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Les quatre cents coups (1959)
Childhood's End
The 400 Blows is the film that brought the French New Wave international repute (one year before Breathless), garnering worldwide critical acclaim and turning its director, Francois Truffaut, from a major force in film journalism to a major force in film creation.
Godard's debut, it is true, is the more stylish of the two, with its risqué jump cuts, philosophical dialogue and gangster posing, but The 400 Blows delivers in terms of spirit and youthful tenderness, essentially marking the different personalities of both directors.
Both films are, however, in love with cinema and, watching The 400 Blows, one is reminded of the child protagonists from the films of the Neo-realists, the kids from Bunuel's Los Olvidados and, on home turf, those from Vigo's Zero De Conduite. The comparison with Vigo is particularly resonant – many of The 400 Blows' most stirring and poetic moments would not look out of place in the earlier director's short canon of acclaimed work.
As Truffaut's debut feature-length production, The 400 Blows is an outpouring of emotion and exuberance, with many of the events depicted drawn from the director's own childhood. Yet the story never feels sentimental and, for all of our attachment to the central character, Truffaut never deliberately tugs at our heart strings, leaving us instead to take in the events – one minute whimsical, the next, tragic – and have our moods swing gently, but passionately, in time with the images.
In Jean Pierre Léaud, Truffaut finds his younger self again (albeit a cheekier, slightly tougher version) and the actor delivers an extremely naturalistic performance as Antoine Doinel, subtly conveying emotion in the most intense circumstances. This is what prevents the film descending into melodrama, and what lends it its subtlety and its realism.
Perhaps the most touching scenes in the film are those that celebrate the friendship between Doinel and his school mate René. The two are kindred spirits and bunk school together to catch the latest films at the cinema, try out the latest rides at the fair or come up with another money-making scam. The two live in a shared fantasy world and the only affection they receive is that from each other. Doinel, for all his petty thieving and delinquency, is a caring, affectionate boy – far more so than any of the elders in the film (who are seen to be liars, thieves and – what's more – physically and verbally abusive). This friendship between the two boys is particularly resonant as it mirrors the real life relationship between Truffaut and his lifelong friend Robert Lachenay (who assisted in the production of the film, as well as in that other New Wave classic, Paris, Nous Appartient).
The film is, after all, an attack on a society that feels burdened by its children, that no longer has time for them and that seeks to instill in them a sense of guilt and blame for many of life's problems. The film is an elegy to the innocence and freedom that Antoine and René fleetingly enjoy, before the net ensnares them.
Nazarín (1959)
Bunuel's most moving film
A blackly comic tale of a down-trodden priest, Nazarin showcases the economy that Luis Bunuel was able to achieve in being able to tell a deeply humanist fable with a minimum of fuss. As an output from his Mexican era of film making, it was an invaluable talent to possess, with little money and extremely tight schedules. Nazarin, however, surpasses many of Bunuel's previous Mexican films in terms of the acting (Francisco Rabal is excellent), narrative and theme.
The theme, interestingly, is something that was explored again in Viridiana, made three years later in Spain. It concerns the individual's struggle for humanity and altruism amongst a society that rejects any notion of virtue. Father Nazarin, however, is portrayed more sympathetically than Sister Viridiana. Whereas the latter seems to choose charity because she wishes to atone for her (perceived) sins, Nazarin's whole existence and reason for being seems to be to help others, whether they (or we) like it or not. The film's last scenes, in which he casts doubt on his behaviour and, in a split second, has to choose between the life he has been leading or the conventional life that is expected of a priest, are so emotional because they concern his moral integrity and we are never quite sure whether it remains intact or not.
This is a remarkable film and I would urge anyone interested in classic cinema to seek it out. It is one of Bunuel's most moving films, and encapsulates many of his obsessions: frustrated desire, mad love, religious hypocrisy etc. In my view 'Nazarin' is second only to 'The Exterminating Angel', in terms of his Mexican movies, and is certainly near the top of the list of Bunuel's total filmic output.