Bazil has a rough life. As a child,  he was orphaned by a roadside mine that killed the only family he had. Sure that's a tough pill to swallow but presently Bazil seems alright. He works at a video stores and consumes copious amounts of what he loves most: film. That is until one fateful day, when a stray bullet randomly finds its way crashing through the video shop's front window and straight into Bazil's brain. He survives, but not completely unscathed, and when he tries to return to his normal life he soon finds he has been replaced at the video shop, and his place of residence has evicted him. So Bazil turns to the streets where he is soon taken in by a band of weirdos, each with a very specific skill set. They work together and provide for one another, and Bazil assumes his role well until his car breaks down and he finds himself between two monolithic buildings baring emblems of the two weapons of destruction that  ruined his life. Bazil's resolve? Take em down. But his way--with some zany Micmacs, or shenanigans.

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Such is the premise of the latest wacky adventure, Micmacs, from Amelie genius Jean Pierre Jeunet. If you have loved any of Jeunet's films on some level be prepared to fall completely head over heels for this. It's as if every film he has made up to this point was a testing ground to see how he can push one theme, technique or idea, and, with Micmacs, he combines all his best ones and creates a whimsical journey of pure delight. Jeunet has a flair for shorthand, quick cut narrative that has become his signature and it cleverly introduces us to all of the lovable characters and all their various idiosyncrasies.

He also has a love for cinema history as evident with the many references peppered throughout his films, but here he gets to indulge himself unabashedly as he has a main character to play with who is as much a film buff as he. One scene in particular will almost have you crying with how tenderly sweet and wonderfully entertaining it is as it pays homage to all the physical silent film comedians. The simplest scene of Bazil being hungry and needing a meal but having too much pride to ask for a hand out plays out beautifully without a single line of dialogue to first time composer Raphael Beau's energetic score. Why can't more movies be like this?

Sure Jeunet could take all the credit, but he has surrounded himself with so many of the same people throughout his years in the business who buy into what he is doing. And because of that trust and that camaraderie, Jeunet always has a cast of all-stars in front of and behind the camera. Many familiar supporting faces pop up and deliver just as they always have, but it's Danny Boon's Bazil that anchors this ship. The film could have been a fun and flighty caper made for easy digestion, but Boon's portrayal of Bazil as a complex and damaged man is wonderful. The fact that he is a man of few words is a further credit to the performance and the Boon's talents.

But really, there's no weak link here and, as much as I hate to oversell a movie, I simply loved this.

--Greg MacLennan