The term 'ahead of its time' remains in constant danger of becoming redundant through overuse, until examples such as maverick director François Truffaut's Shoot the Piano Player come to mind. Initially dismissed as a self-indulgent, bewildering artistic failure, come 30 years later, techniques pioneered by Truffaut's film have become staples of modern independent cinema, particularly in the works of directors Quentin Tarantino and Guy Ritchie. Yet Truffaut's film, regarded on retrospect, remains an entirely different animal and by no means suffers by comparison to films following its example. From the opening shot of a piano being played from the inside, Shoot the Piano Player never loses its riveting, fascinating and crucially different footing, generating a piece of cinema just as adept at paying homage to the Marx Brothers as the mob films and romantic melodramas it overtly satirises.
Despite being greeted with scorn and derision due to being allegedly inaccessible, nonlinear and incomprehensible, Truffaut's film is, in the end, a deceptively straightforward piece of work. With only a single, clearly articulated flashback disrupting the flow of the narrative, it remains, in the midst of its protective parodic shell, an achingly heartfelt story about a man, both consumed and haunted by his sense of self, artistic potential and family, and their potential to destroy everything meaningful in his life.
Yet the fact that such a seemingly dour emotional centerpiece is housed in what is ultimately an incredibly funny, lighthearted and charming film is testament to the chaotic imbalances in tone which should have torn the film apart, but instead make it a remarkable cocktail of cinematic experimentation. Truffaut's film thrives on contrasts: between the very real and the very cinematic, between delightful, lighthearted hilarity and satire (one of the most hilarious nude scenes in film history gleefully pokes at the fourth wall) and devastating, resonant emotional pain. It is a film which delights in the nature of its own construction rather than attempting to mask it. Infamously shot guerrilla style on a shoestring budget while writing the script and determining the course of the narrative on the go, rather than struggling to craft a tonally cohesive work, Truffaut allows his film to take on the abrupt about-faces its production faced. This open approach makes the violent contrasts in tone and emotion far more genuine than a more contrived and uniform work could ever deliver - the tragedy is made all the more poignant when contrasted with nonsensical cheerfulness and wry satire, and vice versa.
But Truffaut's visionary technical work can similarly not be ignored. Making sumptuous use of looming long shots, uncomfortable close-ups and rapid zooms, coupled with its crisp black and white photography, the film creates a unique visual aesthetic often copied but never bettered. Similarly, as the title would suggest, the film's music plays an essential role, present to the point of almost becoming a character itself within the film. In many ways, the film's music is a direct representation of the film's deliberate dismantling of the pretensions and clichés of the American films it both mocks and pays tribute to - a tense chase sequence is interrupted by a nonsensical song number comparing women's body parts to various fruits. Comical banter is accompanied by sombre, moody musical strains better fitted to melodramatic exchanges. The music appears emblematic of Truffaut's winking influence throughout, constantly encouraging the viewer to engage with the film artistically, yet never at the expense of entertainment.
The film is made all the more timeless through its sublime performances, creating real, honest and effortlessly lovable characters which, instead of caving to Hollywood sap and cliché, gleefully subvert it. Charles Aznavour proves a delightful mirror image of the archetypal hardboiled film noir protagonist, his sad, haunted eyes and quick witted voice-over announcing the quiet humanity he attempts to keep hidden underneath a more grim facade of how he believes a man should act. Marie Dubois is equally superb, a female lead bubbling with genuine warmth and shining charisma. Albert Rémy makes the titular pianist's washed up failure of a brother impossible to dislike through a charming, grounded performance, and Nicole Berger simmers with magnetic pathos and muted warmth as the pianist's mysterious first wife. Finally, as the most incongruous figures in the film, Daniel Boulanger and Claude Mansard are bizarrely hilarious as bumbling heavies Ernest and Momo, keeping their menace carefully concealed behind a veneer of side-splitting one-liners, physical comedy and inane dialogue which clearly proved inspirational for Tarantino's ruminating thugs in Pulp Fiction.
