A real French delicacy.

With an overcast and smoggy yellow backdrop, in the realms of an empty and desolate vision of a world, stands an old and decrepit building: The Bricks are crumbling into the gutters, the rain is seeping through the floorboards, the tobacco stained paint is peeling of the walls like dry skin, but the Delicatessen is still open for business.

The scene is set; The Butcher (Jean-Claude Dreyfus) makes his entrance: He is beef, as they say over here, a bulky colossus with heavy arms, a thick brow and not too much activity within the brain cell department. He wields his chopper (that’s a knife, if any of you where wondering), scraping and sharpening its blade.

A desperado is watching, while covering himself in yesterdays newspapers, lastly placing a brown paper bag over his head, before he climbs into the rubbish bin. The Dustmen arrive, and the refuse is removed - but before the last container is emptied, The Butcher flicks his dogend into it and...”yelp”. The wretched man inside looks up; as the lid is lifted, he stares into the eyes of The Butcher, screams, and then down plummets the shining blade.

This is the opening scene to Delicatessen, a film from the Jeunet and Caro team (also City of Lost Children and Alien 4). It is an extremely dark comedy, a jolly black romp through the world of what ifs and fantasy; a children’s fable of cannibalism for the apocalypse to come.

*The Film.

Louison (Dominique Pinon - Diva, City of Lost Children), enters this little nightmare by taxi, exchanging his shoes for the ride (hence he wears his only other pair - clown shoes - for the rest of the movie). He arrives at the Delicatessen in response to an advert for offered work and board - The Butcher would turn him down (as there’s not much meat on his scrawny body), but times are hard and meat is in high demand.

As he unpacks, we begin to learn his story: He was once Stan, the clown, who worked in partnership with Livingston, the chimpanzee. Livingston is dead (we later find out he was eaten), and Louison is trying to move on from his grief, but penniless, he has ended up here.

As he sets about the odd jobs around the building, he encounters The Butcher’s daughter, Julie, a bespectacled and clumsy lass, who knows about the mysterious disappearances within the apartments, and that her father is to blame. The two fall sweetly and charmingly in love, but Louison has already been marked for the chop, and Julie has now got to find a way of saving him from the slavering neighbours.

Julie braves the lonely streets after nightfall, in search of the infamous Troglodytes, a band of vegetarian, underground dwellers who have been infuriating those above ground by stealing all their vegetables. The Troglodytes are a little limited in their mental capacity, but will they help to save Louison, or is he doomed to become steak hachee?

*Scenes that are just too funny and you really do have to see.

The most famous of scenes from this film is the regulated squeaky bed routine: The Butcher is playing hide the sausage with his young mistress, and the ill oiled springs begin to squeal under their weight. The camera zooms from the couple, into the piping, and out again to focus on Julie, practicing her cello. Her notes are played in time to the bouncing of the bed; cut to another neighbour, who beats her carpet in unison; cut to Louison, who is suspended by his braces from the wall, and is painting the ceiling in the same rhythm; cut to old grandma, knitting; cut to the man pumping up his bicycle wheel in front of the TV; cut to the two men making animal noise boxes (you know, the ones that go “Moo” when you turn them upside down). As the tempo in the bedroom increases, everyone else keeps pace...Until the inevitable bursting if the bicycle tyre/ cello string etc. etc.

Louison is sitting on the said noisy bed with The Butcher’s lover, trying to discover the offending spring; There is a black and white program on the TV, with Hawaiian Hula singers and dancers. The two bounce with the music, creating a pseudo dance number with the camera shots.

The Butcher meets the inventor neighbour on the stairs; He asks him what he has invented recently, and the inventor replies “A machine that detects bull****:. The Butcher states “Life is great”, and the detector swirls round with a tinkling siren sound.

Another of the neighbours is a bourgeois, tightly spun woman, who is hearing voices that demand she should join them and live her life with them. She has become so distressed with her evolving insanity, that she has decided to kill herself. Rather than any quick and easy escape from this mortal coil, she fabricates intricate mechanisms from sewing machines, lamps, doorbells and such like, to bring about her final demise. All of these machinations end hilariously in failure.

*Characters.

Pinon is utterly underused in the French cinema, as his face determines a very particular role. Previous to becoming an actor (I believe his first break was in Diva, correct me if I’m wrong), he performed in the circus, theatre and on street corners. He is at ease with this comical role, the clown’s shoes fit perfectly, and his bizarre features grimace in all the right places. A fine actor by all accounts.

Dreyfus is thick with animal fat, and he brings a weighty fear to the role of communal killer. I haven’t seen him in that many other movies, so it is hard to give an over view of his acting abilities; here, he reigns supreme in his meatiness.

Marie-Laure Dougnac plays Julie, and she fills the character with ‘ugly secretary who should just take of her glasses’ kind of stuff. Quietly sexy, irresistibly romantic and hopelessly heroic. The three main characters give their best to this film, and I have no qualms, whatsoever.

There are many other fine actors within this film, too many to mention here; there are also cameo performances from Jeunet and Caro themselves (as Troglodytes).

*Direction.

The best factors about Caro/Jeunet films (apart from absurd storylines, brilliant script and fantastic acting) are the technical qualities of the film: Lighting, camera work and set design.

Delicatessen is ochre in tint the whole way through; like a plush Parisian apartment that has been left to rot, the deep red velvets and nicotined stained walls exude the density of this film. The set is intricate and detailed (check out Alien 4 for the same kind of work), creating a kid in a candy store image with itsy-bitsy props that support the ambience and characters - there is humour to be found in nearly every object. Everything is overshadowed by a malingering darkness that seeps in through the window. At the same time, there are moments of clarity, when faces are lit with pure, white light, denoting their innocence or absolute need for survival.

The camera work is in a league of its own; there are turns and twists that rather than complicate the image, take you on an adventure with the actors. Delicatessen is beautifully shot, really well thought out, and must have been an absolute nightmare on the cutting room floor.

*Conclusion.

This is a dimly lit fairytale, full of laughter and endless surprises. Yes, it is a little odd, but treat it as a dream, or a nightmare if you will, and you’re about there.