A-Directed by Claude Barras Starring Sixtine Murat, Paulin Jaccoud, and Gaspard Schlatter Review by Jon Kissel |  |
My Life As a Zucchini is a perfect example of the 'sad kids are sad' subgenre of films, a subgenre that consistently work on me. There's no better place for this than an orphanage, where Claude Barras' stop-motion film is set. However, this is no misery porn. My Life As a Zucchini might focus on adorably-animated children recovering from abuse or abandonment, but it's also a tribute to resiliency, to the ability of the young human mind to incorporate the bad into its gray matter but nevertheless seek out the joyful at every opportunity. The French have a long tradition of bittersweet films about childhood, spanning from Francois Truffaut to writer Celine Sciamma's other work, and Barras' beautiful tale fits squarely in that tradition.
The audience surrogate into the orphanage in My Life as a Zucchini is young Icare (Gaspard Schlatter), though he prefers to be called Zucchini. His father's only presence in his life is as a hand-drawn picture on the back of Zucchini's kite, while mom spends most of her time sullenly watching TV and drinking beer. After a fatal accident befalls his mother, Zucchini is sent to a small orphanage. Dominated by a red-haired bully named Simon (Paulin Jaccound), the handful of children there each has their sad story, including Simon. Zucchini gradually ingratiates himself to Simon and by extension, the rest of the group, such that he's one more insider by the time the next foster kid rolls up. Zucchini is instantly smitten with the new arrival, Camille (Sixtine Murat), and leaps at the chance to help her get away from a venal aunt who only wants to adopt Camille for the government money.
Befitting a film where every frame is lovingly analyzed and arranged, My Life As a Zucchini is bursting with unspoken detail. The facial expressions are subtle and seamless. Several of the children have scars on their faces, scars that the camera never lingers on. They're just a part of the kids' history. The art style, initially alien with Zucchini's Play-doh hair and oversize eyes, eventually becomes immersive with the aid of Sciamma's naturalistic writing. One of the kids still sucks their thumb because of course they do. At only 66 minutes long, Barras and Sciamma choose not to stuff the film with incident but instead add as much endearing nuance as they can. It matters less what's happening than who it's happening to.
Fittingly for the subject matter, of course some of that nuance and detail is piercingly sad. The film puts the brutality and indifference of the world on the kid characters' shoulders. Abuse, dependence, the crushing power of the state, unvarnished malevolence, these children have borne the brunt of it. Barras and Sciamma are frank about what some of the kids have gone through, and what's most depressing about the aftermath is their diminished level of trust in the parental bond. The signature frame of the film catches the class on a winter field trip, observing a mother kiss her son's boo-boo. Barras holds his camera a few precious seconds longer than expected, as the kids stand there, quietly envious and possibly wondering what the parented kid did to deserve such warmth and they did to deserve the opposite.
Against this pain is happiness that demands to escape and be expressed, no matter what. These kids are still young enough to where they can lose themselves in un-self-conscious play, something Barras and Sciamma use to leaven the cumulative portions of injustice that My Life As a Zucchini also contains. The staff at the orphanage works hard to provide them with release valves and distractions, like the aforementioned field trip, and the kids oblige their work by taking the opportunity to dance like idiots. This is a film that earns its emotions, whether they're gloomy or ecstatic. Zucchini talks about his life with his mother as one of solitude and irritability and uncertainty, but she also made great mashed potatoes, and she liked to fly kites with him. The dial might have been turned more towards the bad, but it occasionally flashed on the good. My Life As a Zucchini exists in that space, where no matter how terrible things have been going, a steaming, buttery pile of mashed potatoes could be on the schedule for dinner. A-
Befitting a film where every frame is lovingly analyzed and arranged, My Life As a Zucchini is bursting with unspoken detail. The facial expressions are subtle and seamless. Several of the children have scars on their faces, scars that the camera never lingers on. They're just a part of the kids' history. The art style, initially alien with Zucchini's Play-doh hair and oversize eyes, eventually becomes immersive with the aid of Sciamma's naturalistic writing. One of the kids still sucks their thumb because of course they do. At only 66 minutes long, Barras and Sciamma choose not to stuff the film with incident but instead add as much endearing nuance as they can. It matters less what's happening than who it's happening to.
Fittingly for the subject matter, of course some of that nuance and detail is piercingly sad. The film puts the brutality and indifference of the world on the kid characters' shoulders. Abuse, dependence, the crushing power of the state, unvarnished malevolence, these children have borne the brunt of it. Barras and Sciamma are frank about what some of the kids have gone through, and what's most depressing about the aftermath is their diminished level of trust in the parental bond. The signature frame of the film catches the class on a winter field trip, observing a mother kiss her son's boo-boo. Barras holds his camera a few precious seconds longer than expected, as the kids stand there, quietly envious and possibly wondering what the parented kid did to deserve such warmth and they did to deserve the opposite.
Against this pain is happiness that demands to escape and be expressed, no matter what. These kids are still young enough to where they can lose themselves in un-self-conscious play, something Barras and Sciamma use to leaven the cumulative portions of injustice that My Life As a Zucchini also contains. The staff at the orphanage works hard to provide them with release valves and distractions, like the aforementioned field trip, and the kids oblige their work by taking the opportunity to dance like idiots. This is a film that earns its emotions, whether they're gloomy or ecstatic. Zucchini talks about his life with his mother as one of solitude and irritability and uncertainty, but she also made great mashed potatoes, and she liked to fly kites with him. The dial might have been turned more towards the bad, but it occasionally flashed on the good. My Life As a Zucchini exists in that space, where no matter how terrible things have been going, a steaming, buttery pile of mashed potatoes could be on the schedule for dinner. A-
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