Some films become lifelong companions. This isn't one. It's a delight, but it sits well below the towering The 400 Blows, which still feels electrifying.
Antoine's been discharged from the army and is back in Paris, moving between jobs and romantic misjudgements: hotel work, a stint at a private detective agency, then another attempt at adulthood. The humour lands in the specifics — stakeouts with all the stealth of a foghorn, "professional" routines treated like holy writ, and romantic pivots where he talks himself into trouble mid-sentence. Claude Jade steadies the film; Delphine Seyrig makes a single encounter feel momentous.
Made in 1968, it's striking how lightly politics brushes past — a throwaway phone-line nod, then Truffaut heads straight back to the romcom while Godard and Varda were turning more openly political. The middle sags a touch, but it's charming company — just not one that demands an immediate replay.
I first saw this about 30 years ago and it's every bit as charming as I remember. Slightly rambling and episodic (but, for me at least, in a good way), it beautifully captures the central character's rather dim-witted, romantic and passionate intensity (reminds me of my younger self, which is probably why I love it so much).