The 400 Blows, or "faire les quatre cents coups” (to ‘raise hell’), directed by Truffaut, 1959
The luscious blacks and whites, the compositions of each scene, tight and densely woven, characters, spotlighted, singular, located in packed scenes, the tableaux of Paris we pass through in the late 50s, memorable, one wants to retain the whole film, its cave-like compositions, closeness, and the colour world we live in with that lense, that focus, the gentleness of Truffaut’s camera capturing common scenarios and traumatic inner realities, the realism of a mischievous hellion of a boy, Antoine, caught in an unwantedness.
His stepfather, Julien, tries to rein him in but has no real emotional commitment to the boy. His mother, Gilberte, was ambivalent about having him, his grandmother saved him, insisting on his birth, raised him until she grew too old and frail, and couldn’t keep him. In the film, his mother, while neglectful, does love him, does try intermittently, but doesn’t stand up for him when he gets into trouble. He runs away often and caring school friends look after him. Stealing, and then getting caught returning a typewriter he stole from the company where his stepfather works, he ends up in a Juvenile Detention centre. It is near the ocean, as he had requested, and his stepping, after a long run from the prison, into the ocean surf is a moment of freedom and the final exuberant scene.
The acting is remarkable. As The 400 Blows is semi-autobiographical, we know Antoine grows up to be the brilliant French director, Truffaut, for whom, at age 27, The 400 Blows is his first full-length feature.
For anyone who’s had a difficult childhood, it’s a film of deep understanding and surely resonates with many people on that level. In real life, it has a heroic ending in Truffaut’s success and place in French film history as a central figure in the French New Wave movement.
Yet, for me, it is the compassion he shows this young teen, the camera angles, dialogue, Antoine’s escaping and running, this boy who represents Truffaut himself, who is as he is, that fills one with appreciation as rich as the sumptuous scenes of black and white filmography.
And, lastly, for this viewer, the scene of the crowds of children watching a movie in a theatre, a film we don’t see, perhaps we are the movie being watched and enjoyed, an adorable ocean of small, young, trusting, loving faces, so sweet, will remain with me, a joy.
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