I had no idea that the Triplettes de Belleville would be so astonishingly funny. The 80 minutes went by so smoothly in enraptured fascination as the story of abduction and dogged recovery unfolded. The superbly distorted caricatures were hilarious — the grandson competitor in the Tour de France cycle race was all leg muscles, gallic nose and chin; the ship, vessel of abduction, was toweringly, staggeringly tall. The touches of reality anchored this outrageously improbable story. We could count on grandma to adjust her glasses, in the way we spectacle-wearers do, and the dog did its canine duty of barking predictably at the train and watching its master eating dinner, spoonful by spoonful, just in the way dogs do.
It was a delight to see the club-footed, diminutive grandma be the hero of the piece, outsmarting gangsters, surviving weather, hunger and even a hail of bullets. The music too was riveting. The friend I went with said she thought it was the best movie she’d ever seen, and I’d have to say it’s definitely up there. It’s magic, massively creative. Go see it.
