It's tough to introduce Jean-Pierre Jeunet and his directing partner Marc Caro. The pair have made several films together, getting their start in feature length filmmaking with the post-apocalyptic dark comedy Delicatessen. They also worked together on Alien: Resurrection, and Jeunet would go on to direct Amelie as a solo venture. These films are visually surreal, pointedly odd, immaculately designed, and have the atmosphere and feeling of fairy tales. No film these men made, however, apart or together, can be compared to The City of Lost Children, a gorgeously realized, lightly disturbing, wide lens laden, and childishly imaginative film.
The film follows three sets of characters as they live their lives in a surreal, unnamed city. One, a strongman, searches for his kidnapped brother with Miette, an adorable girl who must contend with "the octopus" a pair of cruel and greedy sisters. Simultaneously, on an island off the coast, the scientist Krank kidnaps children so that he may dream again, and live forever. The stories cleverly intersect in a tale of trust, exploitation, familial relationships, and fleas.
The film is a Jeunet/Caro production through and through, punctuated with extreme wide angles, gnarly set design, idiosyncratic plotting, and a living world. The film takes place in a surreal space and effectively feels like a dream. There are touches of the absolutely absurd, especially in the character design and presentation.
"The Octopus" is a set of conjoined twins who move together fluidly, Krank is a pointed, eerily veiny and ill-tempered ghoul, played effectively by Daniel Emilfork, and there's even a set of clumsy but good-natured clones, given life by Dominque Pinon, a Jeunet/Carol regular. Every visual element could just as easily pop into your dreams as into your nightmares.
Few films with such striking and uniquely singular visuals can smoothly layer an equally engaging story to match. Jeunet and Caro don't quite pull it off, but they're damn close, and certainly more focused on their character's inner being than their visual contemporaries, like Terry Gilliam or Tim Burton. It helps that The City of Lost Children is really three stories in one; this allows for cutting between threads and keeps tension high between all three. Just when one thread runs its course for the moment, another can be picked up where it was left off. Despite the structure and excess of story here, the premise is still rather thin, and the film does drag before the climax, showing its hand early on and meandering into its final act.
Though story may be lacking at points, emotion rarely is, thanks to the capable performance of Ron Perlman and the superb performance of child actress Judith Vittet. One and Miette are bound together for much of the film, and develop a touching, soulful chemistry.
Vittet in particular shows a classical vulnerability, a tragic understanding that the world around her is bigger and harsher than she can handle alone. Miette is intelligent enough to push against the cruelty of The City, befriending One for utility at first, but growing closer to him as the danger moves in around them. The emotional core of the movie revolves around Vitett to great effect.
As impressive as the direction and performances are, the star of the film is the production/set design. There are plenty of quizzical and surreal pieces to marvel at, like a human brain submerged in a tank and periodically given Aspirin, steampunk helmets that enable their users to share dreams, a hopelessly claustrophobic shipyard, and two submarines crammed with scientific materials.
The city feels alive and buzzing, its citizens go about their dreary days in grounded detachment. A filmic world as bizarre and imaginative as this could easily feel nonsensical and "physics-less" but it doesn't. It feels grounded, it feels plausible. This is a refreshing contrast to current times, when hardly a soul appears beyond the frame of any given shot.
The City of Lost Children is a unique film, like everything made by the Jeunet/Caro tandem. It's very much in the shaggy, lumbering spirit of Terry Gilliam, but eschews his stuffy, British sensibilities and satire for a more dream-like quality. If Gilliam were French, this is the type of movie he'd be making. As for their greater oeuvre, nothing the filmmakers have done since has felt this dark and foreboding. As fantastical as the world is, it's a harsh world, an unkind and mostly uncaring world. Not even Alien: Resurrection had nihilism baked into its DNA this thoroughly, and The City of Lost Children is better for it.
The film follows three sets of characters as they live their lives in a surreal, unnamed city. One, a strongman, searches for his kidnapped brother with Miette, an adorable girl who must contend with "the octopus" a pair of cruel and greedy sisters. Simultaneously, on an island off the coast, the scientist Krank kidnaps children so that he may dream again, and live forever. The stories cleverly intersect in a tale of trust, exploitation, familial relationships, and fleas.
The film is a Jeunet/Caro production through and through, punctuated with extreme wide angles, gnarly set design, idiosyncratic plotting, and a living world. The film takes place in a surreal space and effectively feels like a dream. There are touches of the absolutely absurd, especially in the character design and presentation.
"The Octopus" is a set of conjoined twins who move together fluidly, Krank is a pointed, eerily veiny and ill-tempered ghoul, played effectively by Daniel Emilfork, and there's even a set of clumsy but good-natured clones, given life by Dominque Pinon, a Jeunet/Carol regular. Every visual element could just as easily pop into your dreams as into your nightmares.
Few films with such striking and uniquely singular visuals can smoothly layer an equally engaging story to match. Jeunet and Caro don't quite pull it off, but they're damn close, and certainly more focused on their character's inner being than their visual contemporaries, like Terry Gilliam or Tim Burton. It helps that The City of Lost Children is really three stories in one; this allows for cutting between threads and keeps tension high between all three. Just when one thread runs its course for the moment, another can be picked up where it was left off. Despite the structure and excess of story here, the premise is still rather thin, and the film does drag before the climax, showing its hand early on and meandering into its final act.
Though story may be lacking at points, emotion rarely is, thanks to the capable performance of Ron Perlman and the superb performance of child actress Judith Vittet. One and Miette are bound together for much of the film, and develop a touching, soulful chemistry.
Vittet in particular shows a classical vulnerability, a tragic understanding that the world around her is bigger and harsher than she can handle alone. Miette is intelligent enough to push against the cruelty of The City, befriending One for utility at first, but growing closer to him as the danger moves in around them. The emotional core of the movie revolves around Vitett to great effect.
As impressive as the direction and performances are, the star of the film is the production/set design. There are plenty of quizzical and surreal pieces to marvel at, like a human brain submerged in a tank and periodically given Aspirin, steampunk helmets that enable their users to share dreams, a hopelessly claustrophobic shipyard, and two submarines crammed with scientific materials.
The city feels alive and buzzing, its citizens go about their dreary days in grounded detachment. A filmic world as bizarre and imaginative as this could easily feel nonsensical and "physics-less" but it doesn't. It feels grounded, it feels plausible. This is a refreshing contrast to current times, when hardly a soul appears beyond the frame of any given shot.
The City of Lost Children is a unique film, like everything made by the Jeunet/Caro tandem. It's very much in the shaggy, lumbering spirit of Terry Gilliam, but eschews his stuffy, British sensibilities and satire for a more dream-like quality. If Gilliam were French, this is the type of movie he'd be making. As for their greater oeuvre, nothing the filmmakers have done since has felt this dark and foreboding. As fantastical as the world is, it's a harsh world, an unkind and mostly uncaring world. Not even Alien: Resurrection had nihilism baked into its DNA this thoroughly, and The City of Lost Children is better for it.