+++ Opinion +++
If a stop-motion animation film with FSK rating “from 0” is entitled “My life as a zucchini”, one shouldn’t be surprised if people who have little time for animation run away. Even as an animation film lover, I was disinterested when I saw this title for the very first time. “Another religious-tinged preschool movie about talking vegetables?” I mused.
It took quite a while and the film was mentioned several times in professional circles until I thought: “There must be more to this zucchini film!” What I had no idea: it was going to be an unforgettable visit to the cinema. You won’t be able to make up for it, but you have the opportunity to see the really great film responsible for it:
WDR shows “Mein Leben als Zucchini” on the night of today, October 13th, to October 14th, 2022 – at midnight sharp, which should make it clear that this is more than just a children’s film. As an alternative to TV broadcasting, there is also the option of streaming it as part of an Amazon Prime Video subscription, where, contrary to the FSK decision, it is only recommended for older children.
» “My life as a zucchini” on Prime Video*
When the alcohol-addicted mother of nine-year-old Icare, known as “Zucchini”, dies in a rage one day, the boy is sent to a home. There he becomes acquainted with many children who are either orphaned or are safer if their parents are kept away from them.
With cheeky Simon, worried Béatrice, shy Alice, disheveled Jujube and dreamy Ahmed around him, life on Zucchini is immediately more beautiful. When brave Camille comes to the orphanage, Zucchini’s heart beats even faster! Soon after, Zucchini must come up with a plan with the rest of the orphans to prevent Camille from moving in with her awkward aunt…
Director/writer Claude Barras and fellow scriptwriters Germano Zullo, Morgan Navarro and Celine Sciamma (yes, the Portrait of a Young Woman on Fire creator!) succeeded an inconspicuous, but immensely fascinating film: The look is reduced, deliberately unspectacular and doesn’t shy away from imperfections. This plays into the story’s hands in two ways: The simple, somewhat clumsy characters and locations are pleasing to the eye – almost easy to digest. And so they are an element of relief that is urgently needed in between in this story about child abuse, guilt and trauma.
At the same time, it underscores the “it’s not perfect, and that’s just fine” approach one of the statements of the film: You don’t have to be ashamed of yourself! “My Life as Zucchini” manages to unfold these insights and complex, contradictory feelings in under 70 minutes – without ever seeming rushed or overloaded. This is due to the interaction of the characters, which seems to have been taken from real life, and the kitsch-free narrative style. The film doesn’t sugarcoat anything, but stays true to its children’s perspective. A more fascinating balancing act that gave me an unforgettable cinematic experience.
For lack of alternatives, I saw “My life as a zucchini” on a Sunday afternoon in a family performancewhere I next to an unknown to me Mother and son team had to take a seat. Or was allowed – how you take it. That meant inevitable small talk with the mother (“The little one wanted to come in, I don’t know what to expect” – “I love animated films and didn’t want to miss this one”). And it meant that I immediately witnessed the very different reactions to the film.
The dry, casual jokes of the orphans were rewarded with hearty children’s laughter distributed throughout the hall. Whenever two characters forged a closer bond of friendship, the boy next to me grew taller and taller while letting out soft chuckles of delight. Meanwhile, every few minutes as a result of new strokes of fate or unexpectedly happy developments, the unprepared mother could be heard rustling in her handbag for a handkerchief.
When the light came on again after the film, I had tears of emotion in my eyes, but also (I’m afraid) a stupid smile about the successful storytelling written on my face. Out of empathy, I wanted to at least throw friendly farewell words in the direction of the mother, who was still audibly suffering with the film. What I saw was a woman struggling for composure and between us her happy child, who only now, in the light, without being distracted by the film, noticed what was happening. The boy turned to his mother and asked with genuine confusion:
“Mom, why are you crying? Wasn’t that a funny movie?!” The mother hugged her son, I sat there overwhelmed and petrified and heard a motherly murmur: “I’m so glad that we have each other.” I wanted to remove myself from this intimate family moment, heard but another whispered in my direction: “Nice if you still don’t understand how bad the world can be, right?” I nodded shyly and, as before, croaked the wish for a nice day in the direction of the lady. It may sound like a story from the Paulaner Garden. But for me it remains one of the most touching proofs of what the collective experience of going to the cinema can be.
*The links to the Amazon offer are so-called affiliate links. If you make a purchase through these links, we will receive a commission.
