Fred, a raffish safe blower, takes refuge in the Paris Metro after being chased by the henchmen of a businessman from whom he has just stolen some documents. While hiding out in the conduits of the Metro, he will encounter a subterranean society of eccentric characters and petty criminals…
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Besson's second film was a box office and critical hit in France but was basically a cult item in North America. A shame as it reps the genesis of Besson's visual style, themes and eccentricities. One would be hard pressed to spell out the meaning or intent here but the film is chock full of quite wonderful individual scenes especially the first rehearsal of 'the band' or Adjani's put down of a dinner party.
I don't know how some people can mention Luc Besson in the same sentence as Leos Carax, but they should be put on trial as heretics. Like every movie is the director's filmography, every secondary characters is crushed into idiotic caricatures by Besson's plastic, outdated, big-budget music-video misanthropy. Here lies the beginning of French cinema's greatest evil; trying desperately to be Hollywood.
Me encantam o ar constantemente misterioso (que parece ser uma herança do metrô e, especialmente, do de Paris) e o roteiro, que sugere que se viu apenas uma fotografia da história: que ela começou antes e não terminou, mas você só saberá do que viu. Me entendiam a tentativa de que a forma supere o conteúdo, a força de se criar um novo “movimento” apenas pelo ato de criá-lo. No final, um ótimo filme oitentista.