Our narrator, Little Amélie (Loïse Charpentier), is born to a Belgian family in Japan. She spends her first two years in a vegetative state, which she compares to being a God. And much like a God, she’s worshipped by her parents - diplomat Patrick (Marc Anaud) and pianist Danièle (Laetitia Coryn). On her second birthday in August 1969, an earthquake happens, and she suddenly gains consciousness. But she’s practically feral until her grandma, Claude (Cathy Cerdà), gives her a taste of white chocolate; after which she’s an eager learner and a good speaker (Emmylou Homs voices her on-screen dialogue).
Grandma Claude arrives with Nishio-san (Victoria Grosbois), a housekeeper hired by the family’s landlady, Kashima-san (Yumi Fujimori). While Grandma Claude eventually leaves, Nishio stays around and eventually bonds with Little Amélie. Through Nishio, Little Amélie learns quite a bit about Japanese culture, especially the kanji for “rain,” which is pronounced “Ame” like her nickname. But Kashima, who lost so much during World War II, detests them bonding. Amélie learns a lot about the world by the time she turns three.
In French, the source novel by Amélie Nothomb actually translates to The Metaphysics of Tubes rather than The Character of Rain. This comes from a longwinded metaphor at the start of Little Amélie’s narration. There’s nothing longwinded, however, with this film, as despite its dense thematic material, it’s just 78-minutes long. During which, you'll grow attached to Amélie, her family, her childhood sense of wonder, and especially her friendship with Nishio. It's hard to hate anyone in her orbit, even if they're her bratty big brother André (Isaac Schoumsky) or Kashima herself. In fact, Kashima's emotional wounds make her pretty sympathetic.
Its watercolor art style, visualized by directors Liane-Cho Han and Maïlys Vallade, matches Amélie’s sense of wonder. She’s amazed by a vacuum cleaner, enough that it becomes her first word, and how it visualizes its suction power helps you understand the appeal. Through this art style, you'll start to wonder if she can really cause earthquakes or part the sea, or if it's just her imagination. Either way, these cosmic phenomena are great to look at. Some surprisingly effective and haunting food metaphors visualize Nishio describing her surviving the air raids during the war. The Japanese scenery is stunning, especially when it's lit by candles during Obon. It's all accentuated by a marvelous score by Mari Fukuhara.
Little Amélie is a short but sweet film. She goes through so much that you’ll be surprised once the credits hit. A few things, like Kashima’s ultimate compassion, could have been developed better, but they’re just minor flaws. You'll just have to see this film anywhere and however you can. Still see it. I think I said enough.
Its watercolor art style, visualized by directors Liane-Cho Han and Maïlys Vallade, matches Amélie’s sense of wonder. She’s amazed by a vacuum cleaner, enough that it becomes her first word, and how it visualizes its suction power helps you understand the appeal. Through this art style, you'll start to wonder if she can really cause earthquakes or part the sea, or if it's just her imagination. Either way, these cosmic phenomena are great to look at. Some surprisingly effective and haunting food metaphors visualize Nishio describing her surviving the air raids during the war. The Japanese scenery is stunning, especially when it's lit by candles during Obon. It's all accentuated by a marvelous score by Mari Fukuhara.
Little Amélie is a short but sweet film. She goes through so much that you’ll be surprised once the credits hit. A few things, like Kashima’s ultimate compassion, could have been developed better, but they’re just minor flaws. You'll just have to see this film anywhere and however you can. Still see it. I think I said enough.
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