The 400 Blows ****

Here is another film I watched on the advice of my friend and colleague, James, and I am oh so glad I did.

There is something lost in the translation of this film's title, which in French is apparently an idiom for "to raise hell". So it's not a boxing picture. Okay, that helps. I admit I was afraid because it was from way before I was born and in black and white. (These are not bad qualities, mind you, but for some reason, I'm just reluctant to open myself up to older works, even classics such as this. I have been delighted by ancient films like Night of the Hunter, and you would think I'd get over my phobia, but maybe I will after a few more like this.)

The 400 Blows is part of the French New Wave cinema of the late 50's and 60's, and it comes from one of its primary auteurs, Francios Truffaut. I had seen one of his before--also because of a cinephile friend--called Jules and Jim, and while that had its moments, it didn't exactly leave me clamoring for more. But this coming-of-age film, which would be the first of several films exploring the same protagonist with the same actor (Jean-Pierre Leaud), made the kind of emotional impression on me that I suppose it's made on thousands of viewers for decades.

Plot-wise, there's not much to tell. A boy in his early teens is ignored, misunderstood, and mistreated by the adults in his life, leading him to the exact kind of trouble that his elders expect of him. (Sometimes we live up to others' expectations, if only to spite them, or because we take them in and believe these lies about ourselves and they become self-fulfilling prophecies.) By the end, we have a sad, haunting portrait of a lonely boy who never seemed to have much of a chance at happiness.

I was not the same kind of child or adolescent that the film's main character, Antoine Doinel, is. With very few exceptions, I was a model of good behavior, almost completely unrebellious. I didn't lie, I didn't cheat, I didn't steal, I didn't misbehave, I didn't get into trouble. You might think it's because my parents were super-strict, but that's not really the case. I was raised with a particular set of values and a huge amount of love, and I just didn't want to ever disappoint my parents, or any of my elders, for that matter. I suppose my general shortage of friends and peer pressure may have contributed to this good behavior, as it does seem like Antoine's trouble often stems from being egged on by classmates. But my point is, I didn't feel connected to this character on the basis that I could relate to him. I really couldn't very much. And yet, I cared about him. Maybe it's the father in me that has never had children but knows if I did, I'd treat them a lot better than Anoine's parents treat him. Maybe it's something to do with Leaud's acting ability; as his character plays aloof to the adults in his life, somehow his inner emotions are easily telegraphed to us watching. How is it we're paying so much closer attention than the people in this boy's life?

If I make this movie sound like a tragedy, it really isn't, at least not in the traditional sense. Although this film ends with uncertainty, we know that the life and adventures of Antoine continue in several other installments. I don't know how eager I am to see them though. The final moments in this film are so artfully captured, and the last frame leaves a lot to imagine, contemplate, and dream of what might be. I don't know if I want to replace my own notions with the actual continuing story that Truffaut ultimately decided to tell. Maybe I will eventually, but for now, I'm stuck--and yet quite content--with this freeze frame.