Review: Little Amélie captures the simplicity and complexity of childhood

Amélie is what you might call a late bloomer. Shortly after she's born, the doctor deems her a vegetable, and she spends her first couple years of life silent, untouched, unmoving. Despite her family's many attempts to break through, she seems immune to all external stimuli. Her eyes don't see, her ears don't hear. She's there, but not present.

Until one day, something breaks. Suddenly, she's mobile, expressive, alert. Crying, a lot. It's like an eruption, a force of nature taking over her body, without any form or direction to it. 

And then comes the second awakening, in the form of white chocolate. Amélie and her family are Belgian, but live in post-war Japan, where her father is a diplomat. Her grandmother brings chocolate from the homeland on a visit, and after one bite, Amélie is perhaps truly born. It grounds her in a way nothing else ever has, gives her control over her senses, and her body. In no time at all, she's speaking. And not just random words, but full sentences. The world is suddenly her oyster, and she's eager to learn more.

From directors Mailys Vallade and Liane-Cho Han, and adapted from Amélie Nothomb's autobiographical novel, Little Amélie or the Character of Rain is a stunning encapsulation of childhood. It's hard to get kids right in movies, and a lot of the times I've seen it done well, it's been in animation. Movies like My Neighbor Totoro and Grave of the Fireflies come to mind, films that grapple with the many facets of what it is to by young, and innocent. Little Amélie now makes that list. It's amazing, magic even, the way that this film captures the simplicity and complexity of being a child, and the way that extends to just being a person in general. The world is so vast, and often so sad, and it doesn't always make sense. But kids are so eager, and empathetic, and open that the complexities and unfairnesses of the world can sometimes be smoothed out or made even rougher in their eyes. It's an age of discovery that, for some, never ends.

Right from the get-go, it's clear that this is a very special movie. In a year that's been packed with great-looking animation, Little Amélie stands out as one of the most visually dazzling. It really feels like Amélie herself is being given the reigns of this film, both in its flow and its artistic direction. The world is so colorful, a smorgasbord of light and movement and shapes that all flow freely, easily into each other. The little girl's imagination is the engine of what we're seeing, with flowers growing huge, objects at a beach being easily popped into a jar, carp shape-shifting into ugly little boy faces. You never know what you're going to see next, but you always know it's going to be special, and beautiful.

And it's all so closely tied to the story the film is telling, one that's deeply embedded in Amélie's character. Though she loves her family, she feels a little like she exists outside of them. At two and a half years old, she isn't a fully-formed person yet, but she's certainly more fully-formed than the average toddler. She's deeply pensive, curious, always exploring. And she finds a kindred spirit in the family's newly-hired housekeeper, Nishio-san, who takes a liking to the young girl, and invites her into Japanese culture. Nishio-san reads Amélie stories about yokai, takes her to a festival, and teachers her how to write the kanji for rain (ame in Japanese, which is also what Nishio-san calls her young friend). The bond these characters share is so lovely, and depicted with such care, it becomes a bit of an emotional powerhouse. Nishio-san opens Amélie's eyes to more and more of the world, and Amélie, in turn, becomes a sort of safe haven for Nishio-san, who has a sad family history dating back to the war.

The film also grapples with those looming feelings of loss, and the way tragedy can hang over you and continue to control your life. While Nishio-san is able to embrace Amélie and her family, the landlady Kashima-san has a harder time, seeing them primarily as descendants of the people who bombed Japan decades before. Those wounds are still fresh for Kashima-san, and the scars haven't yet formed. Or maybe they have and she can't stop picking at them. Even Amélie isn't safe from Kashima-san's withering gaze: the little girl's innocence can't be divorced from the guilt of people who came before.

And in the midst of all of these elements - cultures that seem to clash, history that colors the way other people might see you, family dynamics that can make you feel lost or lonely - is Amélie in all her wide-eyed thoughtfulness, ready to explore the world and greet it with love. She's such a perfect vessel for us to venture into this tiny, vivid corner of the world. It's no wonder everything looks so beautiful through her eyes, with how generous and open her heart is. After watching this movie, you'll likely want to try to approach the world in the same way, with kinder eyes and a gentler heart. I know I do.