A CAT IN PARIS. Great cinema written in lowercase letters

In A Cat in Paris, Dino is a black-coated cat. He spends his days in a cozy apartment, lounging in a comfortable armchair and playing with a young girl named Zoe. He seems like a model house pet — deliberately portrayed in a stereotypical and predictable way. But Dino has a second life. In the evenings, when the family goes to sleep, he slips out through the open window and visits Nico, a burglar who lives nearby and robs wealthy Parisians and jewelers at night. Dino helps him get various valuables, following the remarkably agile thief as he leaps across rooftops and building facades.

It’s clear from Nico’s behavior that his motive isn’t quick profit. What matters to him most is that each theft is executed with virtuosity. It requires immense precision, physical agility, and almost superhuman acrobatics. Perhaps that’s why we instinctively like him right away.

The film isn’t just about these two characters. The main figure is Jeanne, Zoe’s mother and a police officer. She and her daughter are going through a very difficult time. They still haven’t recovered from the loss of their husband and father, a policeman killed by the local gangster Victor Costa. Since that tragic event, Jeanne has been unable to pull herself together and is consumed by a thirst for revenge. She wants to catch the criminal as soon as possible and put him behind bars. It’s not hard to guess that Nico’s and Jeanne’s paths will soon cross, bringing their interests together.

Despite its misleading title, A Cat in Paris by Alain Gagnol and Jean-Loup Felicioli is not a postcard from the French capital. The creators don’t showcase the famous cityscape, Parisian landmarks, or cultural symbols — the habits of Parisians, their fashion, or the stereotypical romantic atmosphere associated with the city. Instead, the film focuses on its characters and their inner conflicts. And in this respect, it delivers a lot. These characters are not easy to judge in black-and-white terms.

This is especially true of Jeanne, consumed by the need for revenge on her husband’s killer, and neglecting her own daughter as a result. Zoe, meanwhile, stopped speaking after her father’s death and no longer communicates with the outside world. The cat seems to be her only acceptable companion. The nanny who stays with the girl while Jeanne is at work also hides her true identity. Nico, the lone burglar, finds his moral compass straightened through contact with the equally introverted girl, which shifts his life priorities.

And then there’s the cat, moving between all these characters. Dino deliberately causes some events and remains indifferent to others. In just an hour of runtime, the filmmakers manage to get the most out of these few characters. They feel real and human. Their interactions naturally generate further conflict.

The film tackles the subject of family trauma and the effort required to overcome it. This gives A Cat in Paris emotional depth and psychological weight. It’s the central theme of Alain Gagnol and Jean-Loup Felicioli’s film. At the same time, the film parodies the crime genre, enriched with a few references to classic cinema. The conversations between Costa’s gangsters clearly echo Reservoir Dogs by Quentin Tarantino.

The criminals casually argue about completely trivial things — who gets which nickname or what kind of sandwich they’ll have. As in Tarantino’s work, these dialogues don’t push the plot forward but instead reveal a more mundane side of culturally shaped gangster archetypes, typically portrayed as proud tough guys. They bring them down to earth.

Gagnol draws on Tarantino in his dialogues. Visually, the final showdown at Notre-Dame de Paris references the climax of Batman by Tim Burton. The filmmakers quote these classics with a wink and a sense of distance — as if inviting the viewer into an intertextual game. This postmodern playfulness is just a small addition, though; the creators themselves are often remarkably inventive.

One especially memorable scene comes when Nico breaks into a building to free Zoe, who’s being held by gangsters. He cuts the power to sneak in unnoticed. For this sequence, the filmmakers use only a black background, drawing the characters in white outlines. It’s funny, fresh, and clever. In its apparent simplicity lies tremendous strength.

Another striking moment is the appearance of the animated colossus statue at Notre-Dame — a priceless sculpture Costa has long coveted. In this scene, the statue takes on gigantic proportions, expressing the villain’s obsession with it. Costa’s belief in this illusory image leads him astray. It’s a bold and surprising artistic move, unusual for the film’s otherwise subtle aesthetic — daring but right on target.

A Cat in Paris works on several levels: as a family story, a tale of budding friendship, and a crime pastiche. This French animation blends understated humor with elegant formal style. It’s great cinema written in lowercase letters.