ChocolatOne should always be cautious of holding on too tightly to traditions, lest they possess too great of a hold on you. The story of Chocolat is one of testing the beliefs and conventions that people consider sacred, be they the rigid formalism of organized religion or the compulsions which drive us away from happiness, or both. It is a story which simply suggests that we consider the reasons why we engage in the practices we do--out of habit or out of faith. And if the overwhelming need to cling to those traditions means that we lose sight of what is truly important in life, and who we are. The choices we make end up making us.
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Chocolat begins--and stays--in the small French town of Lansquenet-sous-Tannes, on the cusp of the 1960s, a time of social change around the world. The town is led by the proud Comte de Reynaud (Alfred Molina), the mayor and inheritor of a great legacy founded in history and religion, in formality and duty. He is admired and respected in the town, although it is accepted that the problems which are present remain quiet in light of the virtues of tranquility which are endorsed by his governance. His conservative ideal is very appealing--it is safe, it is comfortable, it is reliable...for those who do not dispute it; and none have, not until the arrival of a nomadic drifter with revolutionary ideas about the restorative and uplifting power of chocolate, Vianne Rocher (Juliette Binoche). Although it could be said that Vianne makes a tactless choice to open a chocolaterie at the onset of Catholic Lent--and the Comte does say so--the presence raises even more questions about the substance in the observance of the period of abstinence and resistance to temptation. It is not as if abstinence is a terrible thing, but the commitment means nothing without context, and the message of "why" has been watered down and filtered. The young priest, Father Pere Henri (Hugh O'Conor), has his sermons proofread by the Comte and even edited--although we sense that this is against his better judgment--conveying a message not so much for the benefit of God or the town, but of the high standards to which the Comte expects others to follow by his ascetic example. Vianne's impact on the town--and more importantly, the townsfolk--is not felt immediately, but gradually. She intrigues the more daring denizens of the town--children like Luc Clairmont (Aurélien Parent-Koenig), whose talent as an artist and whose fascination with death makes him feel a bit of an outsider. But the allure of the forbidden is not so much out of a desire to rebel, as to see his estranged grandmother and the landlord of the chocolate shop, Armande Voizin (Judi Dench), whose brusque attitude does not turn her away from Vianne, who in turn offers her ear to listen to the old woman, rather than try to shove her off to a hospital to be forgotten, as she sees her strict and restrained--but well-meaning--daughter, Caroline (Carrie-Anne Moss), apt to do. The standout transformation in the film comes in the form of Josephine Muscat (Lena Olin), who suffers from kleptomania as a response to her abusive, uncaring husband, Serge (Peter Stromare). After Vianne shows her kindness and invites her to simply think for herself, she takes her in and instills in her the confidence to live her life outside of her husband's shadow. (I've always felt that Lena Olin's performance is a tour de force in Chocolat; coincidentally, her husband--Lasse Hallström--is the director.)
Chocolat is more than a story about tasty delicacies--it is about the battle of wills between the reigning champion of conservative values in the form of the Comte and the newcomer to the ring, a woman who stands up to the establishment not out of spite, but a belief that others may choose a different path. Vianne's free nature galls the Comte, not because he is an unconscionable villain, but because he wants to believe in the stability of his ideals with such ferocity that any structural imperfections observed within them--or the actions of others which draws his eye to doubt himself--feels like a personal attack. The two make their animosity known to one another early on, and use their own dispensary of their respective medicines to pull the rope toward their convictions--the rope being the townsfolk of Lansquenet. When the "river rats"--gypsies and musicians, led by the charismatic Roux (Johnny Depp)--arrive on the shores of the Tannes, both Vianne and the Comte use their presence as a piece in their elaborate game to convince the town of the merits of their cause. Vianne's kindness recalls another adage regarding the merits of sweets, something about flies, and honey and vinegar. Vianne and the Comte share more in common than they would like to admit; while the Comte is bound to the de rigueur of the past he embraces--one comical scene shows him announcing he has "completed the 18th century", with regards to his own writing--Vianne is bound to the very fate which brought her and her daughter, Anouk (Victoire Thivisol). As she recounts to Anouk the bedtime story of her grandparents, we learn that Vianne's mother was a woman from a nomadic tribe, who would not be bound to one locale. Vianne carries this compulsion in her blood, meaning she feels that when the "sly North wind" blows, she leaves one town for another, much to Anouk's sorrow. Just as the Comte is bound to history, the pull which even Vianne does not understand holds sway over her. The Comte cries out (often through the mouthpiece of the priest) that the lure of chocolate is the temptation of Satan herself; does he really believe this? There is not much evidence to suggest that the Comte is as devout as he espouses, only that he wishes to do his very best to showcase himself as a moral beacon, the very best citizen of the town he cares for. But in his fervor, he ends up making grave errors in judgement, especially in his hollow efforts to reform Serge, a battle in moral conditioning he is doomed to lose, but commits to fight--partly to spite Vianne for taking in Serge's wife, but more so because he feels the pain of abandonment, his own wife having deserted him...yet something he feels shame to admit. Perhaps the best scene in Chocolat comes when the Comte finally loses his direction on the eve of Easter. He breaks into the chocolate shop--armed with a letter opener--and strides with a terrible ferocity in his eyes toward the chocolate Venus on display in the window, his own grim reflection in the glass. His assault on the idols of his temptation is so grave--and the Venus hints at his own frustrations toward women like Vianne and his wife--that he simply implodes. And when a dribble of the seductive chocolate touches his lip, his resolve completely shatters, his much vaunted convictions reduced to rubble. Chocolat is not an indictment on a way of life or even a group of people, but only those who abuse a cause, turning a message against people out of hate or malice, and it asks of us to consider the reason we defend our convictions; is it out of a genuine belief, or a fear of what it means if we are wrong?
