Probably the most famous entry of the French New Wave, 1959’s
The 400 Blows
introduced not only a precocious film talent to the world, but also
kick-started, in a simplistic yet emotionally florid style, a whole new
trend in cinema — in the process no doubt fooling a small army of
dirty-minded teens looking for more salacious fare based on the title
and its strange English transliteration. In offering up François
Truffaut’s semi-autobiographical account of a troubled adolescence, the
movie would find welcome global commercial and critical reception.
Told through the eyes of Truffaut’s cinematic stand-in, Antoine Doinel (Jean-Pierre Léaud), The 400 Blows
details a somewhat unsentimental, Dickensian world of aloof parents,
oppressive teachers and stifled opportunity. In both story and image,
Truffaut searches for the poetical in the mundane, be it taking out the
trash, suffering the indignities of a mother (Claire Maurier) and
stepfather (Albert Rémy) too busily wrapped up in their own lives to
engage in much hands-on parenting or even grifting a typewriter or a
bit to eat.
For all the talk about the film’s quotidian grace and beauty, its
paramount perceptiveness lies in the manner in which it captures the
clandestine, swallowed anxiety of youth — of how one doesn’t have to be
abused to be detrimentally effected, just merely neglected. Over the
ensuing two decades, Truffaut (and Léaud) would return to Doinel four
more times, fleshing out both the character and this central thematic
preoccupation.
A re-release of one of its earliest, most popular, out-of-print
titles, Criterion’s single-disc release includes a restored, sterling
high-definition digital transfer of the movie, presented in 2.35:1
widescreen with monaural French audio and optional English subtitles.
Two audio-commentary tracks stud the release, one from cinema professor
Brian Stonehill and the other from Robert Lachenay, a lifelong friend
of Truffaut, production supervisor on the movie and the model for
Antoine’s best friend, René. Stonehill’s speaks nicely to truths one
can more readily sense on the screen, while Lachenay’s subtitled chat, en français, provides all sorts of background — about the scene involving said stolen typewriter, for instance.
Criterion’s deep contacts in Europe, where upon-release academic
discourse was and still is more encouraged than Stateside, often help
provide valuable tertiary extras for its discs, and
The 400 Blows
is no exception.
Alongside six minutes of rare audition material and
another half dozen minutes of newsreel footage of Léaud at the Cannes
Film Festival for the film’s premiere, there are excerpts from a French
television program, Cinéastes de notre temps, in which Truffaut
discusses his youth, his body of critical writing, the origins of the
character of Doinel and his similarities and divergence from his own
youth. There’s also a seven-minute television interview with the late
director about his thoughts on the film’s reception.
A (Movie) B+ (Disc) 
