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.
Belleville Rendez-vous lost out to Finding Nemo in the Oscars. For my money, that was the wrong call
The film for which Chomet first became widely known is his debut feature, Belleville Rendez-Vous (2003) — a story of a hapless French cyclist, his indefatigable grandmother, and an ancient trio of former music-hall stars who come to their aid.
The plot and its destination — although pleasurable — are not as important as the intense degree of joy in getting there. From the outset, every detail — the songs, the toothy accordion-player, even the patterned floor tiles — exudes ‘a certain idea of France’, to borrow a phrase from General de Gaulle (who himself appears here on a crackling television, briefly but sonorously, to urge on the Tour de France).
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