The Illusionist is the perfect antidote for anyone growing weary of non-stop action flicks or over-scripted dramas filled with endless talking heads. And Sylvain Chomet’s tender, animated adaptation of Jacques Tati’s ancient screenplay is also a fine successor to the superb Belleville Rendezvous. For when Chomet animates, it is with the care and attention of a master, developing each character and scene unhurriedly. So when paused, each beautifully realised, individual frame is a perfect illustration, telling its own story. There is a long and complex backstory about the genesis of the script, which was written by the French King – or should that be President – of comedy, Jacques Tati, as a tribute to his own daughter. And the central relationship between the failing magician and the girl who follows him across Scotland is wonderfully paternal and restrained. In a nod to Tati, one scene inside an Edinburgh picture house features Mon Oncle, and the magician has been wittily drawn and shaped to resemble Tati himself, complete with endless bits of physical comedy, all portrayed with genuine warmth and reverence for the subject.

As with Belleville, dialogue is kept to the bare minimum – there are probably fewer than two dozen actual words exchanged in the entire film. But this all adds to the magic of this lyrical movie. Starting with the Illusionist’s 1959 journey from France across the channel to England and the London stage, we see him trying to hold his own on a mixed theatrical bill that includes an early, novelty “beat group” called the Britoons. It’s hard to compete with a rabbit in a hat, so when it inevitably doesn’t work out, he’s forced to travel onwards by steam train to a remote part of Scotland, where he ends up in an inn which boasts an excitable clientele and is just getting electricity. Entranced by the Illusionist’s act, the young girl employed at the inn follows him when he moves on again, to Edinburgh – and they are forced to share a hotel room, with the magician gallantly opting for the uncomfortable couch. There is no real plot outside the characters’ main journeys, their evolving, mutual friendship and their mixed fortunes in the gloriously animated streets of Edinburgh. What draws you in are the quiet, dignified, yet awkward characters, and Chomet’s mastery of the animated art form. And it’s not the sort of film where you can look away, as there are small hidden delights lurking in every corner of every frame, from the highland cattle delaying one journey, to the acrobats and the ventriloquist who live in the same, quaint hotel. This is certainly one for all the family – and for those cinephiles who wish to know a bit more about Monsieur Chomet and his art, plus his growing affection for Scotland, then you should watch the DVD extras, which include an in-depth Q&A with the director recorded at the Edinburgh Film Festival, along with a Behind the Scenes glimpse of how the hand-drawn animation is done.

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Review copyright © Helen M Jerome, 2011.