Vianne sweeps into town on a cold winter's morning in a brilliant red cape accompanied by her daughter Anouk (played by the very accomplished Victoire Thivisol). The third member of the family is, literally, the child's invisible kangaroo, Pantoufle. Arriving in a sleepy French village, hardly changed from a century before, and still run by the ancestral family represented by the city's mayor and moralist, Comte de Reynaud (etched somewhat archly by Alfred Molina), the nomadic family set up a magical Chocolaterie and begins to transform the town's folk.

The Comte is the last of his line; his unseen wife is on perpetual vacation. His very proper and Jackie Kennedy look-a-like secretary (played by Carrie-Anne Moss), for a time shares his view that life must be lived in drab colours and in dour circumstances. Her starched approach to all things meets cautious rebellion in her young son Luke (Aurelian Parent-Koenig) and her feisty mother, Armande (regally drawn by Judi Dench), whose soul is revived by the arrival of Vianne.

Woven into the central story are a number of sub-themes, all relentlessly driving home the author's point: live a little. One middle-aged couple's romance is rekindled by some chocolate almonds; Madam Audel (a statuesque Leslie Caron), still grieving the loss of her husband forty after his death, is courted by Monsieur Blerot (a delightfully warm portrayal by John Wood) employing the Chocolaterie's magical confections as a go-between; and battered wife Josephine Muscat (featuring Lena Olin, the director's real-life partner) is rescued by the all-knowing Vianne and apprentices in the shop till she is strong enough to rebuff for good her repentant husband (Peter Storemare).

Yes, redemption can be gained from living a little; and it also arrives with mysterious strangers. Even Vianne finally finds love and settles thanks to the attentions of Irish vagabond Roux (Johnny Depp, for once in a purely romantic role whose dark side has long since been left behind in another land). Roux is the perfect gentleman and a match for the sweets on display in Vianne's shop. What's wrong with Roux, in fact, is exactly what is missing in this film: tension. It is very hard to route for anyone because everyone is so darn nice. Even the dastardly Comte barely registers on the scale of evil and is finally won over (quelle suprise!) when he allows his lips to taste the chocolate delights. Awww shucks, you can hear the audience sigh. He was really a nice guy after all.

The town's young priest, Pere Henri (Hugh O'Conor), displays no moral fibre at all even taking editing directions from the Comte. A slight character, with a twist of whimsy, he is little more than one more stock character where he ought to be proof of the town's ultimate liberation and thus be painted in bolder strokes. Instead, he's really little more than another nice young man.

Robert Nelson Jacobs's screenplay is perhaps overlong but it's so darn nice no one really minds. The film's slight message is clear within the first ten minutes and, like a tv movie, we can be content to sit back and watch as the story unfolds without risk that we will be shocked -- or even awoken -- from our dreamy twilight daydream. Perhaps the original novel by Julie Harris just doesn't provide any grist for what is an otherwise stellar collection of underused talents.

Roger Blatt's cinematography is stylish throughout and Hallström's eye for visual bonbons and ability to draw archetypal characters (the nasty patriarch, the kindly, curmudgeonly grandma, the drunken innkeeper, the elderly couple rediscovering love, etc.) makes for a pleasant backdrop. And pleasant isn't enough. There is no real pain, no real love on display: the grandmother Armande dies and is found my her grandson -- no tears. Roux leaves for a year after his boat is burned; upon his return Vianne is merely pleased her redeemer is back. When her magic chalice -- the source of her power or her gaoler? -- is suddenly destroyed her reaction is an "Oh, well ..." shrug. In the end, the town is as crisp and drab as it was before the north wind blew this mysterious chocolate maker into their midst.

In short, this is a wistful diversion, but without any real soul.

Postscript: Sad to say, the two greatest highlights of this film are its delightful original score crafted by Rachel Portman and, if you can believe it, the offical website advertising the film which is marvelous in construction, gorgeous in visual and aural treats. Take a peek here while it stays online. If they gave out Oscars for promotional pieces, this website's a leading contender.

Alexander Inglis (February 28, 2001)
In Toronto