The latest in our series of writers paying tribute to their favourite comfort films is a reminder of Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s charming Parisian fairytale
The hallway leading to my boyfriend’s flat features a Japanese poster of the 2001 French romcom, Amélie. Why it’s there is something of a mystery to us both; none of his neighbours have laid claim to it yet and, between the ground and second floors, it’s the lone decoration among a sea of teal tiles. Yet there Amélie is, reading in bed beneath two portraits of a goose and a dog in Elizabethan collar. I smile every time I see the poster, reminded of the sometimes-silly, small pleasures that make life worth living. And better yet, our miraculous capacity for being good to one another.
Although Amélie was one of the first “adult” films I ever watched, you’d be hard-pressed to find anything very serious in it at all – except, perhaps, for the brief compilation of couples in orgasm. The titular Amélie Poulain (Audrey Tautou) is a shy but mischievous waitress in Montmartre, Paris.
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