Delicatessen is one movie that tickles me from beginning to end, even though its plot is built around — and this isn’t a spoiler since it’s introduced before the opening credits — cannibalism.
Taking a cue from last week’s club pick, I selected Marc Caro and Jean-Pierre Jeunet‘s post-apocalyptic gem to watch. I’ve seen Delicatessen several times, but not in the past 20 years or so.
Delicatessen has its own quirky atmosphere, rich texture, and deliciously dark humor. But it reminds me of the movies of Terry Gilliam (of Monty Python fame and who had a hand in Delicatessen‘s North American release), Tim Burton, and Guillermo del Toro.
Not a moment is wasted; all of the characters and all of the scenes are woven into the cinematic world consisting of a dilapidated apartment building and the tunnels beneath it.
Its string of scenes — including the two young brothers fishing for underwear; the painting, the knitting, the cello practicing, and the moo-can-making all (ahem) in rhythm with the butcher and his girlfriend; the squeaky-bed dance; the Troglodistes assault; etc. — are entertaining by themselves, but also push the plot along to its water-drenched, destructive climax.
The flooded-bathroom scene may be a common movie trope, but I had forgotten how similar it was to the version in del Toro’s The Shape of Water until this week. (Apparently that wasn’t the only similarity between the two movies, at least according to Jeunet.)
Dominique Pinon and Marie-Laure Dougnac are endearing as the two amorous main characters, Louison, the unemployed clown, and Julie, the daughter of the butcher and landlord (wonderfully overplayed by Jean-Claude Dreyfus).
Jeunet’s next feature, The City of Lost Children, has a similar aesthetic and the rubber-faced Pinon in multiple roles. Ah, and Jeunet’s 2001 film, Amélie, is magical.
Delicatessen is the kind of movie I relish, stacked high with black humor and a generous side of oddity.