Bob le Flambeur

Bob le Flambeur is a good crime film for an evening when the company matters more than the pace. Jean-Pierre Melville gives individual character enough attention that we become interested in people before demanding to know what they will do. That patience produces an appealing warmth, although it also leaves stretches in which the film seems rather too satisfied with merely spending time in its own surroundings. At 103 minutes, it is hardly an endurance test, but its relaxed manner will not suit every appetite for criminal business.

Roger Duchesne is the principal reason to stay. As Robert ‘Bob le Flambeur’ Montagné, he has a composure that makes the character’s independence attractive without requiring us to mistake him for a model citizen. We felt unexpectedly fond of Bob; the performance’s lack of pleading allows affection to develop without the usual insistence that a criminal must secretly deserve our approval. There is pleasure in watching an actor give a character this much assurance without making every moment an announcement of how interesting he is.

Henri Decaë’s cinematography gives the nocturnal surroundings comparable importance. The movement from Montmartre towards Pigalle, and the neon lingering into dawn, establish a neighbourhood with hours and habits of its own. We liked the sense that daylight is an inconvenience these people have learned to accommodate, rather than a signal that the film must immediately become brisker. Claude Bouxin’s production design belongs comfortably within that atmosphere; it serves the people occupying these spaces without making their surroundings compete for our attention.

The difficulty is that atmosphere can carry a scene only so far, and the writing by Jean-Pierre Melville and Auguste Le Breton sometimes asks it to carry more than it should. Anne, played by Isabelle Corey, and Paulo, played by Daniel Cauchy, do not command the same sustained interest as Bob, leaving an imbalance that charm cannot entirely disguise. Monique Bonnot’s editing respects the leisurely approach, giving the performances room, though we occasionally wanted a firmer decision about when a scene had supplied enough. The patience is welcome until we begin noticing ourselves being patient.

The music by Eddie Barclay and Jo Boyer supplies a useful lightness, helping the film avoid treating every criminal association as grounds for solemnity. Its contribution suits a director interested in the appeal of these people as well as their questionable occupations. Against the crime genre’s appetite for pressure and escalation, this is an unusually companionable approach, and one we mostly enjoy. The drawback is that our involvement remains strongest when Roger Duchesne holds our attention; the surrounding characters do not always sustain it with equal ease.

There is enough personality here to forgive the uneven momentum, provided momentum is not the chief attraction. Jean-Pierre Melville trusts an audience to enjoy manners, company and place, and that trust makes the film easy to settle into. We would recommend it to anyone who enjoys a crime story taking time to notice the people inside it. Choose another evening if what you need is a film that keeps checking the clock.