With a planet’s alignment, events are set in motion that will eventually bring two strangers together in “Happenstance,” the joyful French cinematic export retitled from the original “Le Battement d’ailes du papillon.”

“Happenstance” is an anthology of interwoven stories focusing on a mass of emotions that includes everything from love to fear.

Leading an impressive ensemble cast is Audrey Tautou from “Amelie” as a store clerk who finds love in a city of lost souls. The movie innovatively uses the butterfly effect theory, the idea that a butterfly’s wing flap can eventually cause a typhoon across the world. With interesting characters and amusing situations, “Happenstance” will leave a smile on any romantic’s face.

The film’s sheer wealth of stories and striking characters stuffed into the hour-and-a-half time frame help make the movie a beautifully constructed crowd pleaser. From a man’s infidelity and his inability to make a decision to a habitual liar’s discovery that he can’t live the life he’s constructed, the stories in the movie are all entertaining, well crafted and charming. But it is in the connection of these stories into a single cohesive outlook on life that distinguishes this movie.

Karma and the pursuit of happiness bring together all types of citizens. Serendipity plays a strong role with the ability to piece together a hodgepodge of ideas and create a classic love story that could have, under normal circumstances, been trite. Instead, the movie becomes a complex machine of Rube Goldberg proportions.

The movie is filmed in French, so unless audiences are well-versed in the foreign language, they will need to bring along their reading glasses. The dialogue-heavy movie is subtitled and the DVD does not include a dubbing feature. However, with prose that seems to jump off the screen, the subtitles never become a nuisance and in fact serve to help drive home some of the humorous quips and quotes that are sprinkled throughout the film, such as “you only have to piss in the ocean to rise the water.”

The movie is a charming picture that takes a cache of classic love stories and creates a delightful escapist film perfect for those movie dates in which you are looking for something a little more thought provoking than the same Freddie Prinze Jr. movie. Instead, viewers are recommended to treat that special someone to a charismatic foreign film that will have them smiling. Maybe you’ll even fool them into thinking you actually have some culture.

By Mitch Cassidy

High School Janitor

Do you believe in soul mates? I had a feeling you would. I’ve noticed that you read the horoscopes every morning in the cafeteria before you go to your English class. You always leave the paper on the table after you finish reading it. It’s okay though, I don’t mind cleaning up after you. After all, it is my job to pick up after you students.

There's one in every school.

I pick the papers up for you; and I do it with a smile on my face. I then take the newspapers home and I shred them up into little pieces. I use the scraps of paper and some of my “special sauce” to construct little papier-mâché figurines of you in different poses. I put my little statuettes on my bedside table and I sleep better at night while you watch over me.

I know what your thinking, but you’re wrong. I’m not a weirdo stalker or anything. It’s not like that at all.

I’m your soul mate.

We’re allowed to love each other that way.

You may be asking yourself how I’m so certain I’m your soul mate. To me, it’s as clear as the day. But if you want proof, look at the little things. Like the way you smiled at me last month when I gave you that paper towel after you had spilled milk on your shirt. You looked like you were about to cry and I gave you that towel and I could instantly see a big smile creep upon your face. I still have that paper towel. It’s framed on my wall, right next to your used Kleenex and the midterm report card that you crumpled up so your parents wouldn’t see the F you got in Math.

Don’t worry though, I won’t tell Mom and Dad about your deception. That’ll be our little secret. That’s what we soul mates do; we look out for each other. Like when that senior creep Billy Myers said “Howdy” to you last semester. You smiled back at him, but my soul mate sixth sense told me you felt he crossed the line.

The police still haven’t found Billy’s body and they won’t either; the students ate it. I guess you could say that we served Sloppy Billys that day.

But seriously, our lives just have this weird way of intersecting.

Remember that car accident that your mother was in last year? My sister’s son’s babysitter’s boyfriend was right down the street pumping his gas when it happened. Isn’t that so weird?

