In this blog post, we’ll explore the beautiful cinematography of the fantasy world depicted in ‘The City of Lost Children’, the sadness hidden beneath the surface, and the meaning of “loss” conveyed through the film by examining the relationship between Dr. Crank and the children.
The Allure of Bitter Chocolate Over Sweet Milk Chocolate
Chocolate is sweet, and above all, it’s a beautiful and cute motif that suits lovers perfectly. However, at some point, chocolates like “100% Cacao”—where the sweetness has vanished—began to appear, and we now live in an era where we’ve come to prefer bitterness. What is the appeal of bitterness? It is only after a breakup, through the absence of our partner, that we realize once again that we were in love. And the more bitter the experience, the longer the aftertaste lingers and the more vividly it is remembered.
“The City of Lost Children” is a space filled with this kind of sadness—one that leaves a lasting impression. The heartache felt when Miette (the girl) is slapped by the magician is bound to hurt more than any lover’s pain. What themes are woven into their love story? Why did the director choose to set their story in a fantasy world?
This film is not simply a fantasy movie where children go on adventures, grow up, and achieve their goals. As viewers, we find ourselves utterly captivated by director Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s unique mise-en-scène, and the cute children’s expressions make the film endearing. However, after watching this film, you may be left with a bittersweet aftertaste.
Behind the cute fantasy mask lies a clown. While science fiction genres like Ridley Scott’s ‘Blade Runner’ depict dark, dystopian futures that feel direct and close to home, the fantasy genre—with its beautiful settings and unique visual worlds—can offer a pleasant escape into the imagination. From this perspective, fantasy might be a genre well-suited for telling stories unrelated to the real world and for journeying to worlds far removed from our own.
However, while science fiction uses the element of science to imply societies where the side effects of human desires run rampant, fantasy—unlike the former—closely resembles the practical, realistic aspects of human life as we know it. The imagery in Guillermo del Toro’s ‘Pan’s Labyrinth’ is also similar to the lives we face every day. The cute and beautiful mise-en-scène hides behind the mask of fantasy to represent an even more cruel and terrifying environment, thereby conveying the theme directly.
The keyword for fantasy is not “pleasant daydreaming,” as defined in the dictionary, but rather the “clown”—that is, the sadness—that conveys reality in a more direct and terrifying way. Similarly, director Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s ‘The City of Lost Children’ exerts the same power.
This city—dark, swarming with flies, and resembling stagnant, putrid water—exudes an atmosphere far removed from the innocence of the children. To draw a cautious parallel with the recent Sewol ferry disaster, we witnessed the inadequate response of certain adults in the aftermath. We instinctively understand that, to humans, children are beings to be protected, and their dreams are like sprouting seeds. Just as, for animals other than humans, the only beings they protect are their young.
The instinct to protect is beautiful; it can be painful, and it can be described with noble terms associated with sacrifice. However, in this film, that protective instinct does not exist. Director Jean-Pierre Jeunet used this very point to create a fantasy world. He likely chose the fantasy genre as a setting where the protective instinct kicks in instinctively, without even having to think about it.
The director seems to understand very well that fantasy arises from the environments we imagine. The spaces we freely dream up are, conversely, similar to the opposite concept of spaces we cannot achieve in reality. However, if we become too immersed in the fantasy world, we will be unable to see the problems of reality.
To avoid hiding the clown lurking behind the fantasy too much, the director clashes dichotomous and contrasting scenes with one another. The opening sequence, which marks the film’s beginning, features the iconic Santa Claus—a symbol of a warm Christmas—and starts with a child watching him in wonder, completely unaware of what lies ahead. However, this beautiful and cute image begins to take a grotesque turn as Santa starts to emerge further from the chimney. The Santa we knew is nowhere to be found; their appearance begins to feel unfamiliar, and the screen itself starts to distort. Amidst this grotesqueness, we encounter a screaming Dr. Crank.
The Clown’s Chocolate and Dr. Crank’s Hidden Desires
This is precisely why ‘The City of Lost Children’ is a well-received fantasy film. It’s because the plot—which doesn’t begin with the protagonists, the Strongman and Mietto—doesn’t settle for simply showing them overcoming difficulties through a simple love story.
