Chapter 27
Never in the history of fantastic cinema has 34 minutes passed so enchantingly as in Albert Lamorisse’s The Red Balloon (Le Ballon Rouge, Films Montsouris 1956). Winner of eight awards, including the Cannes Palme D’Or and an Oscar for best screenplay (even though the picture is virtually dialogue-free), this French children’s classic was an extremely popular co-feature in British cinemas throughout the 1950s. Awhole generation of families grew up watching The Red Balloon and it left a lasting impression, but with the advent of the ’60s, the film faded from sight. Recently restored in pristine condition on DVD, this is one motion picture short that might even captivate today’s gadget-mad children, to remind them that long before the age of technology, fun and magical games could be had from something as elementary as a balloon on a white piece of cord.
Taken at face value, that is exactly what The Red Balloon appears to be about — a simple fable of a boy and a balloon, which he discovers one morning tethered to a lamppost. But delve a little further and we will find that this urban fairy tale operates on a much deeper, more rewarding level — it didn’t win all those awards for being a shallow exercise concerning a kid with a novel toy. The balloon represents both an escape and an outlet from the cruel, hostile world that young Pascal Lamorisse (the director’s son) inhabits. From the opening shot of the boy stroking a cat as dawn breaks over a hazy city backdrop to the climax showing Lamorisse floating over rooftops supported by dozens of different colored balloons, not a single frame of this captivating little film is wasted. Lamorisse and photographer Edmond Sechan present the Belleville area of Paris (demolished for redevelopment in the late 1960s) as though painted by a master artist on canvas; shot in autumn, the wet cobbled streets reflect the cracked, crumbling facades of the rundown buildings, the misty horizons bathed in a watery light, every scene rendered in shades of blue, brown and gray to provide maximum visual impact, the color as sharp as a knife. In direct contrast to the drabness given out by the city’s thoroughfares and edifices, the balloon is a vibrant, brightly polished red object, almost standing out in mock 3-D, and purposely so; it is, after all, the star of the show.
Played with adorable naturalism by Lamorisse, we follow the child as he scampers along the pavements, past the bakeries, cafés, patisseries and bookshops with his new companion in tow, involving disinterested pedestrians in his high-spirited antics. The mischievous balloon appears to possess a mind of its own, reacting to Lamorisse’s commands — “Balloon! You must obey me and be good!,” nudging a blue balloon held by a little girl, looking at itself in a mirror propped up in an antiques market and sheltering under an umbrella when it starts to rain. However, the world as a whole seems to be against the youngster; love doesn’t figure all that strongly in his day-to-day life. His grumpy grandmother won’t allow the balloon indoors, so it hovers outside his bedroom window, waiting patiently for its new playmate to come out. He’s refused entry onto a tram, the church closes its doors to the balloon and his teachers bar the balloon from school, keeping the lad in after hours as punishment for being late — the teacher involved in the discipline is harassed by the boy’s glossy red friend who takes umbrage at the penance. The lad lives in a huge decaying tenement block and seems utterly alone, so when a gang of ruffians pursues him through alleyways and sidestreets, intent on grabbing the balloon through malicious envy, our hearts ache for the little boy, the film taking on a darker tone. The law of the jungle decrees that what this gang cannot possess, they’ll destroy; cornered (“Fly away, balloon!” the mob yell with hatred), a stone from a catapult punctures the balloon and it slowly deflates, the director focusing on its death throes for a full minute. Then it is callously stamped on and we feel witness to the violent end of a loved one, not just a balloon being burst. Certainly, this is how Lamorisse reacts, slumped in sorrow at his tragic loss. This is the signal for dozens of balloons of all shapes, sizes and colors to congregate above the forlorn boy, coming to his rescue in acknowledgment of the loyalty he has shown to his (and their) stricken comrade; grasping the tangle of cords, he’s lifted high into the air, sadness giving way to elation as he drifts over the city’s rooftops, away from the isolation and repression that taints his small universe, the picture fading as he is taken to…where? Hopefully it’s a better place than that from which he has come.
Maurice Le Roux’s memorable score is just one more highlight in Lamorisse’s poetic essay into a small child’s unhappy existence. “Acutely observed,” “perfectly timed,” “bravura technique,” “timeless quality,” “sheer artistic flair,” “expertly composed” and “exhilarating visual style” are phrases often bandied about by many critics to describe many films, but in the case of The Red Balloon, they all ring true. This is a movie that still has the ability to touch the heart and soul in all of us. Think about it — how many of today’s directors could make a feature about the innocent relationship between a boy and a balloon and manage, within its brief framework, to stir an audience to the point of tears and bring a lump to the throat in its joyous but poignant closing minutes. Not that many, I’ll warrant.