Antoine et Colette

Having graduated from the sterile confines of his sentence to juvenile delinquency, Antoine Doinel moves back to Paris where he finds work and independence. 

Alertly dreaming of the wonderful day when he can no longer be hounded by institutions, he buckles down and digs in deep to keep his room while embracing the arts.

While at an intriguing performance with his old school friend René, he notices a stunning brunette to whom he takes a modest fancy.

Consistently seeing her at the same venues he cavalierly entertains, he eventually finds the courage to ask her out to see a film.

It isn't love at first sight though, from her objective point of view anyways, and although they spend a lot of time together, the relationship goes nowhere.

Forget her, M. Doinel, can't you see she'll never love you!

You've been collocated not collected.

The resultant frustration despondently shrill.

Difficult to imagine an otherworldly culture so serious so borderline obsessed, with rules and regulations it doesn't fit the France I'm more familiar with chill and peaceful (from books and films).

I suppose I grew up post-Antoine Doinel when his influence was more widespread, and you no longer had to tiptoe-through-the-meanies with nauseous cryptic jaded dread.

Hopefully this blasé revival of excessively devout austere mendacity, will fade without the dull recognition that any culture could have ever been so boring.

Antoine Doinel's still not the heartthrob more familiar in later films, but he still seeks lavish amorous illusion in this less accommodating fluid short feature.

Ironically getting along so well with any set of parents other than his own.

Nice to see him gathering his own vinyl collection.

Even working for a record company.

Vinyl still blows my mind.

*A couple cool scenes even present the mechanics of the old school vinyl industry. 

Stolen Kisses

Laissez-faire improvised scenarios multifaceted bamboozled chagrin, Antoine Doinel decides to join the army from which he isn't honourably discharged. 

His commanding officer makes austere predictions regarding his upcoming potential career path, to which he responds with comic disillusion while preparing to gracefully disembark. 

Fortunately, Christine isn't married and her friendly parents soon find him a job, which he awkwardly loses the very next day after glibly succumbing to clever contrivances. 

The wondrous innocence so valued and extant, borderline literary imaginative distraction, still guides his random wanderings from one odd situation to the superfluous next.

A private detective, indeed why not?, it seems unorthodox and perhaps amusing, not dull like so many things anyways, with inherent variety steeping the stew. 

Lacking natural gifts he embraces trial and error with novel credulity. 

Unwittingly finding himself soon seduced. 

By his only client's well-read wife.

Interesting to see an oblivious detective in charge of investigating a mid-life crisis, sombrely concocted by a sullen shoesalesperson exceedingly obsessed with why people don't like him.

It's a whole new branch of detective film where ye olde sleuths put psychiatrists out of business, as they venture forth with concrete shenanigans subjectively interpreted as something new.

Maladroit misgivings and incumbent thrift definitively queued on the existential barbie, it just progresses and mutates and engages as you become hooked on paying the bill.

Someone to talk to nevertheless about most people's favourite topic, themselves, people who are paid not to find you boring to the point where they invent constant mischievous conjecture.

Comic brilliance notwithstanding which I don't recall having seen anywhere else.

An endearing character.

Wholeheartedly beloved.

Precariously curious. 

Symbolic literature. 

Les quatre cents coups (The 400 Blows)

An unhinged imagination mendaciously prone feverishly flows with mischievous delinquency, in a time less alternatively accommodating when harsh punishments still prevailed.

He can't fluently comprehend discipline as its laid out by his parents and teachers, and begins skipping school after a headstrong dispute with his weary fed-up severe enseigneur.

His step-father habitually complains as his treasured belongings keep disappearing, the boy not comprehensively considering his disastrous petty malcontent abbreviations.

Unfortunately, his independent mother even admits his routine irritates her, and like little Claudius he proceeds unloved although he acts out much more rebelliously.

This lack of love the absent bond awkwardly infuriates further as he misses school, and notices her spending time with someone else, someone clearly not his step-father.

His thefts become more daring and he even enlists the aid of a lonesome friend, before the law is swiftly called in and a new trajectory meticulously hewn.

They didn't have to be quite so draconian if they had only accepted sole responsibility.

And made a serious effort to turn things around.

They're occupationally challenged however (they're more focused on their careers).

They don't really care, it's a bitter denunciation of self-centred parents who don't nurture their children, and the horrid situations which potentially arise if the young one reacts with aggrieved insurrection.

It may have had an impact on social reform within France after it was released, nevertheless, the French actually listening to what their artists have to say, since the poor child's utter abandonment and isolation in the film's final moments evocatively promotes the need for systemic change. 🎻

It's a powerful scene which correspondingly brings to mind A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, or any artist in his or her childhood when they let their genius run chaotically amok. 

It's clear little M. Doinel needs compassion not the fastidious lockdown permeating bootcamp, but that's what things were like in the cold-hearted old world which blind foolish unsympathetic jerks look to with manufactured nostalgia.

