Since the post-WWII wave of neo-realism, filmmakers have been exploring the beauty within the recesses of the urban landscape. The Italians had Rome's 'any space whatever'; the French New Wave caressed Paris; Woody penned his love letter to Manhattan, Spike wrote his to Brooklyn; Jean-Pierre did Montmartre; John Hughes did Chicago; and now with 'L'illsionniste' Sylvain Chomet has Edinburgh. The film is, indeed, bestowed with loving detail upon Scotland's capitol. Sadly, the narrative providing the means for discovering the city imparts a final impression of cold disillusionment that starkly contrasts with the city that I've come to know in the last three years.
Chomet tells the story of an aging slight-of-hand magician -- a cartoon of an already cartoonish M. Hulot -- who takes his outdated stage act from Paris to Scotland's Hebrides isles. His magic and kindness inspires a naïve young maiden to tag-along with him and the two find themselves in Edinburgh. The remainder of the film is a coming-of-age story for both characters: a slowly paced, melancholy journey of economic hardship and broken enchantments. The city crushes the magic and mystery of life, leaving the viewer with an acute sense of doomed mortality.
Of course, glimpses of brilliance can be found. The animation medium befits the Jacques Tati character as well as Edinburgh itself, and Chomet's restrained style teases out the occasional smile from the ordinary moments of life. Unfortunately what is missing is the very thing I love most about the city: its people. Edinburgh is a city of extraordinary people and heritage. It seems then, that though Chomet's heartfelt intention was to show off the city he calls home, he failed to recognise its most remarkable asset. It's the people that give life to Edinburgh and without this city of endless stone does indeed seem cold. Had Chomet focused more on the characters' interactions with the residents as opposed to themselves, I think the film would have better communicated a stirring sense of hope and quiet pride that would have left the viewer with a greater desire for and appreciation of the city of Edinburgh.
Chomet tells the story of an aging slight-of-hand magician -- a cartoon of an already cartoonish M. Hulot -- who takes his outdated stage act from Paris to Scotland's Hebrides isles. His magic and kindness inspires a naïve young maiden to tag-along with him and the two find themselves in Edinburgh. The remainder of the film is a coming-of-age story for both characters: a slowly paced, melancholy journey of economic hardship and broken enchantments. The city crushes the magic and mystery of life, leaving the viewer with an acute sense of doomed mortality.
Of course, glimpses of brilliance can be found. The animation medium befits the Jacques Tati character as well as Edinburgh itself, and Chomet's restrained style teases out the occasional smile from the ordinary moments of life. Unfortunately what is missing is the very thing I love most about the city: its people. Edinburgh is a city of extraordinary people and heritage. It seems then, that though Chomet's heartfelt intention was to show off the city he calls home, he failed to recognise its most remarkable asset. It's the people that give life to Edinburgh and without this city of endless stone does indeed seem cold. Had Chomet focused more on the characters' interactions with the residents as opposed to themselves, I think the film would have better communicated a stirring sense of hope and quiet pride that would have left the viewer with a greater desire for and appreciation of the city of Edinburgh.