02/16/2011
Review by David Anthony
The Illusionist (L’Illusionniste) is a 2010 French animated feature directed by Sylvain Chomet. It is a work of wonder. Chomet, remembered for The Triplets of Belleville (2003), adapted a script by famed French cineaste Jacques Tati between 1956 and 1959 but never produced. Tati (who died in 1982), is known for classic comedies like Mon Oncle (“My Uncle”) [1958] and Playtime [1967], part of a series revolving around the eccentric Chaplinesque “Monsieur Hulot.” In The Illusionist Tati crafted a tale of poignance and deep self-reflection. This saga of an aging magician still plying his trade when past his prime and public tastes were shifting toward rock n roll may have been far too serious and autobiographical for the time in which it was created. This was clearly the contention of Chomet, who finally brought The Illusionist to life.Tati’s daughter, Sophie Tatischeff, made the script available to Chomet. She felt that as The Illusionist was so evidently a Tati product, although originally intended for a live action film pairing her with her father, the long unproduced screenplay would work best as animation rather than as a vehicle for any other actor portraying Tati. As the tender tale unfolds, it explores the evolving relationship of the magician and the youthful Alice, drawn to him firmly persuaded by his powers of prestidigitation.
From start to finish, Chomet’s homage to Tati is attentive to detail and an excursion into a more innocent age. Much of the action takes place in late fifties Scotland; the evocation of each locale is done with undisguised affection for the place and people. The Illusionist’s brilliant recreation of the sad end of an era of stage entertainers that reached back to vaudeville and before and the advent of a quite singular approach to “live” performance captivates viewers both by its broad strokes and subtle nuances.
“The Illusionist,” Monsieur Tatischeff (Tati’s full name), is a barnstormer, journeying from Paris to London to Scotland in search of increasingly scant work opportunities. Alice, a maid laboring in a guest house Tatischeff frequents while working becomes entranced with him as someone seemingly able to make magic real. Thereupon, she follows him as a personal caretaker, in spite of language differences; he rewards her with gifts Alice wants to consider conjured by magic, not by Tatischeff’s tireless toil.
Tati intended The Illusionist as a love letter to his daughter. Chomet’s animated adaptation is true to this aim. The unspoken bond between Alice and Tatischeff while clear to us, is also awkward for the Illusionist to express beyond gifting. In the end, this unfortunate silence works against both of them, driving them apart. At the same time, this moving Tati tribute captures all the power of his presence, and every ounce of ardor in his art. See The Illusionist and use the opportunity as a stimulus to review his contributions to cinema. We are all so much the richer for having had a Jacques Tati. Thanks to the now late Sophie Tatischeff for sharing this posthumous offering with Sylvain Chomet and us. It is a fitting legacy for the Tatischeff family.
For the KUSP Film Gang this is David Anthony.