With verve galore, Amélie director Jean-Pierre Jeunet brings us a slapstick fantasy that would raise the eyebrows (but not the spirits) of dead artists like Charlie Chaplin, Jacques Tati, and Buster Keaton. Jeunet and co-writer Guillaume Laurant exaggerate their characters to the point of silliness with the purpose of satirizing the world of weapons manufacturers. That's sad subject matter; but what's even sadder is the way Micmacs falls short of its comedic goals.
The central target of a stream of mishaps is Bazil (Dany Boon, Bienvenue chez les Ch'tis), a genial man of modest ambition. First, it's a land mine that goes off during a disarming operation in the Moroccan desert which blows his father skyward. Then, one night, years later, while working at his job as a video store clerk, the adult Bazil's attention turns to the sound of gunshots outside. He stands in the doorway watching the incident go down. Motorcycles spin out; weapons go flying; a .45 hits the ground; and a bullet ricochets into Bazil's forehead. The doctor has a choice to make: Either remove the bullet and turn the patient into a vegetable, or leave the lead object where it is, allowing him to enjoy a normal life so long as the bullet doesn't move into the brain. The doc orders a nurse to flip a coin. Heads. Bazil lives, a changed man.
He joins up with a motley gang of miscreants who run a junk yard and are sympathetic to his plight. Call them the Micmacs. Together with this wacky and diversely skilled crew, Bazil decides to take elaborate and cartoonish revenge on the competing weapons manufacturers who built the bullet that nearly killed him and the landmine that took his father.
Despite the seriousness of the themes they represent, the weapons manufacturers themselves are rendered as feckless, free-style caricatures that turn the movie into a bucket of comic slop. Call it mishmosh. Of course, our gang's scamming competitive death merchants into savaging each other is a fun way to get your kicks on such parasites. But the message is blunted by the sheer loony tunes nature of what we are about to behold.
Much of the film rests on the shoulders of comic actor Dany Boon (a stage name he derived from the Daniel Boone TV series) as the Tati/Chaplin/Keaton character in the middle of all the hijinks, and he brings much in the way of charm and amiability. The fact that in 2008 he was the highest paid actor in European film history may be the effect of his soft naif appearance and drolly comedic instincts. It's probably fair to assume that he has so much appeal banked with French fans that he makes the gags work for them. A first time audience, though, not so much.
Micmacs is full of technically flawless and creative imagery, but Jeunet drowns us in an excess of set pieces designed for bizarre amusement, employing mostly physical humor and insane Rube Goldberg contrivances. If Jeunet harbors the desire for an American audience (as he certainly achieved in Amélie), he might try emulating something like Brad Bird's The Incredibles, which created an emotional bond to each and every one of his characters with special "characteristics." By comparison, this one's a paper train wreck.
Aka, MicMacs à tire l'arigot
The central target of a stream of mishaps is Bazil (Dany Boon, Bienvenue chez les Ch'tis), a genial man of modest ambition. First, it's a land mine that goes off during a disarming operation in the Moroccan desert which blows his father skyward. Then, one night, years later, while working at his job as a video store clerk, the adult Bazil's attention turns to the sound of gunshots outside. He stands in the doorway watching the incident go down. Motorcycles spin out; weapons go flying; a .45 hits the ground; and a bullet ricochets into Bazil's forehead. The doctor has a choice to make: Either remove the bullet and turn the patient into a vegetable, or leave the lead object where it is, allowing him to enjoy a normal life so long as the bullet doesn't move into the brain. The doc orders a nurse to flip a coin. Heads. Bazil lives, a changed man.
He joins up with a motley gang of miscreants who run a junk yard and are sympathetic to his plight. Call them the Micmacs. Together with this wacky and diversely skilled crew, Bazil decides to take elaborate and cartoonish revenge on the competing weapons manufacturers who built the bullet that nearly killed him and the landmine that took his father.
Despite the seriousness of the themes they represent, the weapons manufacturers themselves are rendered as feckless, free-style caricatures that turn the movie into a bucket of comic slop. Call it mishmosh. Of course, our gang's scamming competitive death merchants into savaging each other is a fun way to get your kicks on such parasites. But the message is blunted by the sheer loony tunes nature of what we are about to behold.
Much of the film rests on the shoulders of comic actor Dany Boon (a stage name he derived from the Daniel Boone TV series) as the Tati/Chaplin/Keaton character in the middle of all the hijinks, and he brings much in the way of charm and amiability. The fact that in 2008 he was the highest paid actor in European film history may be the effect of his soft naif appearance and drolly comedic instincts. It's probably fair to assume that he has so much appeal banked with French fans that he makes the gags work for them. A first time audience, though, not so much.
Micmacs is full of technically flawless and creative imagery, but Jeunet drowns us in an excess of set pieces designed for bizarre amusement, employing mostly physical humor and insane Rube Goldberg contrivances. If Jeunet harbors the desire for an American audience (as he certainly achieved in Amélie), he might try emulating something like Brad Bird's The Incredibles, which created an emotional bond to each and every one of his characters with special "characteristics." By comparison, this one's a paper train wreck.
Aka, MicMacs à tire l'arigot
