Cinema Review - The Illusionist
Friday 20th August until Thursday 2nd September 2010 @ Watershed, Bristol
Do you remember the days before Toy Story style computer animation became the norm? When cartoons featured bouncy quiffs, white smiles with no teeth and slap stick ‘boing’s and ‘blub, blub’s coming from every enormous cliff/tree/bath tub? Childhood associations and a unique shabby charm make these animation reels appear more innocent and refreshing than any computerised film. Which is why when a modern day cartoon comes out at the flicks, there is a packed and varied audience, eager to see the beauty of old school style on the big screen.

Sylvain Chomet’s, The Illusionist is one such film. A beautiful, poignant and atmospheric creation, The Illusionist, set in the 50s, centres on an ageing French magician and his lonely ramble from Paris to Scotland with only a feisty rabbit as his companion. The magician protagonist is endearing, solemn and kindly, reminiscent of a perfect Grandpa, but regretfully without the doting grandchildren.
Whilst at a show, surrounded by under enthused indulgent English, our magician is offered a show on the Scottish island of Iona, where he meets a local girl, whom he travels with to Edinburgh. Chomet, who bought us Belleville Rendezvous, illustrates through their relationship, the wonders and perils of magic and the human condition of loneliness. All without a single word uttered throughout; only the stark sounds of reality echo, from the clock’s ticks to the drunk’s grunts. That, and a sweeping, modest piano theme tune that truly instils the sweetness and melancholy of the film.
Although its central topic may be sad, The Illusionist is also very humorous, using both subtle and slapstick humour. It is also visually absolutely stunning. The colours of Scotland’s countryside are so vibrant, and the swooping shots of Edinburgh, portray its architectural magnificence. A spirit is captured in this film, it’s a combination of all that we miss, all that we fear and all that we love.
www.watershed.co.uk
Helen Martin


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