Time and space, the past and the present, all blend together into one gorgeous entity in Jérémy Clapin’s powerfully human odyssey, I Lost My Body (French: J’ai perdu mon corps), the rare kind of animated film that feels more lively and intricate than anything those working in live-action could have possibly created. An intimate, poignant social epic, the film looks at two different stories, loosely connected by a series of metaphysical themes, all of which converge into a deeply compelling, if not extraordinarily moving, a testament to the resilience that comes in times of difficulty. It isn’t a film that immediately demands attention – it’s simplicity and smaller scope may cause this film to go ignored by those who don’t intentionally seek it out. This is unfortunate for films like this because I Lost My Body is just as good, if not even better, than the majority of animated films being produced by major studios. If there was a film that defined the field of animation as it stands today, particularly in its tendency to be more human than its real-world counterparts, then this is certainly it – brimming with a form of quiet melancholy, deeply unconventional and beautifully simple, but not without its enormous charms and moments of sincere levity, I Lost My Body is a masterful exploration of very real themes, guided by the liberating, limitless nature of animation, which allows Clapin and his collaborators to craft one of the year’s most astonishing works of fiction.

There are two central stories in I Lost My Body. The first is that of Naofel, a young man who was orphaned after his parents, both of which were musicians on the precipice of fame, died in a tragic accident. He now drifts around Paris, working menial jobs, such as a pizza delivery man, in order to make ends meet. His existence is not particularly happy, as he’s frequently taken advantage of by those who see him as weak, without knowing that he’s had a traumatic childhood, and is in desperate need of a sense of belonging. The other story centres around a disembodied hand, which escapes the hospital it’s being kept in and goes in search of its owner. Throughout the film, we see flashbacks to the past of both protagonists – Naofel’s happy childhood was spent with his parents, being entertained by their talents and learning pivotal lessons, while the hand somehow recalls its own past, where it was attached to someone who had the same relentless curiosity. Naturally, we soon learn the two stories are very much connected, which only makes the eventual progression, where Naofel meets the enigmatic Gabrielle, and her uncle Gigi, and subsequently falls in love with her, all that more poignant, as this sense of belonging is exactly what causes Naofel to question everything he has learned over the past few years.

To get to the point, I Lost My Body is a film that isn’t just a meandering story that oscillates between two characters, one of which is a relatively normal individual, the other a disembodied hand. There is a deeper meaning to this film, which is made quite clear even through the most basic surface reading of the story. Clapin has made a film about alienation and isolation – the hand represents a part of Naofel that he has lost. His parents have been dead for years, and he’s been subjected to abuse and manipulation by those who don’t bother to look below his introverted nature long enough to see he does have value. He’s lost and can’t find his way home – it doesn’t help that he was forced to move from the idyllic village of his childhood to the big city after his parents’ death, which is nothing short of an intimidating experience for any child, especially one thrust into the perils of the real world without much warning, and at such a young age. The hand is a metaphor for this sense of despair that Naofel that has been embedded in him for years – he’s lost and can’t find his own way through a world he’s never quite understood. The connection between the two becomes very clear in the final moments, which stand as some of the most beautiful in recent memory, because the contrast between the two, while certainly obvious, speaks to a powerful sense of resilience and perseverance that is hardly, if ever portrayed in such stark honesty.

We are all seeking something in life – sometimes it’s as simple as a hand looking for its body, other times, it’s more complex, such as being alone in an unrecognizable world, looking for a sense of belonging. I Lost My Body calls into question some very deep themes, with Clapin exploring the human condition in a calm, elegant manner, which allows him to ask some very big questions without ever coming across as pretentious or overwhelming the audience with the philosophical underpinnings of the film. Naturally, a film like I Lost My Body is open to interpretation – the final few scenes are intentionally left to be quite vague, where the two stories converge and ultimately result in a moment of clarity for both protagonists that could be either incredibly triumphant or deeply unsettling, depending on how you approach the concluding moments. There’s a poetic rhythm that pulsates throughout the film – executed with a simple but poignant pace, I Lost My Body feels very real, despite having quite an absurd storyline at the core of it. The fact that Clapin not only managed to effectively tell this story without resorting to ludicrous humour is a testament to the tendency for films like this to have a certain impact when it contains a story told with conviction and honesty, which is certainly the most distinctive merit of the film – its sincerity allows it to overcome a sometimes implausible storyline, which we eventually understand to be a work of allegory rather than offbeat surrealism, to become a fascinating exploration of very resonant themes.

 I Lost My Body is a film about searching for what’s missing in our lives. There’s not much else to the film than that – it does take forays into other aspects of existence, and its intricate and delicate approach to the human spirit is one of its most significant merits. Yet, it’s the film’s decision to keep everything so simple that works the most, and when contrasted with the utterly gorgeous animation, which is equally as simple but no less beautiful, we understand what Clapin and the rest of the artists behind this film were intending to say. This is not a film made to impress us with innovative animation (although it would be difficult to find moments in more mainstream animated films that match certain shots in this film), but rather to provoke thought and to incite a warm, quiet and fascinating exploration of something that many can relate to – perhaps we all haven’t lost a hand, but we are all in search of something deeper and more enduring, something that we feel is essential to our lives. This is a poetic journey into something far deeper than we’d realize, and through the sincerity and conviction that this film openly demonstrates, it becomes clear exactly what this film is saying. The only difference is, it says something different to everyone.