Oh, man, I almost forgot about Fabeleaux Destin d'Amelie Pouplain. Frank Zappa had it right.

THERE IS NO HELL, THERE IS ONLY FRANCE.

A stupid, naive, somewhat bug-eyed looking chick from Paris nets a prettyboy sexshop worker by commiting petty crimes to bring people happiness and generally acting like a jelly-kneed psycho stalker *****.

It's like Jean-Pierre Jeunet was trying to go for the cinematic equivalent of shoving Pixie-Stix down his audience's throat while dunking them into a vat of chum. It's so overbearlingly saccharine sweet, yet so puzzlingly seedy that the comparison the two together inspire just makes the whole thing seem out of place.

One of the few films that has actually managed to make me feel physically ill.