Parky at the Pictures (In Cinemas 5/4/2012)

Training shoes are making it harder for Normandy shoeshiner André Wilms and his pal Quoc-dung Nguyen to make a living. However, they are always in their spots at Le Havre station, just in case someone's patent leather footwear needs sprucing up, and view life with such sang froid that they merely shrug even when one of Wilms's clients is gunned down in front of them.

Little does Wilms know, but death is also coming closer to home, as devoted wife Kati Outinen has just discovered that the condition that periodically sees her hospitalised is incurable. However, she is so intent on making her husband happy that she refuses to allow doctors to tell him the truth and places her faith in a miracle. But, as is always possible in Kaurismäki's off-kilter universe, something portentous is about to occur along the waterfront, as a security guard hears a baby crying inside a sealed container that had been bound from West Africa to Britain, but had been left unattended in France after being misdirected because of a computer error.

Realising those trapped inside are illegal immigrants, the police arrive in numbers for the grand opening. But tweenager Blondin Miguel manages to slip past them and pleads with Wilms to protect him. Aware of the unrest blighting detention centres like Le Jungle, Wilms takes advantage of Outinen's latest absence to smuggle the boy home under the nose of inspector Jean-Pierre Darrousin, a lugubrious fellow who is keen to improve the image of the force and adopts an awkward softly-softly approach. But, while he seeks to persuade local rocker Roberto Piazza (aka Little Bob) to play a benefit gig to raise the funds to allow Miguel to join his mother in London, sneaky neighbour Jean-Pierre Léaud prepares to shop him to the cops.

With Wouter Zoon's production design evoking the atmospheric studio sets of Alexandre Trauner and Lazare Meerson and Timo Salminen's cinematography recalling the lustrous monochrome achieved by such masters of moody lighting as Eugen Schüfftan, Boris Kaufman and Christian Matras, this is a cinéaste's delight that will doubtless arouse fond memories of army deserter Jean Gabin and Michèle Morgan fighting capricious fate in the La Havre of Marcel Carné's Le Quai des Brumes (1938). But, while bitter reality does intrude in the form of the footage of rioting migrants, this is very much a celebration of community in the spirit of Jean Renoir's Le Crime de Monsieur Lange (1936).

Returning to France for the first time since La Vie de Bohème (1991) - which also starred Wilms (who slyly refers to his former bohemian existence in a typically droll throwaway remark) - Kaurismäki enlists the revered clown Pierre Etaix to cameo as the doctor who announces a revelation that is so gleefully unlikely it feels as though it has been plucked out of Carl Theodor Dreyer's Ordet (1955). He is also well served by Evelyne Didi as the good-hearted baker, Elina Salo as the owner of the bar whose jukebox seems to be stuffed with Gallic classics, and Laika (the fifth member of the canine line to have graced the screen), as Wilms's doggedly faithful pet). But this represents the epitome of ensemble excellence, with newcomers like Darrousin and Léaud perfectly catching the offbeat melancholy of a world in which the villain is the only character to own a mobile phone.

A similar sense of cosy outsiderness informs North Sea Texas. Having earned a cult reputation directing gay-themed shorts, Bavo Defurne makes an assured feature bow with this charming adaptation of André Sollie's novella This Will Never Go Away. Set on the Belgian coast several decades ago, this appears to be just another adolescent boy's first love story. But such is Defurne's affinity for both time and place and his insight into family dynamics that this becomes a poignant study of fitting in and breaking out.

While floozy mother Eva Van der Gucht plays the accordion at a nearby bar, 10 year-old Ben Van den Heuvel dresses up in the costumes she used to wear as a beauty queen and even flounces around in her tiara. With Van der Gucht invariably preoccupied with sulky lover Luk Wyns or her latest passing fancy at the bar, Van den Heuvel spend lots of time with neighbour Katelijne Damen and her children Nathan Naenen and Noor Ben Taouet. As Naenen is nearly a teenager, Van den Heuvel hero worships him and, as the story moves on five years, this develops an overpowering adoration that means 15 year-old Jelle Florizoone will do almost anything that 17 year-old Mathias Vergels tells him.

Although he has grown into something of a rebel and now has his own motorbike, Vergels is somewhat smitten with Florizoone himself and they often sneak away to the garage for mutual masturbation sessions that provides the younger lad with a unique souvenir to store in the box of keepsakes he keeps hidden in his closet. However, shortly after they have an idyllic night together on a camping trip, Vergels gets a job in Dunkirk and starts a romance with French girl Ella-June Henrard. Florizoone is heartbroken and, on seeing them making out together, he lets down the tyres on Vergels's bike.

Ignoring the consolation offered by his beloved's now voluptuous sister (Nina Marie Kortekaas), Florizoone turns his attention instead to lodger Thomas Coumans, who works in the carnival and cuts such a rippling dash that both mother and son drool over him. But it's Van der Gucht who wins out, as the pair run away together, leaving Florizoone to burn his treasure chest on the beach. However, even though the long-suffering Damen finally dies, all is not as lost as Florizoone first fears, as Vergels returns home for the funeral.

