If someone treats you callously, how do you react? Do you grow in empathy and treat others with compassion? Or do you pounce on the next chump who comes along and wring him for all you can get?
Here we have the stunning portrait of two men of the latter sort -- corrupt banker Ferchaux (Charles Vanel) and failed boxer Michel (Jean-Paul Belmondo). Ferchaux is a killer who flees France in hopes of eluding extradition and holding onto his money. Michel tags along as his secretary, but quickly realizes that he's the one in charge.
In a classic allegory of the endless struggle between the generations, we observe Michel's mounting disgust with the old man, whom he views as a hypochondriacal ball-and-chain. Ferchaux returns the contempt as he sinks ever deeper into weakness, dependence, and, somewhat surprisingly, philosophical introspection.
"I'm old," he tells Michel. "So when I get used to something it's hard for me to lose it...Now we're used to each other. Our relationship, our fights are like those of an old couple who are no longer in love but who can't live without each other."
Belmondo's performance is chilling because we see, over and over, that he's the only one who matters in his mind. He'll rip the Star of David fro his wife's neck, though it's a keepsake from her mother -- "She's dead. She won't know," Michel snarls -- and stay in a hotel but leave without paying. He also abandons his wife without a cent or a word of farewell.
It's a fascinating performance in a darkly twisted tale.
Here we have the stunning portrait of two men of the latter sort -- corrupt banker Ferchaux (Charles Vanel) and failed boxer Michel (Jean-Paul Belmondo). Ferchaux is a killer who flees France in hopes of eluding extradition and holding onto his money. Michel tags along as his secretary, but quickly realizes that he's the one in charge.
In a classic allegory of the endless struggle between the generations, we observe Michel's mounting disgust with the old man, whom he views as a hypochondriacal ball-and-chain. Ferchaux returns the contempt as he sinks ever deeper into weakness, dependence, and, somewhat surprisingly, philosophical introspection.
"I'm old," he tells Michel. "So when I get used to something it's hard for me to lose it...Now we're used to each other. Our relationship, our fights are like those of an old couple who are no longer in love but who can't live without each other."
Belmondo's performance is chilling because we see, over and over, that he's the only one who matters in his mind. He'll rip the Star of David fro his wife's neck, though it's a keepsake from her mother -- "She's dead. She won't know," Michel snarls -- and stay in a hotel but leave without paying. He also abandons his wife without a cent or a word of farewell.
It's a fascinating performance in a darkly twisted tale.