12 Amélie
Amélie
Dir. Jean-Pierre Jeunet, 2001
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Critics vs Audience
It’s not uncommon for a film to be more popular with audiences than with critics. Critics have expectations that develop and mature as a result of thinking and writing a lot about film, whereas audiences tend to be less concerned about the finer points of cinematic practice: they go to be entertained, and if they’re entertained, they deem the film to be a good one.
Amélie is an entertaining film, and also one that infuriated some critics, or at least saw them swimming against the current of audience enthusiasm for the film. Peter Bradshaw’s review reeks of sarcasm for the film’s nostalgia for a France of baguettes and accordion music, even if he’s not immune to the charms of the film’s star Audrey Tautou.
Bonnaud joins Bradshaw in criticizing the film’s Frenchness, “stuck somewhere in a Fifties time warp” as he puts it. But Bonnaud is also more explicit in his criticism of the film’s technique, “the labored compilation of effects” such as camera movement and other devices seen often enough in tv advertisements. There’s nothing new here in terms of filmmaking, and add to that a rather thin story, and you have a critic wondering what all the fuss is about and why the film became as popular as it did.
But Bonnaud’s critique of the film is further amplified by his inclusion of Kaganaski’s claim that the film isn’t merely nostalgic, but reactionary – an attempt, either implicit or explicit, to portrays a France of small, safe neighbourhoods that is immune to the real social pressures that have been animating the far right in the country for more than 20 years, namely the increase in migration and the loss of a “pure” France. For someone like Bonnaud, the cuteness of the film, with its endearing characters and quirky directorial style, is the very thing that makes it dangerous. Audiences respond enthusiastically as the director sweeps them along with a variety of techniques that simply leaves them charmed.
Not all critics dislike the film, which is why reading Hannah Strong’s piece about Amélie is instructive. She recognizes that the Paris seen in the film, and by extension the film itself, is a fantasy, “but it’s a beautiful one all the same; one that invites viewers to pause amid the hustle and bustle of our everyday lives to find moments of quiet magic.” I suspect that Strong’s reading of the film echoes the feelings of many who came away from the cinema charmed by Jeunet’s most famous film, and ups the ante by claiming that the film’s magical appeal is all the more appealing in the time of the COVID pandemic and its accompanying isolation.
The Role of Editing in Amélie
A number of elements contribute to produce the film’s “charm.” Audrey Tautou’s smile, haircut, and impossibly large and expressive eyes play a huge role, as do the camera techniques, a score at once nostalgic and romantic, and a Paris that is surprisingly bright and clean (and, as Kaganaski would scream, white).
A lot of these elements get a boost from the editing of the film. It’s a truism that good editing shouldn’t be noticeable, and I think that’s the case here as well. Even the jarring cuts that occur in the film don’t leave us feeling disoriented; they fit well with the film’s frenetic flow and energetic pacing.
When we look carefully at the editing, though, we realize that it plays a large role in shaping the audience’s response to the film. Many critics have, like Bradshaw, remarked how fresh and engaging Amélie herself is, and this is attributed to Tautou’s singular, childlike beauty. Jeunet certainly makes good use of her expressive face in a variety of close-ups and zooms. We would do well to remember, however, that we see so many close-ups of Amélie because there are so many reaction shots in the film, and these belong as much to the domain of editing as they do to cinematography.
One of the rules you’ll hear repeatedly at film school is to “show, not tell” the story. Let the characters show who they are through their actions; avoid only telling the audience who the character is. With Amélie, a very large part of how we know her is that the film is always giving us access to her reactions to the stories and actions of others. When you think about it, most of the story is really about how Amélie reacts to the world around her: the meanness of the grocer, the loneliness of her father, the mystery of photo booth album. Amélie isn’t the only character whose reaction shots are edited into the narrative – at one point, even her cat reacts with a raised eyebrow – but certainly hers have the most impact on the audience.
One more point to make here: although the film at the end celebrates the great love between Amélie and Nino – how can you not expect them to live happily ever after as they roll through the streets of Montmartre? – it’s worth noting that they hardly ever speak to each other throughout the whole film. Their love story is created less by words than by actions, actions that provoke reactions that are captured and highlighted through the editing process.
The Fabulous Thinness of Amélie
Towards the end of the film Hipolite the failed writer says that “failure teaches us that life is but a draft, a long rehearsal for a show that will never play.” This could be criticized as dime store existentialism – it sounds weighty and insightful, but does it really tell us much about life that we didn’t already know? It does get at the heart of the film, though, for what does the film try to do but promote a notion that could just as easily be summed up as carpe diem (= “seize the day”)?
Critiques of the film faulted it for its flimsiness, its lack of attention to social issues (the Kaganaski/Bonnaud complaint again) that are more consequential for the future of humanity than whether or not we find true love. But perhaps not every film needs to tell A SERIOUS STORY. Nor should we be too hasty to criticize the film’s lack of realism, as a lack of realism has been a hallmark of filmmaking since its earliest days. The original or full title of the film is Le fabuleux destin d’Amélie Poulain (= the fabulous destiny of Amélie Poulain). But the word fabuleux can also mean fantastic, in the sense of unrealistic, fantasy, and even though we usually think of fantastic/fabulous meaning “great,” they are etymologically related to fable, a type of storytelling that we know from the get go is not meant to be taken too literally.
And that gives us a reason for not taking this film too seriously, or rather not taking too seriously its lack of seriousness. It is a film that we can enjoy thanks to its extremely witty and stylized filmmaking.
