Marjane Satrapi had no need for technological gizmos when adapting her graphic novel series “Persepolis” for the big screen. In fact, with only a few shades of gray and some unassuming pencil strokes, Satrapi’s delightful film manages to tantalizes without the assistance of cutting edge CG, and to set a standard for animated productions aimed at an older (i.e., non-Pixar) crowd.

Best described as Satrapi’s own coming-of-age tale, “Persepolis” — voiced entirely in French — breathes whimsicality into its author’s incredible life story, spanning her childhood in Tehran during the tumultuous Iranian revolution in 1979 to Vienna for shelter from the war with Iraq (coinciding with an equally riotous adolescence) and several more intercontinental and intercultural criss-crossings beyond that.

The film strikes a remarkable balance between the personal and the political; though it’s clear that Satrapi’s growth — personally as well as ideologically — cannot be divorced from the political instability surrounding her, namely Iran’s overthrow of the Shah and descent into a repressive Islamic state. We see and appreciate how Marjane is forced to juggle standard dilemmas — coming-of-age, loss of innocence, rebelliousness, depression — and simultaneously cope with a government that, among other things, executes your family members and seeks to regulate every aspect of your life in the name of purging Western decadence.

Raised by a family of progressive revolutionaries of a Marxist-Leninist bent, little Marjane grows up in a hyper politicized environment (for better or for worse, though it’s not for us to judge). Some of the most touching scenes involve the early molding of her ideology (unlike her communist parents, she’s initially a close associate of God, with whom she communicates in dreams). One can’t help but wryly smile as she is wrenched from her bed of clouds in heaven back down to earth when her parents explain that the Shah was not, in fact, hand-

picked by God but “crowned” by enterprising Brits who sought Iranian oil. Sadly, learning the “dark truth” about her government is small potatoes compared to the unflinching reality of bloodshed that would soon occur right outside her doorstep, and would shake her family at its roots.

Yet what Satrapi gives us is the life story of a normal human being, albeit one placed in extraordinary circumstances. While the grim reality of bloody revolution, war and militant government oppression cannot be swept under the rug, “Persepolis” is at heart a humanistic tale.

To reconcile the simple humanity of falling in and out of love, for instance, with the gross inhumanity of war and repression, “Persepolis” serves up healthy dollops of humor. No doubt, much of Satrapi’s young life is incontrovertibly bleak. But well-placed humor makes “Persepolis” a joy to watch, and we realize that a fulfilling experience can be carved out of any life, no matter how bad things get. One memorable scene involves punked-out and rebellious teenaged Marjane weaving through a throng of cassette-tape “dealers” on the street, stopping at last to pick up the latest Iron Maiden album like it’s the hottest class-A drug on the market. Now recall that everything is drawn up in primitive pencil sketches, and the images become yet more bizarre, but all the more engrossing.

Oftentimes the events are less comedic. Tragedy strikes again and again, but it never becomes senseless for us or for Marjane — in fact, the plain blacks, whites and grays on the screen scream “futility” the loudest. When her life is put in danger, Marjane heads over to Europe, where she begins a happy and frivolous (by her standards) life in the company of characters — angst-ridden wannabe-anarchists, loopy retired academics, to name a few — but Satrapi’s impression of free, secular Europe is hardly rosy. Above all, Marjane runs against universal issues about her own identity and sense of place, shuttling between cultures and never fitting in anywhere. To make matters worse, her luck with the opposite sex is ludicrously poor no matter what continent she’s on.

Marjane’s grandmother, the film’s all-knowing (and witty, feminist, eternally hip) Voice of Reason, offers the tried and true advice: “Be true to yourself,” which nearly always works, though, as you can imagine, a repressive government can make self-expression a difficult task. The film’s other message, which goes hand in hand with its fresh and carefree aesthetic, is better left in French: “Pourquoi pas?” Why not, indeed? Satrapi certainly thought so, when first dreaming up this most unlikely of artistic creations. The final product is stunning.