Martin LaSalle (Michel), Marika Green (Jeanne), Pierre Leymarie (Jacques), and Jean Pélégri (The Inspector). Approximately 75 minutes. The story follows

In the vast library of cinema history, few years are as universally celebrated as 1959. It was a year of seismic shifts: François Truffaut’s The 400 Blows announced the French New Wave, Alain Resnais’ Hiroshima Mon Amour fractured narrative structure, and Alfred Hitchcock released North by Northwest . Buried within this avalanche of masterpieces is a quiet, almost monastic film about a lonely man with swift hands: Robert Bresson’s (1959).

Have you seen Pickpocket ? Did you find Michel a monster or a martyr? Let me know in the comments below.

In 1959, this ending was attacked by critics as "obscure" and "Jansenist" (a fatalistic Catholic sect). Today, it is celebrated as the most honest depiction of addiction and salvation ever put to film.

Today, pickpocketing continues to be a concern in many major cities around the world. However, by understanding the history and evolution of this crime, we can better appreciate the complexities and challenges of urban life in the mid-20th century.

If you watch Pickpocket , forget the faces. Bresson famously used his actors as "models," forbidding them from acting in the traditional sense. No tears. No shouting. No dramatic close-ups of crying eyes.

In response to the growing problem, law enforcement agencies began to implement new strategies and technologies to combat pickpocketing. These included the use of surveillance cameras, improved lighting, and increased patrols in high-risk areas.

But if you have ever felt like an outsider in your own life—if you have ever tried to rationalize a bad habit into a noble calling—this film will haunt you.

It’s believing you don’t need anyone else to survive.

If you type "pickpocket -1959-" into a search engine, you will quickly notice that reviewers use words like "transcendent," "austere," and "hypnotic." This is no accident. Bresson famously despised what he called "actorly acting." He insisted on "models"—non-professionals—who delivered lines in a flat, emotionless monotone.