Verneuil’s caper understands something most heist films overlook: the waiting is the good bit. The first hour of Any Number Can Win is almost all setup — casino mechanics, Cannes seafront rhythms, Michel Audiard’s dialogue crackling like a lit fuse — and it’s glorious. Gabin radiates granite-still competence; Delon, all leather jacket and restless appetite, is the perfect counterpoint. They create friction just by standing next to each other.
The heist itself is a near-wordless beauty that can stand proudly alongside Rififi, while Louis Page’s black-and-white cinematography moves from Riviera glamour to backstage claustrophobia with terrific control. And the ending is one of cinema’s great punchlines — best left unspoiled.
If Francis’s romantic subplot with Carla Marlier’s dancer feels more like story machinery than a living relationship, that’s the one point where Audiard’s sharpness briefly slips. Still, it’s a small complaint in a film this sleek and self-assured.