CRITICAL – Gallimard devotes a beautiful book telling the story of each of his 25 films, all more or less autobiographical.
For once, we must not skip the preface. It is from Arnaud Desplechin. He realizes that he is 60 years old and that Truffaut is dead at 52. It comes as a shock to him. He sees again The four hundred Blowsone morning at the 3 Luxembourg. Then he tackles the other 24 films again. “I hadn’t known how to bump into their angles”, he writes nicely.
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The authors chose the chronological method. She’s got some good. This goes for poor short films (Visit had disappointed the director: “Amateur work, unusable and unbearable, even”) To Roll on Sunday!. We are witnessing remorse, progress. It’s like leafing through a family album. We all grew up with Antoine Doinel.
Passion pegged to the body
Truffaut had his quirks: he wanted to see the Eiffel Tower through at least one window of the apartments where he lived. He had a few principles. “Never use a four-minute scene to present an idea. But come up with four ideas for each one-minute scene. ” Rossellini had taught him
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