The selection of a film for family viewing is a precise and delicate art, particularly with us all now confined to quarters in intergenerational lockdown. Should the film-picker misjudge the terrain on ‘scenes of a sexual nature’, the entire family will be condemned to sit, agonised, through the dreaded onset of rhythmic heavy breathing and beyond, until finally someone cracks and mumbles ‘this is a bit racy’ while reaching for the fast-forward button.
On the other hand, some of the full-throttle kids’ films seem designed to test adult sanity to its limit. I made the mistake once of watching Rugrats in Paris with a hangover, and when the maniacally squeaky voices of its animated characters reached a certain pitch, I could almost feel my wincing brain reverberating in my skull.
As a resolution to this problem, I present to you the work of Sylvain Chomet, a French animator of genius. I don’t throw ‘genius’ around lightly, but I have never seen any other animation that manages to be so pungently original and powerfully charming without ever becoming fey.
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