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A Parisian stop between Ufa and Hollywood (cf. Lang's Liliom), Billy Wilder the restless novice running on "a lot of nerve" and a little help from Alexander Esway. Half a million cars in the city, states the intertitle, the camera is on the back of one as it zips through the streets, actualité views to introduce the raffish young playboy (Pierre Mingand). Suddenly without wheels after his father (Paul Escoffier) decides to curb his extravagances, he simply steals back his Buick convertible so he can keep his date with a married dame. Larceny is a business like any other, the garage boss (Michel Duran) plans on keeping his monopoly and adds the cocky runaway to his gang of merry thieves. The teenage coquette (Danielle Darrieux) is just the bait for separating goatish chauffeurs from their vehicles, her brother (Raymond Galle) has his own sideline with cravats, his most prized item was lifted from Marcel Pagnol himself ("not stealing, swapping"). A rough lilt akin to Menschen am Sonntag, all movement and gags until the bullets start to fly, in time À bout de souffle sprouts from the seed. Company holiday at the water park, pursuit en route to Marseilles, a rake's education. The axle of juvenility finally snaps, the protagonist and the siren are forced to slow down on the hayride and realize their love for each other as the truck rounds a curve on a seaside hill. "What really scares me is working in an office," certainly a sentiment shared by the brash students of Lubitsch behind the camera. Spinning cycles and new horizons, rolling waves fill the screen as the characters and Wilder seek a fresh start. With Jean Wall, Marcel Maupi, and Gaby Héritier. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |