An animated look at a filmmaker's life

      To appreciate the animated biopic, A Magnificent Life, a bit of background helps.

    The name Marcel Pagnol (1895-1974) may not have the same kind of resonance with American audiences as French directors such as Francois Truffaut and Jean-Luc Godard. Even when it comes to movies of the 1930s, cineastes are probably more familiar with the work of Jean Renoir and Rene Clair, both of whom were Pagnol's contemporaries. 

   I'm being sketchy, of course, but I begin this way because Pagnol may be better known to French audiences than to American viewers. I'm not even sure Pagnol receives main-course treatment in American film schools.

    If anything, American audiences are familiar with Jean de Florette and Manon of the Springs, two 1986 movies directed by Claude Berrie and adapted from a pair of Pagnol's novels.

     Director Sylvain Chomet (The Triplets of Bellville) has taken on the challenge of bringing Pagnol's life to light with A Magnificent Life, a  Pagnol biography that's animated with detail, style, and affection. Chomet creates an encompassing world for a story about a multi-talented artist who wrote novels, plays, and directed films for which he also wrote the screenplays.

   Chomet tells the story with flashbacks, beginning in 1974. Presumably finished with creating, Pagnol is asked to write articles for Elle magazine. Writing proves difficult, partly because Pagnol’s memory has begun to fade. Enter a young Marcel, a character who serves to trigger memories of the author’s life and give the movie a whimsical touch. Pagnol chats with his younger self.

   An early episode recounts the death of Pagnol's mother. Fifteen at the time of his mother's death, Pagnol already had begun writing poetry. Mom had been his primary audience; her loss proved devastating. 

   The story then finds Pagnol, as a young married man, teaching Latin in Marseille. When he was transferred to Paris, a move he celebrated, his wife objected, but Pagnol's life as a writer began in earnest.

    Chomet goes through the major events in Pagnol's  life: his Paris successes, his return to Marseille, and his work with French actor Raimu, depicted here in amusingly boisterous fashion.

    We also learn about Pagnol's loves and his commitment to putting the Marseille accent into a trilogy of films (Marius, Fanny, and Cesar) released during the 1930s. Perhaps foreshadowing what we think of as "series" storytelling, the films followed the same characters for years. 

    Like all lives, Pagnol's had rough spots. In 1954, he lost his two-and-half-year-old daughter, Estelle. He took more than 10 years before making another film. 

     I saw a dubbed English-language version of A Magnificent Life, which eventually lost steam, as it drew from Confidences, a collection of Pagnol's essays. 

   Chomet's animation creates an absorbing world that brings its own rewards, but the movie does as much telling as showing, and in the end, makes a better showcase for Chomet's talent than for Pagnol's significance as an artist. 

There's real movie magic here

The Illusionist may be animated, but its sweet emotions are tender and real.

Captivating from beginning to end, Sylvain Chomet's The Illusionist is that rare bit of adult-oriented animation that qualifies as both entertainment and art.

Based on a never-filmed script by the French comic Jacques Tati, the story serves as a touching look at the connection between two lonely souls. The Illusionist makes sense whether you know Tati's work or not, although I suspect the bulk of its audience will be well versed in such Tati classics as Mr. Hulot's Holiday (1953) and Playtime (1967). Tati, born Jacques Tatischeff, died in 1982.

Beautifully drawn by Chomet and his team, The Illusionist tells the story of an aging magician who develops a relationship with a girl who's on the cusp of womanhood. Chomet infuses his movie with little of the manic energy that drove his Oscar-nominated Triplets of Belleville (2003). The Illusionist displays the kind of gentle restraint the story requires, and, like its predecessor, it, too, has been nominated for an Oscar in the best- animated-feature category.

The Illusionist begins by charting the magician's downward spiral. He goes from nearly deserted vaudeville houses to a pub in a small Scottish village. There, he finds what every performer wants, an audience member who's totally enchanted by his work. The sweetly naive Alice watches the magician in wonder, and believes he's really capable of performing magic.

When the magician leaves the village for Edinburgh, Alice tags along. Magician and girl occupy a shabby hotel suite in Edinburgh (he sleeps on the sofa), and we gradually watch as the magician becomes desperate enough to try his hand at ordinary work. Meanwhile, the girl begins to blossom into womanhood.

I'm not sure of the last time I used the word "lovely" in a review, but The Illusionist qualifies. Employing a minimum of speech, Chomet takes a tender, sad and lingering look at the end of a magician's career and the birth of a new phase in the girl's life. Set during the 1950s, the movie takes place at the tail end of the kind of live entertainment that since has vanished or morphed into Las Vegas spectacle.

The magician is a Tati-like figure, who arrives on screen complete with inspired physical bits that shouldn't work in animated form, but do. I've read that Tati's grandson, Richard Tatischeff Schiel McDonald, objects to the movie. (You can read the letter he wrote to critic Roger Ebert and decide what you want to make of it.) Tati's daughter Sophie, who since has passed away, gave the script for The Illusionist to Chomet.

Family issues aside, The Illusionist can't and shouldn't be dismissed, and perhaps it will draw a new generation to Tati's work. With an obvious appreciation for the real-life actor who inspired this animated figure, the magician has been drawn as a tall man, a loner who's not entirely at home in the world. He seems to have suffered quietly for his art.

The Illusionist might have been unbearably sad had the magician not taken steps to help the girl realize her womanhood. He buys her clothes that ease her transition to adulthood. He watches with a mixture of admiration and anxiety as this teen-ager begins to take on care-taking duties, cooking him dinner, for example. Surely, the magician knows that the more transformed the girl becomes, the sooner she's likely to move on with her life.

Chomet understands that Tati was a comic, and he provides laughs as the movie makes its artful way through a fable that explores the complexities of a father/daughter-like relationship. The Illusionist, I think, embraces two kinds of magic: In one, a magician pulls rabbits out of hats and performs other sleights of hand; in the other, people move -- as they do -- from one stage to another. Sadly or happily, time passes.