(France/Canada/Belgium, 79 min.)
Written and directed by Patrice Leconte
Starring: Bernard Alane, Isabelle Spade, Kacey Mottet Klein,
Isabelle Giami, Laurent Gendron.
What is it about death and pigeons? Michael Haneke’s Amour, for example, features two
startlingly ambiguous moments in which pigeons provide comic relief from a
sombre tale of death. A fleeting image of mortality, Haneke’s pigeon unsettles
you in the way that an aerial assault from the dirty bird would ruin your day.
Another French master, Patrice Leconte, opens his film with a pigeon flight of
life and death. As one pigeon flies through the air during the opening sequence
of The Suicide Shop and navigates the
human bodies that drop from the sky, its animated eyes and funny jowls set the
mood for a comical affair. Then the pigeon joins its mates on a lamppost right
before one of its comrades says adieu
and dive bombs to the sidewalk. This is not a kids’ movie.
The Suicide Shop is as far as one can get from animated films of the “happy working song” variety. It’s a morbid tale of contemporary malaise in the streets of Paris, as Frenchmen drop like flies to escape their dull, pointless lives. “The recession creates depression,” sing the Parisians as they off themselves in the film’s introductory number. The Suicide Shop, an incongruous musical, turns death into a strange, playful, and surprisingly upbeat experience.
So many Frenchies are killing themselves that the government
has decided to make suicide a crime. A ticket for your loved ones adorns your
corpse after the po-po arrive to the scene of the crime, so suicide leaves an
additional unpleasantry for the ones you leave behind. On the other hand, a
botched suicide attempt leaves one in a worse state than before: depressed,
alive, probably injured to some degree of severity, and ridden with a ticket to
pay. Hence The Suicide Shop – one-stop shopping for an efficient kill.
La famille Tuvache runs the business with a flair for
tragedy. Customers always seem satisfied since nobody ever returns and asks for
their money back. It’s a place where the transaction ends with au revoir rather than à bientôt. It’s harder to be happy than
it is to be sad, and the Tuvache’s Suicide Shop is merely an extremity in
ventures that profit from the misery of others.
The Suicide Shop is a humourless place until Mme. Tuvache
has a baby. Her son, Alan, brings an infectious smile to the shop. Customers seem
to hesitate around this cheery child, as little Alan reminds them of better
times.
Alan displays the kind of innocence that only a child can
have. He’s too young to be corrupted by the misery and suffering of things like
disappointment and debt. Alan, born with a smile on his face, seems like some
weird miracle baby destined to save the French. As Alan grows in The Suicide
Shop, he plans new tricks to thwart suicides and to turn frowns upside down.
Happiness seems like an innate quality in Alan; it’s as if humans are born to
be happy, but they learn to be depressed by some form of social conditioning.
The Suicide Shop
finds humour in our downtrodden dumpiness. If we can acquire misery, we can
surely find joy in everyday things, too. The sparse songs of the film rise with
a gradual bubbliness, going from elegies to optimistic choruses. Not all the
verse and melodies translate well from French to English, but the quirky death
ditties are fun in their own gloomy fashion. Even though it’s a movie about
self-inflicted death, The Suicide Shop
brings an unexpected smile.
Leconte creates this strange, surprising energy by offering
the musical as an animated tale. Suicide seems less taboo when it’s discussed
by dark quirky characters with singsong dialogue. The animation also creates The Suicide Shop’s striking tone, as the
film’s colour palette helps the viewer shift moods as one might with seasonal affective
disorder. The film enjoys a dreary desaturation during its first act, or whenever
M. or Mme. Tuvache fills the screen, and it gains a cartoonish vibrancy every
time Alan bounces into the frame and tries to brighten the mood. With a simple
change in hue, The Suicide Shop puts
us down or picks us up.
Suicide might be painless, but this animated film shows that
living is a lot more fun. Even the pigeons—the greyest of the birds—learn to
live a little and join in the film’s upbeat, optimistic ending. Georges and
Anne might have faced a different outcome had a pigeon graced their apartment
with a little song and dance, but that’s an entirely different movie. At least
until Michael Haneke sets his eyes on Mickey Mouse.
Rating: ★★★½ (out of ★★★★★)
