Very few times a movie annoys me. I mean an old movie. I have respect for them in some sort of superior way, that is, them to me. In general watching an old movie is like having a foreign affairs: you have more chance to be lucky if you play once on all the jackpots, not just spoiling your money/talent on one machine/love/nationality/present year. It is thereby logic old movies in general have more quality than modern ones, that's like choosing between wisdom and srupidity. One of the sidetracks in the genre I like are the experimental movies from the 1960s-1970s, they always know how to refreshen the old standard and thereby how to increase upon movie values; however, this was exactly what I did not like about The Thief. Here we have an early precursor on experimental values with a special taate: the taste of avant-garde acquired by a single unsuspected viewing is simply not present, rather presents you with an overload of cynicism and cigarettes instead, best fathomable in bright yellow raincoats to avoid depression. The absence of volume works so much against the experience of this movie that it leaves you totally cold what would happen to its main character and thereby this movie is a flop.
Review of The Thief
