The third and last movie of Bresson's best decade, before he went round the bend with Joan of Arc. (Not that it is impossible to titter in the wrong places at this one, too.) The details of training for, and plying, the pickpocket's trade are fascinating, and would have remained so without the peppy musical accompaniment by Jean-Baptiste Lully. And the Nietzschean self-rationalizations of the self-important hero generate some of the most interesting dialogue in any Bresson movie ever. (1959) — Duncan Shepherd
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