MICMACS. Hilarious, surrealistic marvel of a comedy

Here’s a certain Basil getting hit in the head by a stray bullet that wasn’t meant for him at all. Doctors decide (by flipping a coin) not to remove the bullet, and Basil decides to get back at the arms corporations, responsible for his father’s death from a landmine explosion, and for him suffering from sudden headaches for the rest of his life. Basil meets a crazy team of extravagant oddballs who will help him carry out an unusual “cold revenge” plan. Micmacs it is.

From this point on, the plot resembles the classic Yojimbo by Akira Kurosawa (and, of course, A Fistful of Dollars and The Last Man Standing), as the whole trick lies in cunningly setting two rival arms corporations against each other, gradually causing their own downfall. Jeunet’s surrealist-comedic machine of Micmacs, much like in Delicatessen, rushes headlong here, and the gallery of extraordinary characters is dizzying. The scale with which Jeunet tells this incredible story and the virtuosity with which the characters perform acrobatic feats on screen are breathtaking.

Anything can happen here, from the titular bullet in the head to the circus-like shot of the Cannonball Man from a giant cannon. Scenes like the big explosion in the ammunition factory (a montage-pyrotechnic pearl!) superbly echo the cult sequence from Delicatessen, where all the building’s residents performed daily activities in a uniform rhythm dictated by a metronome. Before Michael Bay finishes his next Transformers, he should go to Jeunet for training titled: “how to make an explosion that whitens the eyes, blows off hats, pierces eardrums, and turns everything into a whirlwind.”

It’s crystal clear that Jeunet, returning to the old playground of formal freedom, is having a blast and successfully engages the audience in this game. He creates an unrestrained vision of an extraordinary world, though it’s still a world that is here and now, nearby, outside the window. Because Jeunet, like no one else, can set up the camera, choose actors, outline characters, and give them tasks in such a way that everyday life turns into an emotionally charged fantasy tale. Events from the borderland of cartoonish burlesque intertwine here with the dark humor of the real world, yet the whole never descends into buffoonery, although there is a bustling crowd of clowns on the screen.

There was a big risk that the characteristic form of Delicatessen might not sell for the second time, and that Micmacs would be thrown into a drawer labeled “reheated cutlet.” Indeed, Micmacs is largely derivative of the director’s greatest achievements, but Jeunet doesn’t even try to convince us otherwise. He does even more, because, to disarm those who would think of accusing him of cashing in on his own classic, he inserts a fantastic reference to Delicatessen right into the middle of his new film. It’s a few seconds’ visit to the apartment where Dominique Pinon (also appearing in Micmacs) and Marie-Laure Dougnac play the cello and saw. At this moment, a tear of emotion will surely appear in the eye of every cinephile, because the director, with a nostalgic tone, seems to say, “welcome back to my world, and have a good time!”