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6.9/10
Senior Film Conservator
A definitive 6.9/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Arsène Lupin remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
If you have a thing for black-and-white mysteries where everyone speaks in complete, scripted sentences, then sure. But honestly? If you’re looking for something that moves with any real pace, you might want to skip this one. It feels like an artifact. A very polite, very slow-moving artifact.
This isn't for the people who want Way Out West levels of fun. It’s for the folks who like their drama served with a side of stiff collars and dramatic lighting.
John Barrymore is doing that thing he does, which is looking intensely at people while holding a drink. He has this way of blinking that makes you think he’s two steps ahead of the plot, even when the plot is barely moving. It’s a performance that relies entirely on presence. You can tell he’s the smartest guy in every single room he walks into, mostly because the other actors stand around looking confused.
There is a scene involving a stolen necklace that goes on for, what, ten minutes? It feels like an hour. You spend the whole time waiting for someone to trip or for the lights to go out, but instead, they just keep talking about the necklace. So much talk.
The detective character—the guy trying to catch Lupin—is about as interesting as a wet paper bag. Every time he shows up on screen, the energy just drains right out of the room. It makes me miss the gritty tension you get in something like Frozen River, where the stakes actually feel real. Here, the stakes feel like they’re written on a fancy invitation card.
The sets look like they were built out of cardboard and good intentions. There’s a hallway in the middle act that I swear they used three times from different angles. It’s distracting once you notice the same painting hanging on the wall. 🧐
It isn't a bad movie, just a tired one. It feels like it was filmed on a Sunday afternoon when nobody really wanted to be there. I’d rather watch The Barefoot Boy again; at least that one has a bit of dirt under its fingernails. This? This is just polished chrome with nothing behind it.
IMDb —
1917
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