A down-on-his luck, vaudevillian magician teams with an orphan tween to prove that determination and camaraderie will conquer all. That's the logline for The Illusionist, but I should also mention it is based on an unproduced Jacques Tati script, set decades ago, and produced with minimal dialogue by a french animatior.
By now you've read enough to determine if you have any interest in this flick.
Animation director Sylvain Chomet, whose Les Triplettes of Bellville kicked all of our asses back in 2003, hasn't lost his touch when it comes to gentle, well-observed moments. There are plenty of opportunities to smile at a flourish or nicety up there on the screen in The Illusionist. Unfortunatley, the little touches don't add up to a substantial film.
Our sad, aging leading mad grows less and less relevant as the dastardly rock n' roll pushes him off the stage. He crosses the channel from Paris, and finds himself in the Scottish Highlands performing tricks for small (yet appreciative) drunkards in a public house. A young girl who cleans up tags along as he heads into the city and a language-free friendship begins.
They move to a rooming house filled with other sad clowns, show folk at the ends of their rope, living in furnished rooms eating soup by themselves.
Some highjinks ensue, including working gigs at a garage and as a "living window" for department stores.
As un petit bonbon this is a successful film. It'll certainly charm the pants off of any woman you'd take on a holiday date. Memorable on its own, however, it isn't. As a small part of a larger magic night on your own, perhaps. I think all involved would be okay with that.
The greatest feat of magic found in The Illusionist is forever changing my opinion of Edinburgh from a city of rain and eating sheep intestines to one of bohemianism.