Trainee ballet dancer Jelle Floorizoone makes a hugely impressive debut as the loner who always seems to be looking in the wrong place during his search for love. Vergels and Kortekaas also catch the eye, while Van der Gucht and Coumans respectively exhibit a blowsiness and a unself-consciousness that suggests where adolescent passion ultimately leads. But, as in his shorts, Defurne proves as strong in capturing atmosphere as emotion and he allows Anton Mertens's camera to linger on torsos and seascapes with a similar sensuality, while also evoking the mood of a lost golden age that is most likely the late 1960s and early 70s.

Although the story drifts slightly, the insights into youthful yearning are both delicate and unflinching. But what is most moving is the contrast between teenage dreams and adult reality and the difficulty mothers face in letting go of their children while also trying to lead lives that don't always meet with the approval of their offspring.

French animation is on something of a roll at the moment, with Jacques-Rémy Girerd, Michel Ocelot and Sylvain Chomet building on the foundations laid by Paul Grimault, Jean-François Laguionie and René Laloux. Now, Alain Gagnol and Jean-Loup Feliciolli state their case for inclusion in this exclusive cabal with A Cat in Paris. Not since Disney's The Aristocats (1970) has the City of Light looked so romantic and exciting in cartoon form and those raised on the traditional 2-D graphic style will delight in the fact that work of this calibre is still being produced in Europe in the face of the Japanimation invasion and the almost unanimous industry switch to soulless CGI.

Seven year-old Zoé (voiced by Oriane Zani) has not said a word since her policeman father was murdered by ruthless mobster Victor Costa (Jean Benguigui). Her mother, Jeanne (Dominique Blanc), is a superintendent with the force and has been assigned the case to find her husband's killer. But this means she often has to leave Zoé with her nanny (Bernadette Lafont) and her tabby cat Dino.

What none of the household know, however, is that Dino leads a double life. As soon Zoé falls asleep, he sneaks away to join cat burglar Nico (Bruno Salomone) on the rooftops of Paris, as they seek out the undeserving rich and purloin their ill-gotten gains. Occasionally, Dino brings Zoé a trinket from his night's work. But paths inevitably have to cross, as Jeanne is ordered to arrest the cracksman baffling her superiors and keep guard over the valuable statue known as the Colossus of Nairobi that Costa longs to own. However, it takes Zoé's decision to follow her pet on one of his nocturnal perambulations to set in motion the chain of events that will reach their thrilling climax atop Notre Dame.

Slickly voiced and jazzily scored by Serge Besset - who even finds room for Billie Holliday's `I Wished on the Moon' on the soundtrack - this is the perfect family film. There are few surprises in the storyline, but the characters are well delineated and the dialogue (which was supplemented by Jacques-Rémy Girerd) is often amusing. But it's the majestic realisation of the capital's evocative architecture and the atmospheric use of light and shade that makes this a visual treat, as well as chic entertainment.

Italian auteur Paolo Sorrentino strives for much the same effect in his English-language debut, This Must Be the Place, as he follows in the footsteps of Michelangelo Antonioni and Wim Wenders in using the road movie format and the ever-changing landscape to pass acerbic comment on the American Dream. Having already drawn a mixed critical response because of its Holocaust subplot, this may not be as quirkily mesmerising as the pictures with which Sorrentino made his name - The Consequences of Love (2004), The Family Friend (2006) or Il Divo (2008). But, by riffing on Antonioni's Zabriskie Point (1970), Wenders's Paris, Texas (1984) and David Lynch's The Straight Story (1999), as well as by packing the soundtrack with superb songs by David Byrne and Will Oldham, Sorrentino not only succeeds in revitalising the outsider aspect of the genre, but also demonstrates that issues of historical and contemporary significance are not solely the preserve of the politically committed and the intellectually haughty.

Bearing the physical and psychological scars of the unbridled hedonism he enjoyed at the height of his 1980s fame, ageing rocker Sean Penn struggles to get around and make sense of seemingly simple concepts. Pottering about the Dublin mansion he shares with eminently sensible fire-fighter wife Frances McDormand, he continues to sport the shock of black hair, kohl and rouge of his youth. But, ever since a couple of fans committed suicide because of the glum content of his lyrics, his contact with the outside world has been limited to fellow mavericks like teenage fan Eva Hewson (who just happens to be Bono's daughter), who is struggling to cope with mother Olwen Fouéré's morose response to the sudden disappearance of her son.

Everything changes, however, when Penn receives news that the father he hasn't seen in three decades is gravely ill and he takes the boat back to New York (he refuses to fly) to see him. Unfortunately, he only arrives in time to attend the funeral, where he learns from cousin Liron Levo that his father had been obsessed with tracking down Heinz Lieven, the camp guard who had humiliated him during his incarceration in Auschwitz. Having read his father's diary, Penn contacts Nazi hunter Judd Hirsch to help him locate Lieven and bring him to justice. But Hirsch takes himself and his quest too seriously to share his expertise with a washed-up pop star.

