The Illusionist

My goodness I've got a lot of films to write about. These are going to be short and snappy and proof positive about how I need to write these things nearer to the event for them to have meaning. But hey ho.

The Illusionist was a film that hadn't entered my consciousness. I'd seen an article about it which I thought was saying that it was on in Edinburgh at the moment. A minor mental note to look out for it but presuming it wasn't out and not that excited.

And then I found myself in the cinema, knackered, meeting a friend to watch The Secrets in their Eyes in a couple hours and it was about to start. I thought watch this now and enjoy it or try and stay awake through the heavier film and not got to sleep. It was a mistake. Not least because I failed to get the sleep I was aiming for. And that probably colours my view of a film that has much going through it.

It's by the Belleville guy and carries much of the charm and beauty of that. But while I don't remember Belleville very much anymore I remember thinking it had a decent pace. The Illusionist is stately. Which makes sense when you're dealing with loneliness. You can't be busy and notice that you're lonely. You can be aware of it and have it lurking, ready to strike when you stop, making your determined not to. But for an audience loneliness needs quiet but even more than that it needs slowness (I feel there's another word an articulate person would use but it's not coming). It needs an audience to have the space to reflect on what they're seeing. The question isn't 'what happens next', it's 'what is he feeling'. It's a hard trick. And I don't know it always pulls it off.

So the good, it's beautiful. All of it but especially Edinburgh. I've been to Edinburgh twice in my life but it was amazing how much the images evoked it (it also fitted in beautifully with One Day which I was reading at the time) and made me feel as if it was somewhere I really knew.

It's a great world. The end of vaudueville. The guy is an incredible illusionist. Just a genius. But he lacks panache, showmanship and he's just not interesting when there are heartthrob rock bands to get the girls throwing knickers at. And he's not alone. There are clowns and ventriloquists and acrobats. And they're all suffering. The acrobats survive a bit more. Partly because they're a team. But the clown and the ventriloquist are broken men.

As is the Illusionist but for a little while he has a companion. A hopelessly naive young girl who believes he actually is a magician. And expects shoes and coats to be magiced up for her. I get the idea that a lonely man would indulge this emotion to have someone in their life. And I get the idea of wanting to have a daughter to indulge. But nonetheless I could never quite take it. The girl isn't charmingly naive. She's not interested in the man treating her. And she's staggeringly materialistic. I can't take interest in someone who on discovering a magical father figure just want to find a nice dress so she can find a nice man. It feels like such a lack of both imagination and soul.

And because I can't like her, I can't really like it. But it sticks. It does. The bad tricks. The vistas. The essential toughness of a man who has so little going for him but keeps at it. Fail again. Fail better.

So don't go in expecting Belleville. Don't go in expecting to come out laughing and skipping. But there is beauty and humour in this and I have this feeling of finding myself at 50 watching again and it hitting a chord it can't quite on a lucky 20 something who doesn't feel alone that often. Well, not lonely at least. Or more accurately hasn't this week.