documentary features on the DVD that the film was meant to look hand drawn, and though the character designs originated as loosely-rendered blue pencil sketches on Chomet's drawing pad, much if not all of what you see in the film itself is indeed computer animation. The look of the film, according to Chomet, is actually heavily influenced by Disney's "new" animation style of the 1960s that was unveiled in the film "101 Dalmatians."

At the same time, it can't be denied that this film is distinctly European in style, and likely to bore people who expect an animated film to be bright, colorful, loud, and not particularly subtle or complex. Its wealth of detail is staggering, and can't be taken in through one cursory viewing. The little quirks of characterization and character design are numerous, but all the easier to discern because it's cinema in the classical sense of being primarily a visual medium, and there's not a lot of yammering for the sake of plot exposition or as a shortcut to characterization. Those are meant to be gained through observation, and what a feast for the eyes it is. This is another example of a film at which simple people with simple tastes lob the tired old warhorse criticism "pretentious." There's nothing wrong or shameful in having simple tastes, bit I wish they wouldn't feel thus obligated to publicly pee all over any work of art more subtle than a Roger Rabbit cartoon.

I think special mention should be made of the soundtrack, which is a rich brew of sound layered on sound, but with a decidedly delicate touch. Note the sound effects in the climactic car chase through the streets of Belleville. Most filmmakers would be temped to goose up the excitement and chaos of the scene with loud, piercing sounds of crashing, screeching tires, gunshots, etc. While these noises are present, they are in fact applied very lightly and delicately, sounding almost like the collision of toy cars and the shooting of toy guns, which lends the scene a surreal, otherworldly quality that the more conventional choice of loud, overbearing sound effects wouldn't yield. It's been remarked here that the combination of minimalist dialog, strange characters, and baroquely complex settings are reminiscent of Jeunet, and I think that's the most apt comparison, particularly his earlier style as in "Delicatessen."

The first scene is of particular interest in that it is in a different style from the rest of the film, designed to look like old black and white animation from the 1930s. One of the conventions of animated shorts in that era was to include bizarre caricatures of celebrities. Now I recognized Django Reinhardt, Josephine Baker, and Fred Astair, but who was the orchestra conductor supposed to be? He has very distinctive features which lead me to believe he represents some specific real person, but nobody comes to mind. Maybe he's someone better known to a French audience? I'd be very interested to know.

Some people seem to think there is a strong anti-American bias to this film. Does it poke fun at North-Americans? Sure it does, but it also makes fun of the French (note the huge noses, receding chins, and tiny little mustaches, along with the Triplets' penchant for regarding whatever slimy thing they can yank out of the swamp as a succulent delicacy). Admittedly this French caricaturing is not quite as barbed as the swipes at American culture. But come on, we're big boys. We can take it! Just gnaw on a few freedom fries and suck it up already. Actually, this film sort of sums up the history of France's attitudes toward American culture over the last 70 years. They adored us in the 1930s, but the honeymoon has been over for a while.

One more detail. To an earlier commentator who found it hilarious that in the song "Belleville Rendezvous" the Triplets sing the phrase "ca-ca," they are in fact singing "can can" ("voodoo, can-can"). The characteristic French pronunciation "cahn-cahn" just makes it sound a lot like "ca-ca."

This stranger-than-usual animation is an ornate, intriguing piece of work, with a unique visual style somewhat resembling certain English cartoonists' (Ronald Searle's, for example) but very remote indeed from either Disney or South Park or Japanese anime. There are times as you watch, especially at first, before the repetition and the overkill of intricate detail begin to pall, when the originality and visual richness clearly approach the sublime. The combination of computer and traditional hand animation methods, carried out at such a level of complexity that the film required five years to complete, is an unquestionable triumph. But you may very well be put off when you realize that overall Sylvain Chomet's first full-length animated film has no discernible point or message; that its central figures are mournful, ugly, and unfriendly; that there is little plot, virtually no dialogue, and that the void left thereby is filled with a great deal of annoying noise and repulsive imagery. The twittering visual machinery of wiggling, yapping, howling dogs, of awkward, caricatured creatures of all sorts endlessly in motion, turns into a series of nightmarish repetitions that can easily become as off-putting as they are wearying.

I wanted to like this movie. Its originality and adeptness as a work of animation remain impressive. It gives new meaning to the very word `animation': every scene is a study of the nature and arts of motion. There are observations whose keenness is unique. As cultural commentary it certainly provides much material for debate. The vision of France a half century ago is quaint and intriguing. But the mournfulness, the sadomasochistic undertones, and the meanness build over time; and when the triplets dined on plates and pots full of still squirming frogs, my sympathies checked out. The undercurrents of nastiness both in the personalities of the principals and the depiction of American culture do not leave an endearing impression.

