A couple of days ago I collected my EIFF press pass and main programme guide from the delegate centre amidst the usual crowd of fresh faced film making and journalistic eager beavers alongside the more world weary 'here-we-go-again' hacks like myself. Happily it was an efficient and speedy process and so far the festival this year has a welcome air of professional slickness about it
But I had to wait until yesterday to see anything and early in the morning I grabbed my cycle helmet and tore across the city through rush hour traffic to catch a press showing at the ungodly hour of 9am. Being a few minutes late I tried to quietly slip in at the back so as not to cause any disturbance only to have the ushers come over and scan the barcode on my pass with a bright red laser. Hi on tech, but low on a subtle entrance. Luckily there were no fingerprinting machines or retinal scans required.
And so my first screening was Celine Danhier's excellent documentary feature Blank City about the New York underground film making scene that emerged out of Manhattan's Lower East Side in the 1970’s and early 80’s. Charting the rise of musicians, actors and film makers such as Debbie Harry, Steve Buscemi and Jim Jarmusch, it’s a fascinating, entertaining and often provocative depiction of the struggling artist. Essential and inspiring viewing for any budding film makers grabbing their first camcorder armed only with a fiver, a pack of cigarettes and plenty of attitude.
But onto the main business of the day and as much as I admired Blank City one of the few must see films I’ve been frothing at the mouth for months to see is Sylvain Chomet’s second feature length animation The Illusionist, tonight’s opening gala. Hotly anticipated not just because his debut feature Belleville Rendez-Vous was such an exquisite and original work but also for its distinctive and old fashioned animation style that, as much as I love Pixar and Disney, was a breath of fresh air.
More pertinently The Illusionist was chiefly made and set in our own beloved capital. Set in what appears to be the late 50’s the idea of seeing an animated feature dedicated to bringing an older but faithfully researched vision of Edinburgh’s past to life (one free of Tesco’s, Macdonalds and the messy clutter of modern times) is too great a thrill to resist. Based on an unfinished and unmade Jacques Tati screenplay and transposed to the UK instead of Europe, The Illusionist follows the story of an ageing, world weary magician who travels to London and then onto the Western Isles in search of an audience still responsive to his old fashioned conjuring.
Armed with the usual magician’s paraphernalia and a psychotic biting rabbit (that he pulls reluctantly from his prop hat) Tattischeff as he calls himself unwittingly enchants a simple country girl who believes his magic is for real. Seeking a better life, she stows away with him on his return trip to the mainland where he struggles to provide for her increasing demands through his conjuring acts. She essentially develops into the main protagonist and with what little plot there is The illusionist turns into a gentle coming of age and rites of passage fairytale.
I should point out here that Tattischeff isn’t just the title character it actually is Jacques Tati. He looks, walks, sounds and dresses like the bumbling slapstick Tati that we all love and know from Mon Oncle, Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday and Jour De Fete and there are several visual gags that reference these earlier works. And like the best of Tati, this is virtually a silent movie. With a few utterances in French, English and Gaelic there is no need for subtitles, it’s all self evident.
But the real joy comes not from the slight story but from the design, detail, colour schemes and reconstruction of a bygone era. In particular the quality and mood of the light and weather pervading much of the film’s coastal landscapes and urban settings is really something to behold. Real attention has gone into the passing of light on buildings and Arthur’s Seat alongside the gloom of Auld Reekie’s drizzle and mist on the cobbled streets, alleys and local haunts that the locals know by heart. Princes Street, George Street, The Grassmarket, Broughton Street, North Bridge and other familiar sights (the Barony Bar and the Cameo Cinema) make substantial appearances.
I spent much of the film scanning these frames looking at all the detail and thinking about what had changed and what hadn’t. It really is a love letter to the city of Edinburgh by a man who has clearly fallen in love with it. A couple of shots had the hair on the back of my neck stand up – emerging from Waverley Station to see The Mound and The Castle for the first time – (often a tourist's first glimpse of the city), and a slightly incongruous but nevertheless impressive CGI pullback from Arthur’s Seat which then sweeps around the city. My only complaint here was that this ‘money shot’ didn’t last long enough.
One of the surprises of the film is that it’s tone is almost continuously melancholic and on occasion quite dark. There’s an air of, not quite tragedy but something constantly mournful drawn from the people and the landscapes they inhabit. A few of the characters are quite tragic and much is made of both the joy and despair of alcoholism along with the grind of poverty on the soul. But much of it is also very funny striking a good balance between slapstick and pathos.
On a final note, it is worth staying to the end of the credits as there is one final hilarious visual gag that got the biggest laugh of the screening I attended.
But my favourite moment of the whole experience was a rather odd moment of synchronicity during the end credits in a moment I’m sure the film makers themselves would have cherished. The film is dedicated to Sophie Tatischeff, Jacques Tati’s daughter. A cartoon ‘photograph’ of her as a very young girl in a simple dress and pigtails appears alongside the dedication. At that exact moment in the cinema, someone’s young daughter, also in a simple dress and pigtails tottered down to the front of the theatre and began dancing and twirling in front of the screen in time to the music. It was a strangely moving moment of spontaneity that fitted the dedication and the overall Tati-esqueness of the film. Half the applause that greeted lights up at the end was for her performance. Later I pondered....was this a set up? I stroked my chin, furrowed my brow and then thought a very definite ‘Nah....real moments of magic do happen’.
Should you also feel the need to dance at the end of a film then the UK premiere of The Illusionist is at The Festival Theatre tonight at 9.45pm and will be on general release later in the year.
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