Excepting the short morality tale backstory in the milieu, this remains one of my favorite French films. Bright snow replaces noir in the denouement - pure new wave. The anti-hero's artistic doubts do not seem to plague the auteur: Truffaut is in full exercise of his talents here. The existential doubts of the piano player sound base chords to the melody of action that keep moving forward. Love is necessary to the tragedy- milky Rozenkrantz and Guildenstern turn the screw. And the love is charming as the piano player proves no Bogart or suave PI, rather the anti-type, and Truffaut's women are, contra the chanson, far from 'antibaise'.