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The film began as a parody of spy stories, particularly the world of French secret agencies during the Cold War. The absurdity of certain counterespionage procedures is exposed by showing how an ordinary man can become a "spy" through a mere misunderstanding. The fate of entire states can depend on an insignificant detail. This underscores the theme of the absurdity of bureaucracy and power, which often makes arbitrary and incomprehensible decisions. Perrin embodies the "everyman," catapulted into a dimension larger than himself without even realizing it. It's the contrast between his naiveté and the spies' cynicism that generates the comedy. The Bond girl is seduced by the protagonist's genuineness, rather than by her charm. Beyond its satire on espionage, the film alludes to the France of the time, with veiled criticisms of bureaucracy, authority, and conformism.

Yves Robert's direction (6.5) is very precise in its comic timing, skillfully alternating between espionage and absurd scenes; the screenplay (7.0) has a choppy pace, but the plot is linear and has few imperfections (a musician who doesn't know how a bagpipe works); from a technical standpoint (7.0), Theobald Meurisse's set design is realistic in its depiction of metropolitan Paris, and Vladimir Cosma's music flows with irony and cartoonish effects, underscoring the actor's slapstick comedy; the performances (7.0) from the entire cast are good, with Pierre Richard's being absolutely central. He builds a comical character based on physical awkwardness, essential to the film's success. It's not him who's funny, but his reactions to the situations he finds himself in.

Best moment: The director's cameo is absolutely iconic, a conductor grappling with a shoddy cast. Worth seeing for its ability to poke fun at the spy film genre.

A man's criminality is never innate, his deviance is influenced by his environment and his emotional/social deficiencies. This established fact, however, does not entirely eliminate individual responsibility. Society is guilty of allowing people to grow up in unfavorable conditions, without protection, opportunity, or support. Poverty and public neglect are presented as co-responsible for the fate of every criminal. The unfortunate boy at the center of the story is pushed down every time he tries to rehabilitate himself by the social structure, which rehashes his past, distrusts him, and reopens his emotional scars. The film, fatalistic and pessimistic, demonstrates that the "dream" is unattainable for many, and that structural inequalities often impede any social climb.

Nicholas Ray's direction (6.0) reserves little space for action, focusing on intimate and meditative moments, seeking to create empathy for the boy caught in the clutches of justice; the screenplay (5.5), based on a novel by William Motley, makes extensive use of flashbacks to analyze the social motivations behind the crime, and dialogue, such as the final argument, is emphatic, passionate, and realistic; from a technical standpoint (6.5), Burnett Guffey's cinematography creates an atypical noir, with lighting that's not always dark, creating a hybrid atmosphere, Robert Peterson's art direction creates a realistic and degraded slum setting, with evident social barriers, creating a sense of moral claustrophobia; the acting (6.5): Humphrey Bogart strives for delicacy and morality, only partially succeeding. John Derek does better, emotional and charismatic, perhaps more stereotypical, but well-acted.

Best moment: Most legal dramas revolve around the protagonist's argument, and this one is clearly no exception. Worth seeing for its social commentary, realism, and opposition to the impassive nature of certain types of justice.

The protagonist is a man who has lost everything: his family, his role in society, and his home. The path of honor forces him to become a masterless samurai, a ronin. On his journey, which continually intersects with the road to hell, he is accompanied by his only surviving family member, his three-year-old son, who represents his only human connection, his emotional anchor. A key feature of the film is the excessive use of aesthetic violence, thanks to the fight choreography and the quantity of blood shed on stage. This is not simply gratuitous brutality, but a true visual art by the director.

Kenji Misumi's direction (7.0) adopts a rhythm of calm and explosiveness, managing not to lose pace and making good use of the set design; the screenplay (7.5), based on the successful manga of the same name, is clear and concise, although the linearity is interrupted by numerous flashbacks; from a technical standpoint (8.0), Chikashi Makiura's cinematography reflects the contrast and rawness of the protagonist's character, Hideaki Sakurai's soundtrack accompanies the protagonist's march like a heroic ballad, while the fights unfold in an anomalous, white silence, as if to avoid disturbing the ronin's concentration; the acting (7.5) is excessively caricatural, but not annoying; in fact, it seems integral to the narrative. Tomisaburo Wakayama manages to create an aura of honor and respect, balanced by Akihiro Tomikawa's tenderness. But the villain played by Yûnosuke Itô is undoubtedly the most focused and captivating performance.

Best moment: Dressed in white, does that mean you're ready for ritual suicide? No, it means I'm a bloodthirsty demon, thirsty for your blood! Worth seeing because it's a beautiful family melodrama, aesthetically violent, but with a profound reflection on honor and duty.