reviews
Chocolat - Old Story Charmingly Told | by Jeffrey Chen (windowtothemovies.com) | Jan. 31, 2001
You've seen this story before. Oh yes you have. Stranger arrives in a conservative and relatively stuffy establishment. The stranger introduces somewhat rebellious ideas into the individuals there who would dare to have such thoughts if only they knew they could get away with it. Eventually, this leads to opening of the minds and hearts of the people in the establishment, bringing magic and joy in to their lives. Now this may seem to be starting to sound like a slam, but it's not. Chocolat, directed by Lasse Hallstrom (whose last movie was The Cider House Rules), is a fun and well-presented movie, even if the story is familiar.
In this case, Juliette Binoche plays the stranger, Vianne, settling in a late '50's/early '60's French village, with her daughter Anouk (Victoire Thivisol) in tow. Her particular brand of magic is chocolate; she opens up a chocolaterie, right as Lent begins. The leader of the stuffy side of things is Comte de Reynaud (Alfred Molina), mayor of the town, as well as the upstanding man who makes sure his town's denizens go to church and obey the will of the Lord. He immediately disapproves of Vianne's obvious lack of respect for the holy time that is present. However, curious townsfolk are not as stern; one by one, they taste the candies that Vianne often selects for each different customer who walks through her door, and, naturally, they are affected in a liberating way.
Later details in the story include a woman (Lena Olin) who, thanks to Vianne's kindness of spirit, runs away from household slavery and abuse to join the chocolate enterprise as an employee, and the arrival of "river rats," a group of gypsy-like travelers lead by a charming guitarist (Johnny Depp) who is pleasantly surprised that Vianne isn't like the others in the town. And the landlady of Vianne's shop, Amande (Judi Dench), a crotchety old lady who couldn't give a damn about the conservative ways of the town, also figures in as another advocate for bringing some life in to the townspeople's lives.
The movie carries on somewhat predictably, but is charming all the way through. It's always amusing to see the folks affected by the chocolate, looking rather cute as they take baby steps away from their lifeless routines and expectations. Binoche plays Vianne well, and even Molina is really presented as someone sympathetic, rather than as a nasty representative of the establishment. Dench somehow, as usual, wins the audience over with her patented scowl; she can go ahead and notch another perfect flabbergasted matron performance into her belt.
One thing in particular, though, did strike me in this version of the familiar old story. I hadn't really seen a story like this told so that strict and devout Christian faith and rituals were, in essence, the villain, i.e. the representation of the old conservative views. I was thinking of other movies, such as Mary Poppins, where a stuffy banker was the villain; or Pleasantville, where a fictional television show held the job. In Chocolat, it's the shackles implemented by an established religion that the people seemingly need to be liberated from. That seemed pretty daring, and the movie makes itself an obvious product of modern end-of-the-millenium thinking. It didn't offend me in any way, but I thought that it could potentially offend others. The "justification" of the liberation at the end of the movie, given in a speech, was satisfactory to me, but I wonder if it's enough to satisfy today's devoted church-goers.
Knowing the people of today that I do know, I think that it will. In the end, Chocolat isn't an offensive movie by any means. It's an old tale about letting magic and feeling into our lives, and about welcoming differences. It's not so bad to have more of these stories told.
In this case, Juliette Binoche plays the stranger, Vianne, settling in a late '50's/early '60's French village, with her daughter Anouk (Victoire Thivisol) in tow. Her particular brand of magic is chocolate; she opens up a chocolaterie, right as Lent begins. The leader of the stuffy side of things is Comte de Reynaud (Alfred Molina), mayor of the town, as well as the upstanding man who makes sure his town's denizens go to church and obey the will of the Lord. He immediately disapproves of Vianne's obvious lack of respect for the holy time that is present. However, curious townsfolk are not as stern; one by one, they taste the candies that Vianne often selects for each different customer who walks through her door, and, naturally, they are affected in a liberating way.
Later details in the story include a woman (Lena Olin) who, thanks to Vianne's kindness of spirit, runs away from household slavery and abuse to join the chocolate enterprise as an employee, and the arrival of "river rats," a group of gypsy-like travelers lead by a charming guitarist (Johnny Depp) who is pleasantly surprised that Vianne isn't like the others in the town. And the landlady of Vianne's shop, Amande (Judi Dench), a crotchety old lady who couldn't give a damn about the conservative ways of the town, also figures in as another advocate for bringing some life in to the townspeople's lives.
The movie carries on somewhat predictably, but is charming all the way through. It's always amusing to see the folks affected by the chocolate, looking rather cute as they take baby steps away from their lifeless routines and expectations. Binoche plays Vianne well, and even Molina is really presented as someone sympathetic, rather than as a nasty representative of the establishment. Dench somehow, as usual, wins the audience over with her patented scowl; she can go ahead and notch another perfect flabbergasted matron performance into her belt.
One thing in particular, though, did strike me in this version of the familiar old story. I hadn't really seen a story like this told so that strict and devout Christian faith and rituals were, in essence, the villain, i.e. the representation of the old conservative views. I was thinking of other movies, such as Mary Poppins, where a stuffy banker was the villain; or Pleasantville, where a fictional television show held the job. In Chocolat, it's the shackles implemented by an established religion that the people seemingly need to be liberated from. That seemed pretty daring, and the movie makes itself an obvious product of modern end-of-the-millenium thinking. It didn't offend me in any way, but I thought that it could potentially offend others. The "justification" of the liberation at the end of the movie, given in a speech, was satisfactory to me, but I wonder if it's enough to satisfy today's devoted church-goers.
Knowing the people of today that I do know, I think that it will. In the end, Chocolat isn't an offensive movie by any means. It's an old tale about letting magic and feeling into our lives, and about welcoming differences. It's not so bad to have more of these stories told.
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