Why the world needs more Amélies ...

There I was, shifting my fat arse like a hippo scrunching over a massive boil, Sunday night, bored shitless, hyped from the caffeine charge during the day.

Seemingly banal enough and unwillingly needing distraction, I decided to run through the last half part of Amélie. Audrey Tautou's signature movie that rocketed her to international stardom never failed to amuse me over and over again.

Largely unknown to non-francophone audience, it was originally titled «Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulin» - The fabulous destiny of Amélie Poulin, too tongue-twisty for the general public, eh? And for me, it's a fabulous destiny. The 2001 Jeunet's pièce de resistance now overshadows the rest of his movies for the rest of his life, and who's to blame?

Now, I have seen Amélie numerous times I no longer remember how many times I've followed the young Parisienne's life albeit its imaginary status. It feels intimate. This is going to be, in half a century's time, what Roman Holiday and La Dolce Vita are now to us: a cult movie, a regard of the past, the belle epoque of the early 21st century.

What I adore about this French cinematography is, amongst other things, it unabashedly defies all Hollywood formulas à la fairy tale-cum-fuckwit. Apparently Amelie does not wake up one morning and dumbfoundedly finds out her mum had a fling with a bloke who turned out to be the sole heir of a tiny kingdom in East Europe and father just died in an accident so the hardest thing to do now is breaking the news to the classmates whilst keeping a straight face; Nupe, Amelie decides she is to help a few persons close to her life, Amelie chooses to pursue the boy of her dream, Nino, in the most unusual way. Boy meets girl. Nino, a quirky Parisian who collects strangers' instant photos off the photomats around Paris, was lured into a wild goose chase spanning from Gare de l'Est till the hoisty steps of Montmarte.

The rest of the cast is equally brilliant : the woman behind the tabac counter claiming her life is about to end any minute due to complication of ailments quickly forgets she's a hypocondriac for a minute whilst getting the shag of her life in the toilet of café Deux Moulins; Madame Susanne, the ever wise café owner; Monsieur Dufayel, the artisanal retiree anxious to apply the last stroke on the canvas however unsure the little girl on the Monet's he's reproducing; the obnoxious grocer down the road getting his comeuppance is unpredictably hilarious.

And the incredible little details: Amelie’s devious plan returning the lost album; the incredulous rendez-vous in the fantôme (ghost) ride at the foire de Thrône; the close shave revelation of the girl in love behind the menu partition glass; the cheeky travelling gnome sending her father into the travelling he’s ever wanted to do …

And the banter between Nino and the Toulousain brute in the photo sitting on the bedside table:

- Mais je la connais pas.
+Mais, si!
- Où je l’ai rencontré ?
+ …
+ Dans tes rêves

- But I don’t know her.
+ But, yes!
- Where have I met her?
+ …
+ In all your dreams.

Voilà.