Recommended for: Fans of a charming comedy and sweet tale of a community whose ideas of tranquility are tested by a sweet woman with a sweet snack, and her crossing of swords with the stalwart defender of all things moral, unyielding as stone. And for those with a sweet tooth, it is a decadent display of some gorgeous desserts.
Chocolat is more than a story about tasty delicacies--it is about the battle of wills between the reigning champion of conservative values in the form of the Comte and the newcomer to the ring, a woman who stands up to the establishment not out of spite, but a belief that others may choose a different path. Vianne's free nature galls the Comte, not because he is an unconscionable villain, but because he wants to believe in the stability of his ideals with such ferocity that any structural imperfections observed within them--or the actions of others which draws his eye to doubt himself--feels like a personal attack. The two make their animosity known to one another early on, and use their own dispensary of their respective medicines to pull the rope toward their convictions--the rope being the townsfolk of Lansquenet. When the "river rats"--gypsies and musicians, led by the charismatic Roux (Johnny Depp)--arrive on the shores of the Tannes, both Vianne and the Comte use their presence as a piece in their elaborate game to convince the town of the merits of their cause. Vianne's kindness recalls another adage regarding the merits of sweets, something about flies, and honey and vinegar. Vianne and the Comte share more in common than they would like to admit; while the Comte is bound to the de rigueur of the past he embraces--one comical scene shows him announcing he has "completed the 18th century", with regards to his own writing--Vianne is bound to the very fate which brought her and her daughter, Anouk (Victoire Thivisol). As she recounts to Anouk the bedtime story of her grandparents, we learn that Vianne's mother was a woman from a nomadic tribe, who would not be bound to one locale. Vianne carries this compulsion in her blood, meaning she feels that when the "sly North wind" blows, she leaves one town for another, much to Anouk's sorrow. Just as the Comte is bound to history, the pull which even Vianne does not understand holds sway over her. The Comte cries out (often through the mouthpiece of the priest) that the lure of chocolate is the temptation of Satan herself; does he really believe this? There is not much evidence to suggest that the Comte is as devout as he espouses, only that he wishes to do his very best to showcase himself as a moral beacon, the very best citizen of the town he cares for. But in his fervor, he ends up making grave errors in judgement, especially in his hollow efforts to reform Serge, a battle in moral conditioning he is doomed to lose, but commits to fight--partly to spite Vianne for taking in Serge's wife, but more so because he feels the pain of abandonment, his own wife having deserted him...yet something he feels shame to admit. Perhaps the best scene in Chocolat comes when the Comte finally loses his direction on the eve of Easter. He breaks into the chocolate shop--armed with a letter opener--and strides with a terrible ferocity in his eyes toward the chocolate Venus on display in the window, his own grim reflection in the glass. His assault on the idols of his temptation is so grave--and the Venus hints at his own frustrations toward women like Vianne and his wife--that he simply implodes. And when a dribble of the seductive chocolate touches his lip, his resolve completely shatters, his much vaunted convictions reduced to rubble. Chocolat is not an indictment on a way of life or even a group of people, but only those who abuse a cause, turning a message against people out of hate or malice, and it asks of us to consider the reason we defend our convictions; is it out of a genuine belief, or a fear of what it means if we are wrong?
Recommended for: Fans of a charming comedy and sweet tale of a community whose ideas of tranquility are tested by a sweet woman with a sweet snack, and her crossing of swords with the stalwart defender of all things moral, unyielding as stone. And for those with a sweet tooth, it is a decadent display of some gorgeous desserts.