However, more than anything else, the film pulses with an unquenchable glow of fun and invention which proves consistently infectious, a noteworthy debunking of the cliché than all artistically viable films need be sombre, slow and deliberate. As experimental as it is, Truffaut's film breaks all of its grounds for the sake of fun, making it one of the most resonant and accessible films of the French New Wave period, as well as nearly impossible not to fall for. Magnificent and essential cinema.
-10/10
Despite being greeted with scorn and derision due to being allegedly inaccessible, nonlinear and incomprehensible, Truffaut's film is, in the end, a deceptively straightforward piece of work. With only a single, clearly articulated flashback disrupting the flow of the narrative, it remains, in the midst of its protective parodic shell, an achingly heartfelt story about a man, both consumed and haunted by his sense of self, artistic potential and family, and their potential to destroy everything meaningful in his life.
Yet the fact that such a seemingly dour emotional centerpiece is housed in what is ultimately an incredibly funny, lighthearted and charming film is testament to the chaotic imbalances in tone which should have torn the film apart, but instead make it a remarkable cocktail of cinematic experimentation. Truffaut's film thrives on contrasts: between the very real and the very cinematic, between delightful, lighthearted hilarity and satire (one of the most hilarious nude scenes in film history gleefully pokes at the fourth wall) and devastating, resonant emotional pain. It is a film which delights in the nature of its own construction rather than attempting to mask it. Infamously shot guerrilla style on a shoestring budget while writing the script and determining the course of the narrative on the go, rather than struggling to craft a tonally cohesive work, Truffaut allows his film to take on the abrupt about-faces its production faced. This open approach makes the violent contrasts in tone and emotion far more genuine than a more contrived and uniform work could ever deliver - the tragedy is made all the more poignant when contrasted with nonsensical cheerfulness and wry satire, and vice versa.
But Truffaut's visionary technical work can similarly not be ignored. Making sumptuous use of looming long shots, uncomfortable close-ups and rapid zooms, coupled with its crisp black and white photography, the film creates a unique visual aesthetic often copied but never bettered. Similarly, as the title would suggest, the film's music plays an essential role, present to the point of almost becoming a character itself within the film. In many ways, the film's music is a direct representation of the film's deliberate dismantling of the pretensions and clichés of the American films it both mocks and pays tribute to - a tense chase sequence is interrupted by a nonsensical song number comparing women's body parts to various fruits. Comical banter is accompanied by sombre, moody musical strains better fitted to melodramatic exchanges. The music appears emblematic of Truffaut's winking influence throughout, constantly encouraging the viewer to engage with the film artistically, yet never at the expense of entertainment.
The film is made all the more timeless through its sublime performances, creating real, honest and effortlessly lovable characters which, instead of caving to Hollywood sap and cliché, gleefully subvert it. Charles Aznavour proves a delightful mirror image of the archetypal hardboiled film noir protagonist, his sad, haunted eyes and quick witted voice-over announcing the quiet humanity he attempts to keep hidden underneath a more grim facade of how he believes a man should act. Marie Dubois is equally superb, a female lead bubbling with genuine warmth and shining charisma. Albert Rémy makes the titular pianist's washed up failure of a brother impossible to dislike through a charming, grounded performance, and Nicole Berger simmers with magnetic pathos and muted warmth as the pianist's mysterious first wife. Finally, as the most incongruous figures in the film, Daniel Boulanger and Claude Mansard are bizarrely hilarious as bumbling heavies Ernest and Momo, keeping their menace carefully concealed behind a veneer of side-splitting one-liners, physical comedy and inane dialogue which clearly proved inspirational for Tarantino's ruminating thugs in Pulp Fiction.
However, more than anything else, the film pulses with an unquenchable glow of fun and invention which proves consistently infectious, a noteworthy debunking of the cliché than all artistically viable films need be sombre, slow and deliberate. As experimental as it is, Truffaut's film breaks all of its grounds for the sake of fun, making it one of the most resonant and accessible films of the French New Wave period, as well as nearly impossible not to fall for. Magnificent and essential cinema.
-10/10