Shoot the piano player

A few weeks ago, maybe after Belmondo’s death, I started watching Truffaut’s Shoot the piano player. With Aznavour as the piano player. While the setting of a 1960 Paris was fascinating, as it reminded me of scenes of my very early childhood, from clothing to cars, to people’s attitude, incl. when driving, and the beautiful black and white film, I soon gave up as I found the story absurd and the acting atrocious. I had not read David Goodis’ book, but hope it is better constructed than this excuse of scenario, where gangsters on the run start discussing marital bliss with perfect strangers, and kidnapped exchange with kidnappers about the eternal woman… While Aznavour seems to be made of wood. Given Truffaut’s talent as a film-maker, all this deconstructionism is presumably intentional (as he later told, “”the idea behind Le Pianiste was to make a film without a subject”). But not fun. Except for the scene when (singer and mathematician) Bobby Lapointe sings some of his most famous songs. Which are subtitled by Truffaut, despite being sung in (fast) French.

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