Review of Pickpocket (1959) by X X — 23 Apr 2012

Some of the greatest directors - Ingmar Bergman and Stanley Kubrick among them - have said cinema is about the human face. This is a film devoid of close-ups until the very last shot, at which point it's too little too late.

The film does little to endear us to the protagonist beyond suggesting that we should pity him. He is a lonely animal that lives in a shallow, insecure hole, with no one truly close to him and nothing decent to his name, but he refuses offers for honest work and betrays no remorse when committing his crimes.

There are no close-ups to suggest his inner turmoil and no tenderness to draw us into his life; so when he attempts genuine catharsis in a climactic reunion with a girl he could not admit to have loved, should we feel for him? And if not, what does all of Bresson's affected technique, his editing and cinematography and jarring placement of music, mean to achieve? It's unsettling and interesting, but it cheats us out of a payoff.

I've heard the film described as metaphysical, transcendent, spiritual, but I'd rather get the story from someone (read: source author Dostoyevsky) more interested in his audience than in making contrarian statements about storytelling.