AFI FEST Review: A Magnificent Life is a limp biopic with nothing to say

After a decade and a half away from animation, Sylvain Chomet returns to the medium with A Magnificent Life, a biopic about the playwright/filmmaker/poet/inventor/etc. Marcel Pagnol. Considering Chomet's previous animated features -- The Triplets of Belleville and The Illusionist -- I came into this movie with a lot of anticipation. When I saw it was playing at AFI FEST, it was an easy cop. I was in.

Before the movie, I didn't know anything about Marcel Pagnol. I had never even heard of him before the movie was announced. And now, after seeing A Magnificent Life, I still know basically nothing about the man. I can name a few things he made. A couple tragedies he endured. And that's about it. Even by biopic standards, A Magnificent Life is a threadbare failure. It feels like an adaptation of a Wikipedia page. That's how much depth and personality there are to be found here.

And after watching the movie, I'm kind of at a loss as to why Pagnol even deserved the biopic treatment at all. That's what a failure this movie is at sparking interest in the man and his career. At no point did anything click like, Oh, that's interesting! or Ah, that's why we're all here. Instead, I kept waiting for anything interesting to happen. Beyond losing his mother young, and a daughter too young, and living through WWII (and refusing attempts by the Nazis to recruit him to work with them), Pagnol's life isn't particularly interesting. It felt like the story of a lot of famous artists who probably don't get movies made about them. Being successful or talented doesn't mean you have a story worth telling.

Even the title...I'm wondering if it's all supposed to be tongue-in-cheek. Like, how generous that even such a fairly normal life can be considered magnificent. I don't know. 

I'm even finding it a little hard to figure out what to talk about here, there's so little meat on the bones. I'll say that, out of the gate, I felt like I was in pretty good hands. I was surprised to find that I was seeing the English version, but after that hiccup (which ended up not being an issue - the dub is good), I found myself pulled in pretty quickly. Obviously, this being Chomet, this is a beautiful movie. The level of detail, the sketchbook quality, the caricature-esque facial proportions of the characters, it all looks lovely. And that proved to be a bastion for me as I tried to stay awake through this bore.

The set-up is also solid. We meet Pagnol on the heels of a new play opening, one that's being pretty soundly rejected by critics and audiences alike. He's in his early sixties, and he realizes his glory days are likely behind him. He doesn't begrudge young taste; he knows that's how it goes, and what he did when he was young. The old masters don't look much like masters to these fresh eyes, though maybe they will in later years. But in the present, we're all eager for what's new, and Pagnol isn't new.

So, maybe cruelly, he's tasked with looking back on his life, and writing a memoir. The call of a blank page isn't music to his ears. It's more of a threat, or a sad reminder of what was, and likely never will be. Rather than hole up in his office, these days, Pagnol is more likely to retire to his workshop, where he toils over his latest attempt at a perpetual motion machine. He's slowing down, not working like he used to, but maybe he can make a machine that will never have to stop, that will never fail like a human body inevitably must.

Regardless, he does have his assignment, so he must face that horrible blank page, and he's accompanied by the ghost of his younger self, whom he warmly calls just "Marcel." (The film's French title is Marcel et Monsieur Pagnol, a better title in my opinion). This is the closest the film comes to having a strong point-of-view: the young and old versions of the character walking through his whole life together, commenting on it from their opposite viewpoints. A clever set-up.

And one that, sadly, doesn't really go anywhere or do anything. Most of the movie is just dates and titles of works (or city names) where we see Pagnol writing, or directing, or fretting backstage. Sometimes we get life updates on a new wife or lover or whatever. Eventually, the war comes into play. It really feels like skimming his Wikipedia page, pulling out the bold-faced details, and not bothering to dive any deeper. It's a bizarre approach to the subject matter, and one that makes Pagnol feel unknowable, inaccessible, unreachable. Which is, I imagine, the opposite of what Chomet was going for.

And, if you take the film at face value (which you have to, as there's not much else to take), there is a reminder that, in artistic works, and particularly in film, immortality is possible. The stars of the silver screen continue to dance and act and sing and make us cry. Pagnol's films remain out there waiting to be discovered. And someday, I think I will want to dive into his work. But not because of A Magnificent Life, but rather in spite of it. Maybe by watching his movies, I'll get to know the man a little better, because after watching this limp biopic, I don't feel like I know him at all.