Le Cercle Rouge struck me as strikingly close to Rififi (Du rififi chez les hommes) by Jules Dassin. Le Cercle Rouge also has a jewelry heist as its climactic scene, and like Rififi, it is an extended scene filmed in near silence. A beautiful neo-noir, it unfolds slowly and carefully. Melville clearly delights in the planning and mechanics of the break and enter and justly so, as what is the point of such a film if executed unbelievably? The strange tone, in part due to being filmed in isolated locations (the empty winter countryside, at night in an abandoned apartment, or along empty early morning streets) makes it seem as though the film's thieves are the only crooks in all of Paris - or France, for that matter. Paris' top detective is on just one trail: theirs. Our anti-hero Corey has a tendency to fondle standing racks of pool cues and offers a red rose to his partner in crime.
1 comment:
I never noticed how alone the crooks seemed, but you are right. The whole movie has a lonely, empty feeling overall. Two things about it always stick in my mind: how much that cop loved his cats and Alain Delon's mustache.
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