As opposed to the equally bizarre City of Lost Children, Delicatessen is slightly less of a head trip. However, that's not to say that CoLT is pure head trip--it is just bizarre. I find myself lost for words attempting to describe the feel of the two films, the only two by Jeunet (and Caro) that I have seen. I suppose it suffices to say that they are remarkably dark yet infectiously upbeat, utterly grotesque yet unsettlingly whimsical.
From Delicatessen's incredible opening sequence, we are introduced to a bleak, filth stained existence in which people and vermin are considered palpable sources of food. Social unrest and starvation are plaguing the city--the "outside"--and yet we never see what this outside world really is. The film is staged not unlike a play in that it primarily takes place in a single location, with only a certain number of set pieces and location set-ups. The first hour of the film is even the same group of 10 or so characters; no new ones are introduced until the plot thickens into a conspiracy involving a supposed terrorist group. But that's irrelevant. To know the film, you must see it, and enjoy every freakish moment of it.
Despite lack of outward scope, Jeunet and Caro really manage to make use of what they have, and that is a group of very strange looking actors and some wildly inventive set pieces. The delicatessen and accompanying tenant houses are drab, dirty things, heightened by a brown mist that seems to envelope everything in the picture. The scheme is obviously filth, but it's the commitment to this theme that allows the viewer to look around the slight errors or budgetary constraints of the film. It's a humble film, but a great one, and a brilliant one.
Some of the humor reminded me vaguely of the films of the Coen brothers--you feel disgusting for laughing, but you can't help it. The humor is so relentlessly pitch black that the only way to truly accept it is to put aside your gut and laugh hysterically. The movie's easier to handle if you look at it as pure comedy, but even this fact doesn't stop the film from sending a very serious, very unsettling message.
I can't help but bring up the final scene, which is the highlight of the film for me, but I'll try to be careful as to not give too many plot points away. The entire movie is set up (satirically, of course) like a tragedy; the build-up is there, with the inevitably doomed characters, small scale set (as in a play), and seemingly doomed romance. I may be pushing it, but the butcher seems to be set up as a Julius Caesar figure, a brutal dictator in the secluded delicatessen. In the final shot of him, as he falls into his chair, I feel as though it is no accident that his apron takes on the appearance of a toga; and then, as if to soften the blow of this finale, his final breath resembles that of a frog croaking.
And then there's the scene on the roof, where the two boys, who have remained on the fringe of the film throughout, climb to the roof to imitate Pinon and Dougnac playing their instruments, two humble conductors, with their childish view of things, observing the events but staying out of them. I could not help but to think of these two as Jeunet and Caro themselves, ending the film with their modest bows; and then the camera pans to the two leads, playing in their bizarre orchestral duo, to conclude the romance. What better way to end a dark, whimsical, unsettling, original comedy?
See Brazil, Leon, City of Lost Children, 12 Monkeys, Alphaville even