1959 was a year of great changes in French cinema. François Truffaut and Alain Resnais shook up the Cannes Film Festival with ‘The 400 Blows ‘and ‘Hiroshima Mon Amour‘, respectively; Chabrol won the Golden Bear in Berlin with ‘The Cousins‘; while Godard was filming ‘Breathless ‘in Paris—a movie that would premiere early the following year. Nothing in the film world would ever be the same after that year, but for me, the most significant event was the December 1959 premiere of Robert Bresson’s ‘Pickpocket‘. Bresson was already an idol to the rebellious critics who would go on to become the famous directors of the New Wave. He was the only director from previous generations whose films they admired. Stylistically, in terms of cinematic approach and even ideology, much separated them. Yet, they were united by their opposition to the theatrical style of the ‘cinéma de papa‘ and, above all, by the concept of author cinema—the idea that the director’s personality is what stamps the film with its character and artistic value. ‘Pickpocket‘ is a perfect illustration of Bresson’s method, which differed so radically from that of any other director in France or elsewhere at the time. A consummate cinematic achievement.
The text preceding the film’s first action sequence warns us that we are dealing with a deceptive take on the crime genre. Michel, the film’s protagonist, is fascinated by the art of pickpocketing. An intellectual—bookshelves are the only visible decoration in the tiny attic room where he lives—he studies the biographies and techniques of the “trade’s” most famous practitioners. He rationalizes the motivation driving him to steal: it is not necessarily economic pressure, but rather a sense of superiority over the society around him—a feeling that working like everyone else would demean him, and that he is entitled to steal. A blend of arrogance and psychological thrill causes him to detach from reality as others perceive it. He neglects his gravely ill mother—despite loving her deeply—and ignores the presence of a woman – Jeanne – a relationship with her could have steered his life in a different direction. The fact that a police inspector—fascinated or intrigued by him—is constantly on his trail only heightens the challenge, pushing him toward a path of crime and all its foreseeable consequences.
‘Pickpocket‘ is clearly a modern variation on Dostoevsky’s novel ‘Crime and Punishment‘. The central figures are the same: Raskolnikov a.k.a. Michel, the police officer who suspects and pursues him, and the woman who offers the possibility of salvation. Michel’s crime is not lethal, which leaves the door open for redemption. Passions lie deeply buried; Bresson’s style—directing actors to minimize outward displays of emotion—perfectly creates the space for viewers to discern the underlying feelings themselves. The cast consists entirely of amateurs or first-timers. While some did go on to pursue film careers, ‘Pickpocket‘ remained the pinnacle of their professional lives. The exception is Pierre Étaix, who appears in a minor supporting role with limited screen time yet went on to have a remarkable career as an actor and filmmaker. Martin LaSalle and Marika Green also pursued solid acting careers, though none quite matched the success they achieved here. The final scene featuring the two is one of the most beautiful finales in the history of cinema. The role of the police inspector offered Jean Pélégri—an illustrious novelist, poet, and literature professor born in Algeria—one of the rare opportunities to demonstrate his acting talent. Bresson’s consultant on the craft of pickpocketing was a genuine professional named Kassagi; the role made him so famous that he was forced to change his line of work. The theft sequences are dynamic and so realistic that the film was briefly banned in some countries, as it could have served as a veritable manual for pickpocketing. Contributing to this is the mastery of cinematographer Léonce-Henri Burel—a veteran who had started out at the dawn of the film industry and capped off his career by collaborating on several of Bresson’s films. The soundtrack draws upon Baroque compositions by Lully, rounding out the visual experience of a film that touches perfection.