This film is more notable for the way it punctuates 1962 and the performance it teases out of Jean-Paul Belmondo than for being a typical Melville masterpiece. We can't help but lean into the real urban street scenes - Paris here, New York there, New Orleans towards the end of the journey - and feel ourselves being absorbed into a reality most of us know of but never experienced: One Rochechouart diner's newspaper headlines the precarious health of Edith Piaf, the neon signs of Broadway reference the Cuban Naval Blockade on one side of the street and West Side Story on the other, black & white segregation becomes plain as day as we draw closer to the American South, and so on.
Why are we taking this journey? Because disillusioned boxer Michel Maudet (Belmondo) has taken a job to help cunning, corrupt banker, Dieudonné Ferchaux (Charles Vanel) evade French justice. The banker couldn't fit the sociopath archetype better and - to him at least - Maudet seems like a naive apprentice. It quickly becomes apparent however that he has met his match and a power struggle ensues. Belmondo sidelines us with a performance that breaks the mould almost as much as his lead in that other Melville film, Léon Morin, Prêtre. Vanel is more intense and menacing than I've seen him in any other film, and that is quite something given his advanced years.
Interestingly, the film heads toward a sentimental conclusion that is somewhat out of character for Melville, and although his Direction is notably flawed here and there (I suspect due to language barrier issues with American actors), there's plenty to make up for it. Recommended? Absolutely.
