Little Amélie or the Character of Rain offers an inspiring exploration of the tension between the joy of discovery and the burden of knowledge. The vibrant animation style might, at first glance, suggest a happy-go-lucky tale of childhood curiosity, but part of the triumph of the film’s visual splendour derives from its ability to balance themes of light and shadow. Indeed, there’s a temptation to compare it to Hayao Miyazaki’s work, but Little Amélie stands firmly on its own.
Co-directed by Maïlys Vallade and Liane-Cho Han, and adapted from Amélie Nothomb’s eponymous novel, Little Amélie follows a Belgian toddler named Amélie whose family is currently living in postwar-Japan as a result of her father’s diplomatic work. From birth to the age of two, Amélie lives in a sort of vegetative state, non-verbal and virtually unresponsive to the world around her. Nevertheless, as our narrator, Amélie displays a keen awareness of her surroundings, even in this “bubble.” It isn’t until her third birthday approaches that she bursts through and fully enters the world as full-fledged talking, moving, and, most importantly, feeling child.
An infectious gaiety underlines Amélie’s interest in the world around her, and the Japanese countryside setting only strengthens that curiosity. Like any toddler, Amélie constantly pushes the boundaries of what she does know, yearning for more and asking a million questions. It helps that the animation style recalls the illustrative tradition in children’s literary genre: dazzling colours and exciting animation sequences bridge the gap between the world as we (as adults) know it and the world as Amélie is determined to see it. As a result, you, too, can’t resist seeing pure wonder in the idyll.
To be sure, Amélie’s friendship with Nishio-San, a young Japanese woman hired to help around the house, forms the beating heart of the film. Their love for each other is truly ineffable. Naturally, they become somewhat mother and daughter stand-ins for each other, but most of all, they prevail as kindred spirits in their shared sense of awe towards the sheer possibility of life itself.
With a tender hand, Little Amélie tackles darker topics as well, unafraid to delve into death, loss, trauma, and even distrust. In fact, the film also touches on Japan’s sociopolitical circumstances after World War II, where an entire generation was left to deal with the emotional and physical scars of one of modern history’s most pivotal moments. It’s not a full thematic foray — it plays out through Amélie’s eyes (and therefore limited understanding) — but it’s enough to cast ripples that would later introduce Amélie to deep sadness.
Little Amélie’s deft navigation of the mature feelings inside a young protagonist ultimately makes the film a gratifying experience. Countless words can be written about the state of our world right now, and it could easily all be negative, but this film wants you to resist that impulse. Heartache exists every day, and while certainly worth unpacking, Amélie demonstrates that it’s also worthwhile to look at the rain, the horizon, the sea and sky, and the people around you who love you, and appreciate the beautiful fact that we, above all else, are alive.
