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Back off Nemo: 'The Triplets of Belleville' is an animated sensation

At the risk of sounding like a decomposing old man reminiscing of times past, this has to be said: They don’t make animated films like they used to.

Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics

The neat little parlor trick of moving drawings hit its peak with Disney’s “”Fantasia,”” a film that was designed to be more than just a film ‹ it was a night out at the opera. Yet now, Disney somehow turned its artistic aspirations on its head after Walt kicked the bucket and decided to corner the animated film market by regurgitating sappy story after sappy story, with plenty of bonking sound effects to keep the kids happy. Such is the current state of the animated film.

That is, until now, when independent French wonder “”The Triplets of Belleville”” burst onto the scene. After a short faux old-time black-and-white interlude that serves as an introduction to the film, the audience is suddenly thrust into the world of the grotesque and the ride begins.

Silly yet wickedly savage caricatures waddle to and fro, inviting laughter from their very lines and movements. This is why animated films were made in the first place. Never mind the wishy-washy realism of correctly proportioned people dancing around with genies, wolf-men or talking animals, this film skews every shape to the point where you don’t know whether to be sick or in awe of the beautiful animation.

Of course, such an artistic approach to a film would easily banish it to hopeless pretension if not for one thing: The characters are real people. Vulnerable people. Like another recent French success, “”Amelie,”” the depth of feeling that each character portrays easily transcends their silly quirks. In “”Amelie,”” the audience comes to care for the daydreaming fool, her voyeur boyfriend, the one-armed neighbor and the foul-mouthed bar patron.

Likewise, in “”Triplets of Belleville,”” the audience learns to care about the old lady with a lazy eye and one very large boot as she searches for her grandson who has calves the size of hay bales and runs from trapezoidal mobsters aided by sagging old ladies. There’s a fat, stupid dog in there too, who has lush computer-generated nightmares, and we even care about him.

Some people may not like the fact that this film has no dialogue. Perhaps it’s time for a bit of peace and quiet.

Some people may not like the fact that this film portrays Americans as hamburger-chomping fatties who have the intelligence of deranged sheep. Perhaps it’s time for a crash course in international relations.

Some people may not like the fact that this film is really “”G”” rated, hiding behind a ten-second breast shot for its coveted PG-13 rating. Perhaps it’s time to realize that before the Disneyfication of kiddie films, it was okay to go see “”G”” films.

And some people may not like the film at all ‹ they may say it’s too artsy and too simple at the same time. But that’s okay. We’ve been settling for bad stories for years, but at least this one will enrich our dreams, especially for those who stay past the end of the credits.

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