French filmmaker Jean-Pierre Jeunet stepped boldly into the arthouse spotlight with Amelié, starring Audrey Tatou, but it was 1991’s Delicatessen,
co-directed with Marc Caro, that authoritatively established his
elaborate visual style and its delicate counterbalancing with gross-out
gags and broader slapstick elements. (Hey, it’s no coincidence that
ex-Monty Python member Terry Gilliam presented the movie’s American
release). Already a deserved cult classic that will find welcome
reception among those who similarly favor Gilliam’s cinematic trinkets,
Delicatessen, with its unusual mix of tones, is worth a look for
those who enjoy their comedy dark and deadpan, but with nonetheless a
pinch of fanciful optimism.
Set in a post-apocalyptic, 21st century Paris where food is scarce (sorry, though, no Kevin Costner), Delicatessen
unfolds chiefly within the confines of a single apartment complex owned
by a man named Clapet (Jean-Claude Dreyfus), who also operates the
downstairs butcher shop. Bartering with locals for other goods and
services, Clapet keeps everyone fed by cycling through and chopping up
a steady stream of drifters who take work in his dilapidated deli. The
latest to answer his newspaper ad is a pliant young former circus
clown, Louison (Dominique Pinon), who is, of course, completely unaware
that Clapet plans to serve him up to the building’s bizarre coterie.
Things change when the butcher’s nearsighted daughter Julie
(Marie-Laurie Dougnac), who buys two of everything to stave off all the
inevitable accidents that befall her, falls for Louison and goes to
abundant lengths to systematically foil her father’s plans.
Jeunet and Caro devised the story with comic book writer Gilles
Adrien, and the latter’s exaggerated sense of action definitely helps
inform the movie’s unique sensibility. The performances are all top
notch, impressing an air of theatricality upon the filmmakers’ definite
humanist leanings. Delicatessen teases up the absurdity of its
cannibalistic premise to dizzying heights, and yet also succeeds in
locating the unlikely whimsicality therein.
Housed in a regular Amray case, Delicatessen is presented in
1.85:1 widescreen enhanced for 16×9 televisions, with a Dolby digital
surround sound original language track and optional English and Spanish
subtitles. The transfer captures the darker chocolates, golds, greens
and other murky hues of Jeunet’s frame, and the audio presentation is
leaps and bounds better than the movie’s previous VHS tape
incarnations, allowing for a fuller appreciation of Jeunet’s sterling
sound design, wherein there’s a sound or three for every gag.
Supplemental extras include a French-language audio commentary track
with Jeunet, meaning American audiences will have to double down on the
subtitles to hear his thoughts on Stateside filmmaking and his own
directorial shortcomings. There’s also a 13-minute making-of
featurette, “Fine Cooked Meats,” and around eight minutes of screen
tests, rehearsal footage and the like. The original theatrical trailer
and a collection of other teaser advertising materials rounds out the
disc. B+ (Movie) B (Disc)