Stuff like that happens all the time. Two months ago, I was taking a break from mopping the floors and I was eating a Popsicle when I saw you gliding down the hall like an angel. You were talking to your best friend, Kristy McMullen and you wouldn’t believe it, but you’re shirt was the same color as my Popsicle: green! How bizarre is that?

I took that Popsicle home right then and there and put it in my freezer. I still have it in there, right next to the “present” you forgot to flush down the toilet last November.

With those kinds of uncanny happenings, how can anybody help but realize our astronomical compatibility? I’ve known about our soul mate status for a while now and soon you’ll realize it too.

I remember staying late last year, giving the school bathroom a final clean, just so I could catch a glimpse you as your mom picked you up from theatre practice.

I used to say to myself, “Mitch Cassidy, how weird is it that your soul mate’s mom drives the same exact car that your mother’s neighbor drives?”

Then I realized it wasn’t that weird. It’s just something that happens to us soul mates. It’s just God’s way of pointing out our shared destiny.

I do believe that we’re meant to be together. Why else would you have the same name as my pet turtle? Sure, I may have named my turtle after you, but I don’t think I would have been “inspired” to do that if it wasn’t for fate’s hand in the matter.

Sometimes, I lay in my bed at night, nestled underneath the quilt that I sewed from your used homework assignments that I rescued from the trashcans around school. I stare at the photo collage on my wall and stroke my lucky lock of your hair and dream about our future together.

Then, while I gingerly touch my bathing suit area, I dream about the day I propose to you and I cry uncontrollable tears of happiness as I hear you say “I Do” at our wedding. I name our kid (Mitch Jr.) and picture our family vacations (Sea World). I look forward to even the smallest things, like when I’ll cover you with honey and lick every inch of your body while our only son flogs us with grapes.

Oh yeah, I definitely look forward to the sex.

I cho-cho-choose you...

Nowhere else in my life is this more evident then in my previous romantic relationships. Before your mind starts racing with visions of domestic abuse or other such shameful shenanigans, I’m going to have to clarify my confession.

I’m not a violent man and the thought of physically hurting a woman makes me extremely nauseous. No, my past offensives have all been emotional offensives — fully legal, just entirely juvenile. Yes, I’m that asshole.

As it is, my life often times reads like the Goofus portion of a Highlights Magazine column. Constantly making the wrong decision or aggravating a bad situation, I’ve stumbled through my years stepping on toes and rubbing people the wrong way.

Sometimes it’s the out-of-place and unneeded comment I said at the worst possible occasion. I’m the guy who would ask Little Orphan Annie what her parents got her for Christmas.

Other times it’s my dangerously low lack of empathy that prevents me from making the one gesture that would have solved everything. Not only did I forget our anniversary, I didn’t realize we were even a couple.

You can see how, then, why my thoughtfulness would cramp my dating life.

I’ve been the guy who, when he tired of the girl he was dating, choose to turn off his phone for a week instead of being a man and break up with her. Heck, I’ve gone on a movie date with a girl and, when I didn’t like the movie she wanted to see, got up and pretended to go to the restroom only to slip out the theater’s exit.

It is hard for me to justify any of my behavior. Any attempt for me to explain why I felt the need to leave a girl alone in the theater instead of sitting through another hour and a half of a bad movie will probably fall on deaf ears. Here we go anyway.

I was left emotionally stunted after an early romance and, in comparison to the handful of girls whom I’ve truly felt feelings for, most of the woman I deal with on a daily basis have the romantic appeal of Dame Judy Dench. I also am almost entirely composed of curmudgeon-esque personality traits that have the unfortunate side effect of me finding most people (including incredibly attractive women) really annoying. I assume for most of you, these are not valid excuses and you are currently looking for a heavy shoe or boot to hurl my way. Don’t worry — I’ve already taken the liberty.

That’s not the only thing I took. Last year, after a disastrously unfortunate turn of events in a relationship that left me curled up in a fetal position of self-loathing and despair, I realized that I was tired of being the guy I’d became.

