A Big French Box of Crayons

Bazil’s got a bullet in his brain, literally. With a new lease on life and a band of oddballs along for the ride, he’s going to get back at the people responsible. Micmacs may be imported from France, but it certainly hits upon a not-so-foreign nerve.

If you’ve experienced the style of director Jean-Pierre Jeunet before, you know what to expect—a circus of visuals and sound held up by an offbeat and quirky story. Some may recognize his previous work from award-wining films such as Amélie and The City of Lost Children—or perhaps Alien: Resurrection, a cinematic circus of a much different form. Micmacs fits right in with Jeunet’s distinguishing reputation.

Losing a parent to a landmine as a child, Bazil grows up to be a film enthusiast, loyally manning his post as a video store clerk. One night, Bazil hears a commotion outside his video store and upon inspection he witnesses an action-packed shootout between a skilled motorcyclist and gunmen racing a hotrod down the street. For the second time, a weapon dramatically affects Bazil’s life as he catches a stray bullet in his head. He survives, however, though carrying a significant piece of lead in his brain.

Putting the man out of commission for a time, Bazil finds himself jobless. He turns to the streets, and in perhaps a most stereotypical move, becomes a street mime. I’m not making that up—when the going gets tough, the French guy becomes a mime—a position that introduces him to a variety of characters who will aid him in his new life’s mission: To get back at the weapons manufacturers whose products have significantly screwed him over time and time again.

If you think that description is a bit heavy, then get ready to settle in because that is merely the set up. What follows is a series of scenes akin to eccentric sketches that wittily forward Bazil’s plans of revenge.

Jeunet plays off his main character’s love of movies, giving the film a classic cinematic presentation similar to the nostalgic sense provided by the black-and-white movies of yore. Though viewers aren’t completely removed from a modern reality, the sets are highly detailed and truly create a world of their own.

The story is intrinsically comedic, yet with a sense of the highbrow. Even simple potty humor, a brand America has quite a handle on, is absent of juvenile delivery. And even the most serious, somber or dramatic moments are glazed over with a layer of hilarity. This can leave the audience confused with an initial impulse to “awe,” but end up guiltily snickering anyway.

The one downside Micmacs suffers from is a bit of overkill from the fashionable style Jeunet brings to his films. At points I found myself ready for the plot to unfold further, but ended up waiting through yet another surreal sequence.

However, don’t write the movie off too quickly. Micmacs is most certainly a fun film. It provides all the endearing qualities that made Amélie a success, and all the spectacle that made The City of Lost Children a pleasure to watch—this film is wonderful to view, with a number of picturesque frames worthy to be hung on the wall.

Micmacs also establishes its own mission to force its audience to consider certain moralities and issues—in this case, the various perspectives on the business of weapons and the arms trade—yet manages to do so in a way that doesn’t come off preachy or in-your-face.

Aside from deconstructing the movie, Micmacs is simply fun to watch with non-stop charm and kicks.