The plot is simple and can be seen as little more than a rough framework on which to hang the intricate doodlings, the recreation of a grotesque nostalgic vision of postwar France, and the endless experiments with the very nature of animation, which are perhaps ultimately the film's real point. An old French granny, Madame Souza, whose walk clatters from a big orthopedic shoe, lives in a rickety house somewhere in Fifties Paris or its environs. She has in her care a large dog, Bruno, and a large, lean, boy, Champion, her orphaned grandson, who dreams of racing in the Tour de France. She herself ruthlessly supervises his training, which is shown in meticulous detail and includes, at home, the use of a variety of Rube Goldberg contraptions to feed and condition him after he has returned from his exhausting day on the roads. Champion grows up with grotesquely hypertrophied leg muscles and tiny upper body, and competes as planned in the Tour de France. But during the race he's kidnapped by sinister box-shaped gangsters and taken to the city of Belleville, over in the new world. Madame de Souza and Bruno set out in pursuit, crossing the sea in a boat, complete with dramatic storm. Once in Belleville, a blatantly anti-American vision of New York perhaps including elements of Montreal (the inhabitants and even the Statue of Liberty are grossly fat), old granny makes the acquaintance of a trio of eccentric and fleshy former women vaudeville singers (whom we've seen do their scat-singing act on an ancient TV broadcast) and these `Triplettes de Belleville' help Madame recapture Champion from the kidnappers. One writer has suggested the plot is an allegory of how Hollywood steals the best European talents and sucks them dry. If so, the theft is foiled this time.

No movie has ever shown the curious way big cumbersome dogs can manage to get up on a bed with somebody already lying in it. This trick is shown several times. It remains one of the keenest pieces of observation I've ever seen in an animation. The intricacy of detail of Champion's training process is hard to get out of one's head; the depiction of a grueling, relentless exercise routine is unforgettable. Others will like moments like the great storm at sea, though the effects used there seemed to me out of sync with the more linear style of the rest. A momentary TV appearance of what is obviously Glenn Gould intricately nattering away at some Bach keyboard fugue, no doubt beamed to France from the Canadian Broadcasting System, provided one of many delicious little period details during the film's first half. There are also cameos squeezed in by Django Reinhardt, Josephine Baker, and Fred Astaire (who is eaten up by one of his tap shoes). Likewise the visions of period Tour de France training crews and roadside fans are priceless. It's difficult to do justice to such an intricate effort. The devil and the wonder are both in the details. Despite the lack of dialogue as a central element and its replacement by incidental noise (as well as occasional jaunty jazz), a feature that links The Triplets with the comic films of Jacques Tati, there really is a lot of quick French at times, and I have the feeling that in omitting subtitles, the filmmakers or distributors have robbed Anglophone viewers of some of the richest details; that there's French stuff here we can never hope to grasp. For the devotee, this is definitely one for repeated viewings. There's a lot to take in -- if you've got the stomach for it. Once may be enough for many, but anybody interested in animation needs that once. Not suitable for young children or anyone easily weirded out.

'The Triplets of Belleville' is a strange, largely wordless animated feature by French filmmaker Sylvain Chomet. It tells the story of a sad and lonely young boy whose sweet and doting grandmother buys him a bicycle in the hopes that it will bring a sense of purpose to his life. It does, for as the years pass, the lad grows to become a competitive cyclist, thanks in large part to the tender encouragement and ministrations of this adoring, and, one must say, adorable woman. While he's taking part in the Tour de France, some Mafia henchmen kidnap the boy so they can use him for a bizarre and deadly gambling scheme. The majority of the film recounts the attempts by his intrepid grandmother and his unflaggingly loyal dog to track the youngster down and rescue him. Aiding them in this endeavor are the Triplets of Belleville, a trio of aging nightclub singers with some bizarrely French eating habits whom they encounter on their way.

Because the film employs almost no dialogue or voice-over narration, it is left mainly to the visuals to convey the storyline. For this purpose, Chomet relies almost exclusively on facial expressions and body language to spell out the major plot points. The film's unique look arises from its gross distortion of shape, line and form, particularly in regards to the human figures. The thin characters are spindly and angular almost to grotesqueness, while those who are overweight run to a corpulence of awe-inspiring proportions. And the Mafia figures bring new meaning to the term 'broad-shouldered.' But it isn't just the humans. The thin, needle-like skyscrapers rise to impossible heights, while an ocean liner's hull is stretched vertically to such an extent that we expect the ship to capsize from its preposterously un-seaworthy design at any moment.

The film is filled with moments of great imagination, as when it visualizes the black-and-white dreams of an aging dog, or when it turns the tables and shows us three cartoon characters laughing it up while watching some 'live action' characters on TV indulging in inane slapstick madness.

Like all fine animated films, 'The Triplets of Belleville' creates its own unique world, filled with images and sights we've never quite seen before. By eliminating speech as a means of storytelling, the filmmaker heightens the surrealistic tone of what is being shown on screen.

'The Triplets of Bellville' isn't a great film, but its uniqueness of vision and form makes it one well worth watching.