Attila Marcel

Synopsis: Paul is a sweet man-child, raised - and smothered - by his two eccentric aunts in Paris since the death of his parents when he was a toddler. Now thirty-three, he still does not speak. (He does express himself through colorful suits that would challenge any Wes Anderson character in nerd chic.) Paul's aunts have only one dream for him: to win piano competitions. Although Paul practices dutifully, he remains unfulfilled until he submits to the interventions of his upstairs neighbor. Suitably named after the novelist, Madame Proust offers Paul a concoction that unlocks repressed memories from his childhood and awakens the most delightful of fantasies.
Genre: Comedy, Music
Director(s): Sylvain Chomet
Production: Pathé
  2 wins.
 
IMDB:
7.0
Rotten Tomatoes:
79%
G
Year:
2013
106 min
592 Views


"We are able to find everything

in our memory, which is like a dispensary

where, at random, we pick a soothing

drug or a dangerous poison." Marcel Proust

Marcel, look.

I think he's going to speak.

Look!

I think he's going to say "Papa".

Go on, say it, Paul honey.

Marcel...

What a beautiful day.

Two... Three...

Before the java came the waltz.

And before the waltz...

There was the minuet.

1, 2, 3...

They are all in triple time.

The 18th century.

The classical period...

Order, clarity, reason...

Think we'll dance the minuet in clubs?

Refuse no experiences.

The army taught me that.

Fight the enemy with his tactics.

It's not a boxing ring.

Fashions come and go.

Disco music is back,

so why not the minuet?

Can we go on?

With the waltz,

bodies begin to touch.

But only lightly.

The 19th century... Romanticism,

Chateaubriand, Delacroix...

Mendelssohn...

With the java, it's body to body.

The 20th century...

Auschwitz, Hiroshima...

Chernobyl...

Aspirin too.

No, aspirin's the 19th century.

Damn.

Concentrate now.

Form couples for the waltz.

Get some air. Step back.

Is everyone partnered?

One, two, three...

Going to the park?

You'll catch cold.

At least put your cardigan on!

Temporarily out of order

Again!

It's too much!

They're coming Thursday.

But I think it's a goner.

Six floors...

Dancing keeps you young.

Imagine the other old folks.

Jean-Yves!

Coming!

What is it, Mum?

All right...

Where have you put the remote?

Say when.

When!

Let's go, kids!

Happy birthday, Paul

Is it me or is the piano off-key

on the high notes?

You're right.

I tuned it three days ago

but the beast's already out of sorts.

I'll see to it.

Time for presents!

From Mr Chassepot de Pissy

and Mr Pineton de Chambrun.

Happy birthday, Paul.

We found this amazing item

in an antique store.

It's a chirogym,

a sort of gym for pianists.

Each appliance is designed

for a hand muscle.

I advise against using it.

Schumann lost the use

of his ring finger with one.

How amusing.

It must be very valuable.

From Mr Coelho.

It's from my home village.

No more crumbs in the piano now.

From your chouquettes.

Did you choose it?

I always choose by myself.

At least it'll come in handy.

From us.

Happy birthday, Paul.

What is it?

A model piano.

How topical!

Don't glue your fingers

for the competition!

I found this in a cupboard.

She's watching you.

From up there...

Hands off!

Why don't you talk?

Are you sick?

What's wrong?

I told you to get more.

Coming.

Madame Proust, your carrots

are even bigger this year!

Madame Proust?

Who's there?

Paul? What are you doing here?

Thank you.

Madame Proust, we have a visitor!

He's brought my record back.

It's Paul from the 6th floor.

The pianist.

The boy who doesn't speak?

He can see though.

Will he rat about my vegetable garden?

I don't think so.

He won't?

I know Paul well.

He can keep a secret.

I'm not letting him go

without some herb tea.

I make the decisions here.

I'm sorry. All this is my fault.

Do you know it?

Let my body

tell you things

that words cannot say...

