The Devil, Probably (1977)

The Devil, Probably is one of those films that doesn’t try to entertain you so much as look you calmly in the eye and tell you the truth it sees, and in Robert Bresson’s hands that severity becomes strangely riveting. Following a young Parisian who tests every available modern “answer” and finds each one hollow, it builds a portrait of alienation with an austere style that makes every gesture and silence feel weighted, like a moral verdict delivered without theatrics. The vibe is bleak, cerebral, and quietly shattering—political not in slogans, but in the way it shows a society’s decay reflected in one person’s exhausted spirit. It’s not for viewers seeking comfort or catharsis (and it includes brief, upsetting archival footage of a real seal killing), but if you’re open to a demanding masterpiece that lingers like a hard question you can’t dismiss, it’s absolutely worth the plunge.

Bresson is aiming for a stark, clinical portrait of modern despair—watching a young man test politics, religion, therapy, sex, and activism and find every option hollow. The catch is that the film’s deliberately stripped-back style (flat delivery, minimal emotional cues, little “drama” in the usual sense) can feel cold, forbidding, and punishingly bleak, especially if you’re not already on Bresson’s wavelength. It also contains upsetting archival footage of a real baby seal killing, which can be a dealbreaker regardless of your tolerance for heavy themes. If you want catharsis, warmth, or a sense that the story is building toward hope, this will likely feel like two hours of existential suffocation—but if you can handle severe pacing and want an uncompromising, razor-focused descent into alienation, it’s quietly powerful.