The Illusionist

It's always a delight to watch a lovingly crafted hand-drawn animation. Miyazaki is obviously the main provider of such cinematic comfort but Sylvain Chomet is no slouch. After the glorious mayhem of Belleville Rendezvous, The Illusionist is an altogether more bittersweet experience. There are still plenty of laugh-out-loud moments (many courtesy of a wonderfully belligerent rabbit) and some terrific sight gags (the screen is so packed with detail it's difficult to know where to look) but the narrative itself is a poignant affair. The magician is a figure left behind by the new age of pop culture. Audiences for the traditional music hall acts dwindle while pop groups attract hordes of screaming fans. While the magician struggles to find work - battling with equipment at a garage or humiliatingly advertising goods in Jenners' window - his fellow guest house residents suffer an even worse decline. The clown is suicidal and the ventriloquist pawns his dummy (unsaleable, last seen going for "free") before descending into alcoholism. The young maid who naively believes in magic and who follows the magician to Edinburgh unwittingly pushes him towards poverty before finding romance with a young neighbour - after being transformed from ugly duckling to elegant swan via Tatischeff's kindness. The great glory of the film though is the animation itself. 1950s Edinburgh is beguilingly brought to life and the cityscape at night is a true thing of beauty. The line isn't as clinical as some digital animation can be and the rough edges make it somehow more engaging. And over it all hangs the spirit (and figure) of the mighty Jacques Tati. The film is based on his original script - with the expected lack of dialogue; the magician has a very Tati-like silhouette; and there's even a snippet of the fabulous Mon Oncle (source of some of the best sight gags in cinema). Not your usual animated film then but one not to be missed.