The CACAO chocolate handed out by the clown—the audience is nothing more than a puppet. With the clowns we know from Hollywood conventions, formulas, and symbols, we can never know what thoughts lie behind their smiling faces. And just like McDonald’s mascots, they are often interpreted as representing hidden side effects—an interpretation that has been widely used in films.
However, in ‘City of Lost Children’, we can see that Dr. Crank is used as a clown—treated like a puppet—to convey a realization and a theme to us. In the film, Dr. Crank is portrayed as a character who steals children’s dreams and acts on his own desires to get sleep.
The strongman’s younger brother, who was kidnapped to satisfy Dr. Crank’s desires, and the strongman himself—who embarks on an adventure with Miette to find his brother—are portrayed as pure and beautiful. Their relationship is as if their bodies and minds have been swapped: the young Miette appears more mature, while the strongman embodies both a childlike fear of the world and innocence. This dynamic draws them to one another as they get to know each other and helps them grow. Just like the beautiful, cute love we imagine.
However, upon closer reflection, their relationship could never realistically exist in the world we live in; it is merely a cinematic trope depicting platonic love. These devices allow the film to utilize the conventions and formulas of a three-act structure filled with drama, fantasy, and adventure. They are, quite literally, devices designed to deliver a “happy ending.”
However, the director chooses to use the clown to further convey the theme through the codes listed above—specifically, through chocolate. Here, the clown is Dr. Crank. We must focus on him once again. The director also helps us do so by revealing that he is not just a simple villain, but a child created through experimentation.
A child who aged overnight because he couldn’t dream. Although Dr. Crank’s inner world isn’t fully explored in the film, if you just imagine living your entire life without dreaming or sleeping, you’ll understand why he is the clown. The moment you realize that he, too, is a child, you’ll see that this film is not merely a simple adventure fantasy—and you’ll understand why it has received such positive reviews.
A clown hides his smile until the day he dies. He devises and carries out plans to convey the message he wants to share—even if that means facing death.
Watching Dr. Crank transform into the children we found so endearing throughout the film, we can glean a simple message: why children’s dreams are so important, and why we continue to be disappointed by the attitudes of adults.
Through Dr. Crank’s death, we may come to understand why the relationship between Miette and the strongman, the children created as experimental subjects, and the lives of the children in the city felt so bittersweet—and the chocolate he gave them might be the reason.
Ultimately, the adults who appear throughout the film are few enough to count on one hand. And even those who do appear are flawed in some way and think simplistically. Through Dr. Crank’s death, the director poses a question to us by showing, even in the ending, the magician’s younger brother tearing into a ham sandwich once again.
How will they go on living?
Behind the bittersweetness, the film poses many questions and offers answers, leaving us with a lingering aftertaste. The director once again skillfully utilizes the imagination of fantasy—which is as sweet as chocolate to us living in reality, yet can also be anything but sweet.
On “Loss”
It is no exaggeration to say that the reason the fantasy genre is rarely seen in Korean cinema is that realistic cinematic codes and socially provocative themes resonate better with the public’s sensibilities. It is a nation at war, surrounded by the West Sea, South Sea, and East Sea, with a Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) that prevents any movement northward.
Although it is peaceful enough that one might not even feel like they’re living in a war-torn country, fantasy can still be considered a theme that is not yet permitted. However, as mentioned earlier, fantasy captures our reality and is expressed effectively both cinematically and through its message.
From a technical standpoint, I believe the groundwork is already in place to more easily create fantasy—utilizing CG that blends seamlessly into dark backgrounds and footage, as well as specialized makeup companies like Cell and Mage.
The problem, however, lies in the lack of connection. While there may be various reasons for this, I believe it stems from the preconceived notion that the fantasy genre is always flashy, beautiful, and confined to the realm of beautiful daydreams—the kind you’d expect to see at an amusement park.
Fantasy is like a world that reflects back to us the perceptions and ways of thinking we’ve lost or choose to ignore. The children depicted in ‘The City of Lost Children’ are not fundamentally different from the situation in South Korea, but we do not see them that way. The film also has the charm of offering a moment of respite from reality through its mise-en-scène.
If we were to pioneer the fantasy genre, I think we could reconsider the metaphorical and symbolic elements presented in ‘The City of Lost Children’.
