The world created here is a one of hyper-Gallic nostalgia, a surreal mix of De Gaulle, cycling, wine and thirties-to-fifties cityscapes with Quai des Brumes and Celine mixed in. And the aesthetic suits: a sort of pen and aquarelle look. But the extreme detail of the drawing is subject to constant liquid deformation. Any object or person is caricatured visually according to what is isolated as its salient characteristic. A man is a wine addict? Let his nose take up half his face and fill the screen like a huge purple truffle. A waiter is subservient? Let the bowing and scraping take over to the extent that he is no more than an elongated bowing and scraping shape. This visual madness continues. Ships are ten times higher than they are wide. The cityscapes of Belleville itself, day or more especially night, are stunning baroque extravagances. There is an intense, intoxicating beauty here that demands its proper place on the big screen.

The plot itself has the same characteristics of caricature, exaggeration and liquidity as the visuals. A Portuguese grandmother despairs of finding anything to interest her semi-catatonic parentless only grandson until she finds the bicycle. Le Velo. His passion is reined into a mad professional training routine. All of which occurs in their crammed suburban tenement and environs. A female dog called Bruno is their constant companion. But when the boy wonder takes part in the Tour de France he is kidnapped by a 'French mafia' from the trans-Oceanic town of Belleville. Transported to the latter, he will spend his days hooked up to intravenous drip-fed wine and cycling with fellow deportees on a sort of mega exercise machine. Criminal punters bet on who will die first. Until mother and dog use a pedal steamer to cross the Ocean and save their dear lad. With the help of a trio of ageing cabaret singers, les triplettes, who eat only frogs they hunt for in swamps using grenades. Sounds mad? It's madder.

There is no dialogue here. There is multilingual singing over strange home-made washboard and cutlery-generated music. But most of all there is total and masterful integration of all elements of this film, which, by the way, also raids the visual pantry of the last century of cinema to shower us with treats. The lingering suspicion that almost all of this bizarre Odyssey is really the dream of a sleeping dog only makes our journey sweeter.

Tony Keily