The war of the buttons is one of those films that warms the cockles even at a tender age (where such nostalgic sentimentality like cocklewarming is not even a concept yet). The artful description of human nature at its early stages, the heartache of being young, the struggle of empowering onself and of feeling powerless in a world dominated by grown-up violence and/or indifference is so tender, so enchanting that it should be compulsory on school curricula, at least for students of French. Seeing this film makes me yearn for the French countryside, it makes me laugh, it makes me happy, it makes me want to be child and to have a child of my own. And it also moves me to tears, and makes me remember the agonies of childhood. In short, this film is true art in the old philosophical sense: it produces emotion, true emotion, it depicts beauty and it involves its audience in thorough katharsis. A gem.
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