Charles Aznavour is utterly charming as a former concert pianist now working under an assumed name, playing trinkly tunes at a café. His secret life is intruded upon by one of his pett-criminal brothers, who bursts into the café one night begging for help, as he's being pursued by two tough guys with guns. The famous opening scene sets the tone: a clichéd shot of a man running desperately through dark alleys, looking behind in fear, until he abruptly trips and falls to the pavement, and instead of being caught by his pursuers, he is helped up by a jovial man with whom he then has a breezy conversation about marriage. Truffaut's trick here is to subvert your expectations for this kind of film, and he does that at every turn. When we finally meet the aforementioned tough-guys, who we've assumed must be truly menacing and dangerous, they turn out to be kind of dopey and likeable, chattering away about the various electronic gadgets they have. When they kidnap Aznavour and his girlfriend, stuffing them at gunpoint into a car, they end up getting pulled over for speeding, so the captives are able to easily walk away, and wave goodbye, exchanging pleasantries. So Shoot the Piano Player has more in common with Pulp Fiction than with The Third Man, in terms of smarminess. But there is also a very touching story inside it all, played out with intentional melodrama in the second act, which depicts Aznavour's backstory. It's this section that gives STPP its emotional weight, allowing for a real gut-punch of a conclusion. A lovely film, justly considered a classic. Though the humor is a bit harder to penetrate nearly 50 years on, the film still has the power to startle (bare breasts!?) and provoke. My only complaint is that some of the shots are so dark and washed-out that it sometimes seems quite older than it is. Whether that aspect is also one of Truffaut's jokes I'm not sure; if so, that's like telling a joke while eating a peanut-butter sandwich. I mean, people still have to be able to hear it, you know?
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