That is his moment of release, of triumph over a lesser person-although of course his face never reflects joy. He waits for a moment of distraction,and then opens their purses or slips their wallets from their coats. On the Metro or at the racetrack, he stands as close as possible to his victims, sensing their breathing, their awareness of him. Also, of course, he gets an erotic charge out of stealing. He sits in his garret and reads his books, and treasures an image of himself as a man so special that he is privileged to steal from others. He gathers his narcissism around himself like a blanket.
He could probably get a job in a day if he wanted one. To one of them, in a cafe, he wonders aloud if it is all right for an “extraordinary man” to commit a crime-just to get himself started? He usually wears a suit and tie, disappears in a crowd and has few friends. Martin Lassalle, the star of “Pickpocket,” plays Michel as an unexceptional man with a commonplace face. Instead of asking his actors to “show fear,” Bresson asks them to show nothing, and depends on his story and images to supply the fear. What we see in the pickpocket's face is what we bring to it. No emotion, no style, no striving for effect. All Bresson wanted was physical movement. He famously forced the star of “ A Man Escaped” (1956) to repeat the same scene some 50 times,until it was stripped of all emotion and inflection.
Or do we? Bresson, one of the most thoughtful and philosophical of directors, was fearful of “performances” by his actors.
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