It probably escaped your notice that Jean-Baptiste Poquelin - he would later become renowned as the French satirist Molière - dropped out of sight for a time in 1644 following his release from debtors' prison, but don't fret; you're certainly not expected to keep track of everybody. What might have transpired during those lost months lies at the core of Laurent Tirard's biographical-ish "Molière," some playful conjecture about the inspiration behind a few of the stage's most notable works.

My latest crush Romain Duris ("The Beat That My Heart Skipped") portrays the titular dramatist, whose real-life stint in the pokey ended following the intervention of a mysterious benefactor. That's where the fabrication that is "Molière" takes flight, imagining the anonymous patron as Jourdain (the peerless Fabrice Luchini, "Beaumarchais the Scoundrel"), a hilariously ignorant dilettante who quid-pro-quos Molière out to his plush country estate for drama lessons with which to impress a bitchy marquise (Ludivine Sagnier, "Swimming Pool") half his age. Le catch? Jourdain is already married, so Molière adopts the unconvincing guise of a priest in hopes that the elegant and neglected Elmire (Laura Morante, "Avenue Montaigne") remains unaware of her husband's idiotic intentions.

By now you know the drill: indiscretion, confusion, revelation, and oodles of slapstick physicality, all set amidst the opulence of Louis Quatorze France. Predictable, oui, but the French rarely get the costume drama wrong, and "Molière," though lacking the sardonic bite of its namesake, is no exception. Credit should go to the ideal casting, with rising star Duris honestly conveying the arrogant insecurity attendant to a young artist in clear need of a path and the serenely alluring Morante (20 years older than Duris, in a gratifying change of pace) providing the dreamy guidance. But if any scenes are missing it's because the grand Luchini stole ‘em, his steely 11th-hour epiphany in stark contrast to the hysterically boorish behavior that came before.

Transpose it to Elizabethan England, however, and "Molière" becomes "Shakespeare In Love," another period piece that envisioned a rudderless, uninspired writer blindsided by a fortuitous muse. But where the overrated "Shakespeare In Love" was icy and aloof, "Molière" is restless and passionate, much as the film depicts its hero. Told in flashback following the playwright's triumphant return to Paris after 13 years wowing the provincials, it admittedly takes a few beats for both Duris and "Molière" to find a comfortable, witty rhythm, and by the time the curtain fell on the surprisingly moving third act my eyes were brimming with tears. Sure, the heart of "Molière" might be pure hypothesis, but the heart is not.

In Christiane Cegavske's exquisitely macabre stop-motion fairytale "Blood Tea and Red String," the ruffle-and-fishnet-garbed White Mice commission The Creatures Who Dwell Under The Oak (sort of fox-like, with crow beaks and pig ears) to craft a doll for them, but The Creatures fall for their doll and refund the White Mice their cute coins. So the White Mice steal the doll, causing The Creatures to embark on their own odyssey to retrieve her, during which they encounter both comfort (a wise frog who saves them from hungry flora) and peril (a determined spider with the head of Emily Dickinson).

It's helpful to have a firm handle on the story of "Blood Tea and Red String" going in, as this allows you to focus not so much on what's happening as the inventive and meticulous animation being used to make it happen: sunflowers and skullfowers, kabuki-faced fledglings, a rousing round of Cat's Cradle, blood-drunk excess, and trickling water that, upon close inspection, is merely clear cellophane manipulated with light. Sound design is equally detailed, with every screech, trudge, rustle, chirp, and crackle perfectly placed.

Cegavske includes among her influences Czech surrealist Jan Svankmajer, literary gothfather Edgar Allan Poe, and "Alice In Wonderland" inker John Tenniel, and though the impact of these individuals is apparent in her work, Cegavske's creations are distinctly her own. Well over a decade in the making, "Blood Tea and Red String" is 71 weird, wordless, gorgeous minutes of careful details captured by 16mm film, a welcome antidote to the sudden ubiquity of digital animation.

Molière

(PG-13) DIRECTED BY LAURENT TIRARD

OPENS FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, AT THE LITTLE

Blood Tea and Red String

(NR) DIRECTED BY CHRISTIANE CEGAVSKE

SATURDAY 8 P.M., SUNDAY 5 P.M. AT THE DRYDEN