Martin LaSalle | Marika Green | Pierre Leymarie | Jean Pélégri | ||||
Kassagi | Pierre Étaix | Dolly Scal | César Gattegno | ||||
Sophie Saint-Just
Uncredited |
Dominique Zardi
Uncredited |
Martin LaSalle | Marika Green | Pierre Leymarie | |||
Jean Pélégri | Kassagi | Pierre Étaix | |||
Dolly Scal | César Gattegno | Sophie Saint-Just | |||
Dominique Zardi |
Martin LaSalle | Marika Green | ||
Pierre Leymarie | Jean Pélégri | ||
Kassagi | Pierre Étaix | ||
Dolly Scal | César Gattegno | ||
Sophie Saint-Just | Dominique Zardi |
Loosely based on Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment, Bresson's terse, intense portrait of Michel (Martin LaSalle), a compulsive thief who believes himself above the moral constraints of common humanity, turns the act of theft into a ritual at once erotic and aesthetic. (The sequences where Michel learns and plies his trade – the "ballets of thievery," as Jean Cocteau called them – are choreographed with dazzling rhythmic precision.) Curiously, the most singular and controversial element of Bresson's aesthetic system, amply evident in Pickpocket, has also been one of the most imitated by later directors: his use of what he called "models," non-professional actors trained in neutral line readings ("Talk as if you're talking to yourself," the director instructed), automatic gestures engendered by dozens of habit-breaking takes, and emotional inexpressiveness. "A film of dazzling originality. On its first viewing, it risks burning your eyes. So, do like me. Go back to see it every day" (Malle).