The Illusionist

This much anticipated Sylvain Chomet adaption of a Jaques Tati script, set largely in Edinburgh, is a truly excellent piece of cinema, so different from the vast majority of other films.
Chomet would be a good director whether or not he used animation. The long shots of the whole body (Tati's animated body, really), the respect for an image and the slight changes that occur, is marvellous. Chomet has an unbelievable, unrivalled eye for the small details, the little things. The turning of a light on and off, the smoothing of fabric, these all add a realism, almost a grittiness, to an otherwise (excuse us) magical tale, light as a feather. This focus on domesticity involves repitition, a key technique Chomet uses to emphasise the upstanding futility of the Illusionist's act. He never directly mocks, but we have more of a sense of time and character through repetitive minor failure than through direct exposition.
Whether or not Chomet directs as he does due to the wish to frame in a certain way, due to the demands of animation, is a question impossible to answer until Chomet explores live action. Elsewhere, it does not seem at all that Chomet limits himself, rather he is able to imbue his locations with a lovely hazy metallic grey, a silence and a blankness to the colours that evoke a bygone world in a city that is always remembering, quietly, its own past. He succesfully shows both the claustrophobia of the streets and the suggestions of openness, of greenery, that appear to loom over rather than open up Edinburgh.
The use of sound is also excellent, nominally this film is perhaps in French but not a single subtitle seems to be used, this film is really silent. Thus we are required a few extra scenes and shots that otherwise, but largely it makes the piece, along with a nicely restrained but very pretty piano score (composed by Chomet), flow to a wonderful rythm as the viewer puts the pieces together. It also frees up the sound for some nice affects, of creaks and cars, that do a huge amount to evoke the time.
As to the story, Chomet is at once slightly cynical about the possibilities of this world, obviously mourning a bygone age. From this negative base he tells us that magic can exist, somewhere, somehow, brought on by others. The themes are complex, of age and care and flowering, but they are addressed nice and ambiguously and not forced down the throat. Perhaps they can wander for ten minutes, but overall this is a film not afraid to ask (this is the Tati part) about what it means to nurture, to sacrifice, to be dis-illusioned with the world.
This is a wonderful film, with fantastic mis-en-scene, mis-en-shot, and premise. It takes us on a floating journey through images and scenes of power and melancholy charm. Excellent, excellent cinema.