As a parable of simple country folk lost amidst the corrupt industrial world (a train track, in fact, practically runs through Madame de Souza’s house), the movie is gently subversive. Belleville, which is very Americanized, has been interpreted by some as New York, although with all the French spoken it might be better to call it Montreal. Sensitive or cynical viewers might accuse “Triplets” of being anti-American. In truth, Belleville looks too European to be either city. But the movie ridicules our country no more than “The Simpsons” pokes fun at our neighbors around the world. The citizens of Belleville are all immensely fat because, let’s face it, America is the fattest country in the world. They live in the shadow of a Statue of Liberty eating a hamburger and walk across the street to fat images on traffic lights. The well-meaning Boy Scout who tries helping Madame de Souza across the street gets beaten with a cane for his trouble, which pretty much sums up a good portion of America’s relationship with the world when it comes to our do-goodery. The lovingly silly peasantry is seen watching the Tour-de-France from picnic tables with cigarettes and wine and gentle cheers. But the inhabitants of the industrial world do not watch the Tour-de-France, and instead kidnap Champion and other riders in order to chain them into an artificial race in front of a movie-projector. The real thing is not for the leisure class, but a safer, contained version, that they can watch in the comfort of their own homes, or at least without having to drive so far.
There are also some jabs at Disney, which may have nothing more to them than Chomet’s knowledge that, if his movie made it big, he would find himself facing some Disney behemoth at the Oscars (“Triplets” is currently running against Disney’s splendid collaboration with Pixar, “Finding Nemo”). The image of French heroines stealing the industrial world’s movie-machine is not unlike what “Triplets” itself has done. Those who complain of American stereotyping in the movie will probably be oblivious to all the French stereotyping, what with the cigarettes, champagne, berets, and drunken red noses.
And there you have it, a perfect motion picture experience, which succeeds on every level a movie should. It is visually dazzling, aurally satisfying, populated by likeable characters who made me happy when they succeeded and worried me when they were in danger, and had a surprising, if not enormous, amount of subtext. Go have a great, grinning, wide-eyed “I must look like an idiot but I don’t care” time. And tell your friends: “c’est tres bien.”
Finished January 31st, 2004
Copyright © 2004 Friday & Saturday Night
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