So, pointing my compass steadily at the problem, I realized that I needed to put things in perspective. If I couldn’t be a good romantic partner, I wasn’t going to be any romantic partner. I took a vow of celibacy – physical and emotional – until I could shape up my behavior. For the past year, not only have I shied away from any type of relationship – I’ve run from it as if it were the plague.

I’m proud to say that I feel like I new person. Perspective, thy name is abstinence.

I do realize, though, that actions speak louder then words and that’s why I’m proud to say that I’ve officially re-entered the dating scene in order to prove my new gentleman attitude. Mothers, there’s no need to lock your doors. I assure you, I’m a changed man.

Queue Mr. Big’s “To Be With You.”

I am walking alongside the creek.

It’s not as much a creek as it is a depression in the dirt used to protect an irrigation pipe. Even still, it’s my creek.

As I walk, I fiddle with my CD player — thumping my fingers against the underside of the machine. The player has been on the verge of dying for almost an hour. Even though I have grown tired of the CD that I brought with me on my walk, I believe that the heavy silence that comes without music would be much worse.

The sun beats down and I wipe the sweat off my skin. I can feel a zit forming on my forehead and I continue to walk down the non-creek that is nevertheless a creek.

I listen to the CD for a few more minutes before my player finally, irrevocably dies. It had died five times before. I resurrected it each time by taking out the batteries and switching them around; flipping poles and playing god. Bringing my CD player back to life did not make the music any better.

This time, though, the batteries are completely depleted. I take the headphones off my head and hang them around my neck.

I walk with my eyes pointed at the ground, staring at my dust-covered boots, trying to remember when I first learned to tie my shoes. The memory is lost, though, buried underneath the memories of her.

Her: the unrequited love.

What a cliché.

I look down at my shoes and try to remember my childhood but all I can think about is her laughter. All I can picture is her face, smiling at me, teasing me with knowledge that I will never know. I remember all of these things yet I cannot remember the name of my kindergarten teacher. In the back and forefront of my brain, she lurks. She is everywhere. Her hair shimmers with the florescent lights of the grade school classroom.

“What are you thinking about,” she asks.

“I’m thinking about you,” I tell her.

“Oh” is her only reply.

With that she disappears.

I look over my shoulder and spot a jackrabbit that has emerged from the non-creek. A dog that had been sniffing at a nearby dumpster also spots the rabbit and begins the Chase.

Will the dog eat the rabbit when the Chase is over? Will the dog end the Chase just like that or will he let the rabbit escape so that he may dream about future Chases. What can there possibly be left after the Chase is over? Does the dog desire the rabbit or does he just want the Chase?

Am I in love with the Chase or am I in love with her?

What would happen if she says yes? Will I take her in my arms and look into her eyes and will the music swell and the credits roll. No. What will follow will be much more uncertain, much more frightening.

I will probably call her every night, sharing more and more of myself until she truly knows me. But then, once she knows me, how could she ever want me. Or worse; what if I get to know her and no longer want her? When it is just the two of us, no longer strangers to one another and no longer in love with each other, what then? Will the Chase have justified the end?

The dog looked as if it was smiling as it chased the rabbit. It was probably out of breath. I don’t smile much anymore. I claim I am deep in thought and merely forget to smile. The truth is, I don’t believe in smiling anymore. After the Chase I will smile. Right now I am out of breath and I can’t smile.

“What are you thinking about,” she asks.

“I’m thinking about the Chase,” I tell her.

“Oh” is her only reply.

With that she disappears.

I am alone and I am walking alongside the creek that is and isn’t a creek, desperately trying to revive my CD player and hoping to get to those last remnants of energy that I know must still live in the batteries. I was right — the silence is much, much worse.

As I fumble with the batteries, I feel a pang in my chest, a spasm of desire. In this Chase, I realize, I am not the dog. I am the rabbit and I am being pursued by the ghost of what could be.

I am tired of running and I will tell her how I feel.

I am walking alongside the creek that is not a creek and she asks me what I am thinking.

I tell her I love her.

“Oh” is her only reply.

She does not disappear.

I don’t know what happens now.

Read more stuff I wrote during high school