If François Truffaut had never made another film, The 400 Blows would have earned him an enduring place in film history. Its semi-autobiographical story of a lad who is unwanted by his parents, bored by school, and attracted to petty crime is told with an energetic blend of anarchy and rigor, the kind of unsentimental lyricism that was to become Truffaut’s trademark. As a portrait of adolescence, it is still unmatched in cinema; as a portrait of Paris through a young boy’s eyes, it is a thoroughly unromanticized picture of cramped apartments, cold schoolrooms, and the narrowing confines of the streets.