This is a Paris with all modern life digitally removed: no McDonald's, no Pompidou Centre, certainly no glass Bibliothèque Nationale towers or Grande Arche de la Défense. You almost expect to see a Nazi staff car cruise past. But what with the accordion music and the cafes and the sepia tint that soaks through panoramic shots of the city skyline, it could be the Paris of 50 years before. Bizarrely, it is supposed to be modern Paris, or at any rate the Paris of 1997, at the time of Princess Diana's death. The most remarkable fantasy of this movie is the "Paris" that Jean-Pierre Jeunet conjures up. But these comfortingly childlike games are interrupted by the very grown-up shock of falling in love with a handsome and mysterious stranger, Mathieu Kassovitz. Thus Amelie finds her vocation: she will covertly improve the lives of those around her. Consumed with impish yet benign devilment, Amelie contrives a secret way to return these treasures to their astonished owner. One day in her apartment, she accidentally stumbles upon a box of toys belonging to a previous male tenant, who is now a lonely grandfather. Because Amelie is a leedle gairrl who has carried over the gorgeously vivid fantasy life of her sheltered childhood into adult life. (In the United States, Miramax's formidable honcho Harvey Weinstein clearly thinks he has found in Tautou the ooh-la-la box office magic that Juliette Binoche gave him in Chocolat.) Tautou's great moon face - with its Bambi eyes, Louise Brooks bob, rosebud mouth and pink hamster cheeks - is always looming prettily out of the screen at us, as she gleefully ponders what adorable mischief she will wreak next. The gigantic success of this film in France has made a national, and maybe soon international star of its 23-year-old lead Audrey Tautou, who plays Amelie Poulain, the delectable young gamine employed as a waitress in a Montmartre cafe. In fact, you may need a tooth of pure sucrose, not to mention gums of marzipan and a jawbone of sherbet. You will need a very sweet tooth to take it. W atching this movie is like being frogmarched into Maxim's in Paris and forced to eat up the entire sweet trolley in 60 seconds, while Maurice Chevalier stands behind you, singing a 78rpm version of: "Zank Evans feur leedle gairrls, ceurz leedle gairrls gait beegaire ev-reh deh." Director Jean-Pierre Jeunet's lavish, hyperactive, romantic whimsy is now the gooiest dish on the cinema menu.
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