Many blossoming artists remain ill-accustomed to ubiquitous rules.

Especially when they're young children. 

A bit more progressive in this day and age.

L'amour en fuite (Love on the Run)

The lighter side of romantic inhibition comically elaborates (through flashback) in Truffaut's L'amour en fuite (Love on the Run).

Antoine (Jean-Pierre Léaud) once again finds himself pursuing the irresistible shortly following his divorce after love interest Sabine (Dororthée) punishes him. 

Driven by genuine liberated invention, his expositions know no bounds, and proceed posthaste wholeheartedly, zephyristic zounds. 

I suppose this goes without saying if you're familiar with the narrative thread, which becomes much more endearing with each instalment frisked and fled.

Indomitable infatuation regal flush disposed curiosity, multivariable assumed inconstant freeform precious jocose romance.

In L'amour en fuite so prone to accident he rediscovers love lost forgotten, who's just purchased the sultry novel he's been writing from film to film.

He takes inquisitive note and seeks rapprochement upon a train, where the details of his book encounter critical acclaim.

He generates appeal beholden flourishes notwithstanding, but can't escape the legal shrewd exotic reprimanding.

Even though he's just incapable of remaining honest, loyal, and true, his partners still adore him unabrasive through and through.

Not to the point where they'll let him get away with it but they still can't deny their feelings, and the lack of boredom he freely generates as he ascertains impulsively.

There's no doubt that creative explanations are his supple imaginative forte, nor that if one enjoys a passionate argument he graciously accommodates.

If so much of life's caught up with routine I suppose there's excitement in experimentation, although it's by no means a general rule but how else to explain the reality?

I'm uncertain as to how feminists or Me Too would respond to the charming Antoine, is he to be condemned for his indiscretions or upheld through honest light?

His inexhaustible enthusiasm demonstrates a thorough love of women, and he isn't forceful or mean or brutal, he's rather quite innocent, inquisitive, enamoured. 

Rascally. 

Is such genuine affection preferable at times to duty and is this why feminists don't condemn him (in fiction), or has Truffaut simply gotten away with it scandalous film after scandalous film?

Antoine certainly means well as he honestly follows his instinct, and doesn't lack ideal sincerity in his explorations of l'amour.

Perhaps just a childish fantasy exaggerating infidelity, to lighten the austere mood that proliferates at times?

Either way it's a funny ending to a story that went way too far.

Not as much depth as Domicile conjugal.

But still traditionally entertaining.  

Domicile conjugal (Bed & Board)

A young married couple creatively engages with their community, who's as lively as they are entertaining, fluid interactive inquisitive high spirits.

The film's set in a chill inner-city neighbourhood wherein which personality abounds, and characters work in alternative disciplines, as nothing passes by unnoticed.

Everything's intriguingly unorthodox inasmuch as the characters aren't career oriented, and are still living active productive lives, rich in constantly shifting locomotion.

The story's focused on the young married couple and their struggles to continuously cohabitate, both partners verbosely articulated, capable of aptly uplifting what have you.

It's a remarkable script overflowing with compelling detail and multiple swift nuanced characters, it's so quick and thoughtful it commands your complete attention, critically assailing if you should ever turn away.

The subject matter's refreshing and captures flourishing discourse in motion (book titles, staircases, loans, parking tickets), comments and observations emphatically resound, with random pertinent reflective ebullient life, interlocked through versatile direction.

The plot does steer into sleaze at times and I think the film would have been stronger without the affair, but it seems like Truffaut sought to stultify infidelity, I'm not sure if the results are Me Too.

I wonder what it would have been like if there had been no controversial drama, no traditional plot elements, just communal reverberations?

Can't a multifaceted collection of comical characters and situations just co-exist without something drastic, working and conversing and living without serious game changing invention?

The thoughts and ideas can diversify themselves without having to alter their terrain.

They keep flowing perspicaciously throughout.

But slowly take on a specified logo.

Domicile conjugal (Bed & Board) isn't a grad school seminar, loosely based on a fluctuating theme, but I'd argue it starts out that way, and may have been more impressive if left unrestrained.

Perhaps having multiple conflicting yet complimentary points judiciously interspersed throughout dialogue in flux can make a more meaningful impact, insofar as so much expression cultivates serendipity, which can generate romantic syntax?

If having a predominant point is oft presumed as a crucial essential, when so much life unwinds at random, perhaps manifold eclipsed ideas reflect something more realistic, that boldly suggests je ne sais quoi?

It seems like so much life's a case study where you have to find the principal cause.

This is very important when developing vaccines.

But not as integral to the arts or cinema.

Domicile conjugal's still a masterpiece of urban intensity which brings an irresistible community to life.

Do filmmakers ever go one step further?

Slacker!

Slacker immediately comes to mind!

*Perhaps when developing vaccines you have to search for contemporaneous elements? I don't know much about vaccine development.