Micmacs

Lee Bishop  is an award-winning artist and no-budget filmmaker from America – but, more importantly for us, she’s an occasional contributor to TFAD. These reflections on Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s Micmacs are her first work for us since we became The Spectator Arts Blog. – Scott Jordan Harris

I went to see the new Jean-Pierre Jeunet film Micmacs with members of my artists' salon hoping to see some of those amazing colours and emotional characters that I loved in his previous films.  But it didn't quite live up to my (pretty open) expectations.

We don't get many foreign films in the theatres where I live, and even fewer of a higher creative nature, so when I saw that Jeunet had a new film out and it was coming to the little art house theatre in town, I jumped at the chance to check it out.  I had also just started an artists' salon group, due to lack of stimulating discussion opportunities with other creative people around here, and I was looking for some interesting things to do with them aside from just coffee chats.  

I am not easily swayed into going to the theatre these days, as my tastes are definite, although also pretty eclectic – I will go see a Hollywood fantasy / action flick once in a while if there is some element that appeals to me in the story.  The point is it has to be something with a particular pull to me personally to tear me away from my Netflix.  So why would I specifically be interested in Micmacs over any other film that might seem just as indie, foreign, or apropos to someone else?  I'll give you the back story...

Back in 1991, when Delicatessen (directed by Jeunet and Marc Caro) came out, I had the good fortune to be working at a video store with a newsstand next door and, during our slow times, some of us geeks loved to read the movie 'zines, and I enjoyed a good horror mag-skimming monthly.  There was an article about this crazy new French film about cannibalism that the reviewer didn't sound quite clear on, other than it was great and a must-see.  What do you know? Delicatessen made it to my small town. The film sounded so different that I went to see it on the big screen – and it completely blew my mind.  It wasn't a horror film after all and the other day, after viewing Micmacs, someone who had never even seen Delicatessen had to remind me that it was about cannibalism. That aspect just didn't stick in my mind, even after re-watching the film again about a year ago.

What did stick in my mind about that film were the colors. And the music, the odd characters, and their stories.  And the claustrophobic, vertical feel of the old apartment building.  And the emotions – all different emotions, some silly and some frightening.

Years later, when The City of Lost Children came out, I again had the opportunity to see it on the big screen and did not hesitate.  An even richer visual feast!  I can still remember the blues, those amazing blues of the night city and the water.  It was like someone took liquid cobalt and poured it right onto the film.  It was so beautiful to look at and at the same time so terrifying to watch.  The sheer emotions combined with the freakish people and places really disturbed me.  The film was raw and powerful and blindingly intense – for someone like me, that is, who lives in dreams half the time anyway.

Of course Juenet is only half of the power team that made Delicatessen and The City of Lost Children, and Amelie, which he directed on his own, is nothing like those previous pieces.  But I loved Amelie, too.  I didn't know much about it when I rented it years after it came out, not realizing the director was my old friend. Amelie was still visually fantastic, crisp and colorful and clean, but it was more about a person, and it was set in a more realistic world: the inward self shown through close-ups, music, quiet conversations, and the quirky, adorable, behaviour of the lead, played by Audrey Tautou.  I loved that film for those qualities, and for the scenes I remember, like the photo booth, the meeting in the cafe, and the ending. Completely charming.

All of these films have been enormously influential on me as a new filmmaker struggling to move from experimental micro-cinema films to features.  Though at the time of seeing each of them, I had no idea I would ever be attempting to work in that medium.  So, yes, I was excited that Micmacs was out, and I watched the preview on the delightful website with an open mind, and prepared to see the film by not preparing. ‘Let's just wait and see what he's doing now’, I thought.

But I was still a bit let down.  I had prepared myself a little to deal with at least some disturbing scenes or a very moving level of emotion.  But they never came. Sure, the film was clever and funny and French, and I admit all the acting was superb, but I didn't care that much about the characters.  Everything seemed to stay on the surface.  Also, the way the spy-type action story took off so soon, and lasted so long detracted from character development.  I wanted the film to focus on the beauty and love and struggles of the people in the story.

As for the colors, I really did like the creative direction the visuals took, but it wasn't nearly as rich as Delicatessen, as powerful as The City of Lost Children, or as clean and easy on the eyes as Amelie.  It was more gritty, yet softer, modern and urban, and very much like what I enjoy in some of my own night photography when I can get that look – a bit of blur around the lights, oranges, greens and reds, and an almost 70s feel, partly from the ever-so-slight grain, and partly from the sets and costumes that were chosen for the film.  

Probably my favorite thing about the film was how carefully many of the shots were framed.  I love city shapes and angles – buildings, windows, arches, overpasses – and these were used deliberately and fully throughout.  When combined with the rough-hewn colors and points of light, it really worked, especially when I could keep my brain from comparing it to Jeunet's previous films.  And the single shot of a city block from above in the middle of a night scene was just gorgeous, although a bit gratuitous and out of place.  

I don't know if I'll watch Micmacs again, perhaps I will after some time has passed, but if I do, it will be for the charming, light fun, but mostly to bask in those slightly faded greens and oranges within the pseudo-retro industrial frame that Jeunet set so well.  But I won't need to worry about getting overly absorbed in the story or needing the Kleenex.

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