You don't know it, you're too young.

My first slow dance.

With my future wife.

The happiest day of my life.

And my first real erection.

Look at this carrot!

I mustn't get this wrong.

This is the mute's.

And this one is yours.

Should I wait a little?

You never know.

It might go badly with...

Eat the madeleine

to get rid of the taste.

A hint of mushrooms, right?

Don't worry, it's herb tea.

It's not soup.

Then again...

there's another flavour.

- Asparagus.

- Ok!

That's Moustique.

He's my very own piano.

I'm no virtuoso but that's ok.

With the ukulele,

it's the thought that counts.

He's gone.

What a sad boy...

His parents died when he was two.

So he doesn't speak.

Quite a conversation-killer.

He has nightmares.

How can you tell?

Does he look as if he sleeps well?

I can't say.

You don't have colour.

What did his folks die of?

His aunts never talk about it.

But he was there when it happened.

Brilliant.

What are you doing?

He can't stay here.

Help me get him out.

He's not big

but I bet he's a weight.

Well done, Mimi.

One hell of a guard dog.

Deaf as a post too.

A hat trick

with a blind man and a mute.

You're sure he won't remember?

Of course, that's the asparagus.

It purges your memory

and washes out in your piss.

Goodbye.

Say goodbye.

Goodbye.

Come on.

Let my body

Tell you things

that words cannot say...

Jean-Yves!

Coming!

Closed

Where were you?

You've lost your keys?

We were worried sick!

Four hours to buy chouquettes!

We were going frantic.

We called the baker's.

They hadn't seen you.

Were you at the park?

When you go to the park, Paul,

write "park".

Not "chouquettes".

Any fool can do that.

What are you doing?

It's dinnertime.

Have we got everything?

Temporarily out of order

Sh*t!

Goddam thing!

Hold your head up, please.

It's not a square dance, sir.

On the tips of your toes. Light.

Airy... Elegant...

No!

You're hopeless!

I know, I'm a physical mess...

Come back for the java.

With the java, you can be...

Lopsided?

I have to sit this one out?

I don't need classes

to be a wallflower.

Mohammed, you really can't?

I can try in socks.

Then try, my boy!

You'll slide better in socks.

You're pairing up two fatties...

Right!

Time for the java!

Off you go now...

Poor Buddha. They got you.

Sh*t!

Attila Marcel vs.

The Villette Butcher

What on earth's that?

That's not a tango.

You said one step forward,

two back.

If you don't listen, you go backwards!

All right, start again.

Take your partners.

I know where your mother is...

Madame Proust - 4th floor

Your mother's right here.

In the murky waters of your memory.

Memories are like fishies.

They hide in the depths.

Look at a pond.

You think, "It's dark and flat.

Nothing lives in there."

If you're an angler,

you toss in something they like

and you start to see stuff

moving down there.

You cast your line.

You reel in one that big.

Not a pike, a memory.

And what's the bait you use

to catch memories?

This.

Memories like music, see.

Feeding the fishies is fine

but you need to reel them in.

And doing that requires a hook.

They're plain madeleines.

Some add orange-flower water

but that's a bit gay.

The hook is in this.

Metaphorically speaking.

There are some side effects

but they're worth it.

I nearly forgot...

It's not free.

50 euros a session.

Life isn't cheap.

And my ingredients don't come

from the corner store.

Well?

If you don't want to fish

for memories,

there's still some asparagus tea.

Incredible, look at those digits

We'll make you the king of pianists

You're the child

we've waited for Paul

In our hands, you'll learn it all

Come on, sisters,

give it a rest

Look at those shoulders,

he'll be the accordion's best

Nonsense, ignore what they say

A lord you are and a lord you'll stay

The time hasn't yet come

to buy loafers for Attila's son

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Sylvain Chomet

Sylvain Chomet (French: [ʃɔmɛ]; born 10 November 1963) is a French comic writer, animator and film director. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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