1959 Directed by Robert Bresson
Michel takes up pickpocketing on a lark and is arrested soon after. His mother dies shortly after his release, and despite the objections of his only friend, Jacques, and his mother's neighbor Jeanne, Michel teams up with a couple of petty thieves in order to improve his craft. With a police inspector keeping an eye on him, Michel also tries to get a straight job, but the temptation to steal is hard to resist.
O Batedor de Carteiras, Zsebtolvaj, Карманник, Pick Pocket, O Carteirista, Liikkuvat kädet, Diario di un ladro, Incertitude, 소매 치기, 소매치기, Kapsář, Lommetyven, Taskuvaras, הכייס, スリ, Kieszonkowiec, Ficktjuven, Yankesici, Кишеньковий злодій, 扒手
how much pocket would a pickpocket pick if a pickpocket could pick pocket
alternative review: michel can pick my pockets all he wants!
obviously far from the first to say this but i adore the way the pickpocket setpieces are sequenced. it's formally romantic, treated as a supple craft, an artform like any other that requires skill and practice and the orchestration of simple, beautiful motions of hands and objects. it's a complicated contrast to the film's broader view which is one of a wandering, fatalistic weariness that comes with the knowledge that the only thing you're good at (the thing you are impulsively compelled to do even in the face of certain moral doom) is destined to alienate you from civilized society and eventually entrap you in isolation. the shot of his hand grabbing the cash vs. the rival hand appearing in the frame with the handcuffs all in one shot... [chef kiss]
i liked it when every human being shown on screen sounded like they were walking in a resident evil game
A boy cinephile becomes a man when he learns to love the uncharismatic doofus protagonist of this movie.
You Have 90 Minutes To Comply: The New Year Project
Well I must say it's very nice of Pickpocket to start off by telling us it's not a thriller.
I'm slightly pissed off by that opening. It could be because I'm over-tired and annoyed and possibly being over-sensitive, but there's a slightly sneery tone behind it that almost smacks to me as suggesting that it would be beneath this film to be labelled a mere thriller. It's a really odd and stand-offish way to start a film, I must admit, and while I suppose in one way I do slightly appreciate its honesty, I think it could have done me a big favour in furthering that honesty.
"This is a…
A suit that's slightly too large. Impassive eyes that hold yours just past the point of comfort and suddenly drop. Delicately roving hands that slide over a cuff, a button, a purse clasp, and slip inward - or shy away.
I'm not sure when I've been more uncomfortable in the company of a protagonist. Watching him is like an experience of repeatedly, accidentally catching someone masturbating - and then we both walk away, pretending no one saw such a private compulsion made public.
In the final moments, the impassive eyes change; they are less secretive, hidden; there is, even, an open, innocent eagerness. My discomfort drops for the first time.
But then, "Fin." What has that last scene resolved? I am not sure.
Fascinating.
great movie. what if somebody made it about a male prostitute or a drug dealer or a guy who played cards and did war crimes.
Intricately orchestrated and immediately one of Robert Bresson’s most significant endeavours, Pickpocket was the first movie for which the French directed penned the original screenplay. It features Uruguayan non-actor Martin LaSalle, as a professional magician, communicating a unique quality which sets the film apart as he accomplishes sleight-of-hand tricks to take advantage of the people of Paris. Bresson stylises the scenes in a specific manner to demonstrate depth; where virtually every activity from LaSalle operates to illustrate an engaging message. There's a scarcity of sentimentality, substituted instead by stripped-down developments in their purest aspects, and it all results in an extremely satisfying and enjoyable experience.
Pickpocket is a film of a lost soul, of a man detached and cold to the world. He exists almost just for the thrill of his crimes, but the film leaves us as just observers to his excitement. This is a sincere and austere film, with no overt narrative tricks. Instead we contemplate and witness a lonely life, a life of someone who sits in a room and practices pickpocketing techniques. He is a man who stands in the middle of the world, but cares only for himself. He lives without fear of God, and the woman he loves cannot save him. This is a film about the pointlessness of the pickpocket and how they add nothing to society. To be nothing is quite an existence. Pickpocket is a small and intriguing film, one of great influence, notably on Paul Schrader, but even today it holds up as a classic.
Sleight-of-hand cinema. A manipulative, meandering narrative crammed with contrived staging and sparse introspection. Bresson’s habit of toning down performances exhibits a fascinating exercise in minimalism, even if it does interfere with plausibility. There’s so much to study here in terms of incremental movements, the lens ever-fixated on hands in motion, proving more expressive than any face we encounter. It’s all a little thin, even for me, the bare-bones, stripped-down sensibility not leaving a whole lot to chew on. Still, the ending undoes this tedious method in one, swift stroke; a burst of music and theatricality to counter the quietude. As the score plays over black, you sit there in your realisation, deciding whether to take it with offence or with humility. You’ve been had.