Despondent, but endearingly dogged, Penn goes to see old mucker David Byrne in concert (where he performs the eponymous Talking Heads song in set-piece that exceeds anything seen in 1994's Stop Making Sense or 2010's Rise, Ride, Roar) and, following their backstage chat, Penn decides to strike out on his own. Hiring a black pick-up truck, he hits the road for a trip that will take him to Utah, Michigan, New Mexico and a surprising discovery.

He makes first for Lieven's estranged wife, Joyce Van Patten, and poses as one of her former history students to gain access. On learning little, he sets his sights on the couple's daughter, Kerry Condon, a kindly war widow who is too busy with daily survival to address anything more meaningful. En route, Penn also makes the acquaintance of the occasional oddball, including Harry Dean Stanton, who claims to have invented the wheeled suitcase. But, with the unexpected help of Hirsch, he finally finds his father's nemesis and devises a punishment commensurate with the crime that had been rankling for seven decades.

As in all good road movies, the changing scenery works its magic on the conflicted anti-hero and Penn not only comes to appreciate the full awfulness of the Shoah, but also to realise that the time has come to forget his past celebrity and accept his new reality. Looking like Robert Smith of The Cure, but often acting like a high-pitched Ozzy Osbourne, Penn drifts through his odyssey like a sleepwalker slowly regaining consciousness. But, while he may appear spaced out, he comes up with some surprisingly acute observations and his direct line of questioning often disconcerts those adopting an unmerited sense of superiority to this odd-looking man-child.

However, while Sorrentino and co-scenarist Umberto Contarello keep the quips coming, they let the storyline get off to a sluggish start in Ireland and frequently allow it meander Stateside. Moreover, too much reliance is placed upon Luca Bigazzi's magnificent vistas to disguise the fact that few of Penn's encounters have any real substance. Yet, even though the return to Dublin is resoundingly anti-climactic, this is still a likeable and engaging treatise on the minor moments that take on unanticipated significance and irrevocably change lives. Sorrentino's willingness to take diegetic and stylistic chances may not always pay off, but he has the courage to follow his instincts and this is far superior to such stranger in a strange land outings as Emir Kusturica's Arizona Dream (1993) or Bruno Dumont's Twentynine Palms (2003).

Artist-cum-director Liza Johnson turns the focus from the Mid-West to the Rust Belt in Return, her first feature after completing five admired shorts. Chronicling Army reservist Linda Cardellini's struggle to readjust to civvy street after serving abroad, this largely eschews the soap operatics employed by Brian Welsh in his disappointingly implausible BritGrit drama, In Our Name (2010). Yet, while Johnson wisely resists the trauma-induced flashbacks that have become such a cliché of war vet movies, she often keeps the audience at a distance and allows too many incidents to feel like contrivances rather than everyday occurrences.

Even though she was only posted to a supply depot in an unspecified field of operations, thirtysomething Linda Cardellini is finding it hard to forget her experiences with the Ohio National Guard and settle back into her old routine. She brushes off inquiries about what it was like `over there' by insisting that many people had it worse than she did. Indeed, it's the here and now that seems more stressful, as while plumber husband Michael Shannon and their two daughters are pleased to have her back, stapling metal sheets in a ventilator factory and doing chores around a comfortable home suddenly seems very mundane. Moreover, Cardellini discovers that Shannon has been having an affair with car showroom assistant Bonnie Swencionis and she winds up being arrested for drink driving after allowing her emotions to get the better of her during a raucous night out with her galpals.

Suspended for six months, Cardellini is ordered to attend Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and undertake counselling sessions with Vietnam veteran John Slattery, a deer-hunting loner who lives in a cabin on the outskirts of their soul-wrenching town. He recognises her pain, but is powerless to stop her from hitting rock bottom when she fails to make a go of a telemarketing post and forgets to collect her elder daughter from school and she winds up being found by the police wandering through a dangerous neighbourhood alone. Having already been stung by an abrupt outburst during a playful tickling session, Shannon reaches the end of his tether and takes the girls to live with their grandmother. But, even though she finds consolation in Slattery's arms, Cardellini comes close to cracking up when she contemplates desperate measures on receiving a second call-up to arms.

Despite her narrative lacks originality, Johnson makes a more than competent debut here. In addition to coaxing solid performances out of her supporting cast, she shrewdly uses T. Griffin's downbeat score to emphasise the dead-end aura conveyed by Anne Etheridge's carefully composed shots of the industrial estates, retail parks and storage facilities that have sucked the life out of the middle of the town. But this is very much Cardellini's picture. Best known until now for such TV series as Freaks and Geeks and ER, and on the big screen for playing Velma in the Scooby-Doo movies, she captures the quiet desperation of the broken spirit without tics or histrionics. Indeed, there is genuine pathos in the way she keeps waiting for things to get back to normal before she finally realises that the problem lies not in any post-traumatic stress condition but in the fact that the life she wants back is impossible to have because everyone else involved in it has moved on. Rarely has betrayal seemed so accidental or devastating.