Les triplettes de Belleville

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."

I found "The Triplets of Belleville" to be one of the most charming movies I've had the pleasure of seeing the last couple of years. This delightful movie follows the adventures of Madame Souza, her son, Champion, and their dog, Bruno.

Madame Souza recognizes that something is missing from Champion's life. His parents are, clearly, gone. All he has left from them is a picture of the pair of them on a bicycle. As she silently pieces together what Champion needs to be happy, she and he discover a new life as participants in the Tour de France - he as a competitor and her as his coach and trainer.

They live a life of quiet, simple joys until he is kidnapped, an event that leads to a trip to Belleville for all three. This fictional city will prove oddly familiar to most viewers. Here, Madame Souza is befriended by the titular characters - I will leave the "book report" style commenting here.

There are so many delights in this picture, but I am going to focus on my favorite character, Bruno the dog. I don't think I have ever seen a movie capture a real dog as well as this one does. We see him from a puppy, learn the event that leads him to hate trains, feel anxious for him when he paws at his bowl while the silly humans finish their own dinners, and fear for him when his canine instincts lead him to places of danger.

Throughout this all, Bruno is gloriously canine. He dreams of the things that are important to him, he sees the world as smells and images. He is awesome. Or, perhaps, she is awesome. Bruno is a male name, but many have suggested he is a she.

Anyhow, the other characters are great fun as well, but my heart belongs to this big fat dog. Even if I hadn't loved the rest of the movie (I did), I would recomend it for Bruno alone.

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.

This animated feature by Sylvain Chomet was seriously weird. The visuals were like no other movie I've seen and even now, weeks after I've seen it they still haunt my imagination. In structure the story is quite conventional – Madame Souza trains up her geeky grandson to be a top-line cyclist (a very French ambition) but while he is competing in the Tour de France he is abducted by criminals who remove him to `Belleville' on the other side of the Atlantic. M. Souza goes to find him and after many adventures…well, you know the rest. There's plenty of chasing about on Belleville's streets and freeways in very French looking vehicles that look like stretch limo versions of the immortal Citroen 2CV. Belleville itself is a curious amalgam of New York, Montreal and Paris, and seems to owe something to Fritz Lang's `Metropolis'.

The eponymous triplets are three former 30s singing stars now reduced to playing in cheap cafes, busking and eating frog's legs, of which Belleville seems to have an ample supply. They take M de Souza in and help her in her quest without any great benefit to themselves.

I did think it might help to appreciate this movie if you were French. There is virtually no dialogue (though plenty of singing) but there seem to be numerous references presumably satirical to various French national obsessions and preoccupations. What is the joke is not always clear to an outsider. Is there any significance in M Souza's originally being Portuguese? (She actually bears a close resemblance to the English cartoonist Giles's Grandma). Are top cyclist just nervy greyhounds with huge leg muscles? Do the French see themselves as svelte and Americans as all grossly obese? Are the French self-conscious about being typecast as frog-eaters? Are Citroen really planning a stretch limo version of the 2CV? I don't know, but then I don't need to.

Definitely different.

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!