Behind a Pixar ante litteram semblance, lies a far more intelligent and not cheesy in the slightest gem that tells of childhood, dreams, spirituality, and the war. Set in the bombarded Ménilmontant neighbourhood of Paris, Le ballon rouge follows the improbable friendship between a boy—Albert Lamorisse’s son, incidentally—and a balloon found on the street tied to a lamppost. It is a charming story, almost disarming in its simplicity, and yet so rich and layered. Like most of Europe, France is scarred by deep open wounds. As the world is trying to put itself together wondering how and what next, a garish symbol of youth, hope, and future, comes brightening the gloomy urban grey, and not quite from nowhere, but in a way that suggests it might have been there, unnoticed, for a long time. It just took a child to spot it, and it won’t take a prick to kill it because more will join.
The final spectacular sequence that takes us up in the blue sky, over a city whose stunning beauty has clearly survived the devastation, has an almost dichotomous cathartic power. If on the one hand it fills us with an exhilarating sense of relief and optimism, on the other, it metaphorically hints at the many innocent souls recently lost. And the levity of the film is suddenly burdened with an even more touching unexpected meaning.
Enriched by ingenious visual effects—which I suspect have to be considered all the more remarkable given the times—Le ballon rouge’s vivid photography captures superbly the charm and misery of post bellum Paris. Albert Lamorisse’s documentary sensitivity is apparent. Everyday life minutiae make every shot an old chest full of precious things to discover, and the film a fascinating historical reference as well as a poetic piece of fiction.
Towards the end of the film, Pascal is chased by a gang of little bullies. Desperately trying to leave them behind, he dives into a dark alley gripping the string in his hand as hard as he can. Behind him, the balloon bounces frantically between the walls of the narrow passage. This is filmmaking at its best, an image that moved me profoundly, one that will ever hardly forget.