“The 400 Blows” served as the introduction of Truffaut’s alter ego Antoine Doinel (Jean-Pierre Leaud), a child growing up in Paris in the late 1950s who is painted as something of a ruffian by his parents and various authority figures. The character would appear in several more Truffaut films, including “Antoine Colette” (a segment of the 1962 anthology film “Love at Twenty”), “Stolen Kisses,” and “Bed and Board,” and is regularly cited as one of the greatest films of all time (and a favorite of directors as diverse as Akira Kurosawa, Satyajit Ray, Richard Lester and Norman Jewison).

If you’ve never seen the film, it really is a landmark. And holds up remarkably well. As a piece of cinema history it’s a movie that helped define the French New Wave – elliptical camera work and editorial flourishes, deeply personal storylines, and startling nonlinear narratives. And it remains as powerful and exhilarating as it did in 1959 (had I been alive – I’m working on the time travel technology). Plus if you bring it up at your next intellectual cocktail party, you’ll probably seem smarter than you actually are.

Joe Meyers will be a fun and knowledgeable guide for the introduction and post-film discussion. This is something that you really should watch.

For Valentine’s Day, we’ll be showing “Grease,” the 1978 adaptation of the hit musical, directed by Randal Kleiser and produced and co-written by the immortal Alan Carr (seriously – read his recent biography). The movie holds up surprisingly well, thanks to the chemistry (and flat-out sexiness) of its two leads, John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John, and the film’s zippy plotting and sing-along songs.

But I figured, if you couldn’t make it out to “Grease” on Tuesday night (we’re showing it twice, and pairing with a number of local restaurants for dinner-and-a-movie configurations), I would offer up 5 additional, off-beat choices for premiere Valentine’s Day movies. No, “The Notebook” is not on here.

True Romance (Tony Scott, 1993)

Tony Scott is one of the world’s most underappreciated auteurs, mostly because he focuses his considerable energies into popcorn entertainment instead of highbrow “art films.” But that doesn’t make him any less potent a visual stylist, and “True Romance” might be his very best work. (Although I toyed with the idea of including his far grimmer, but no less brilliant, Kevin Costner vehicle “Revenge.”) Written by a then-unknown Quentin Tarantino, “True Romance” is the tale of a loser comic book store clerk (Christian Slater) who falls in love with a prostitute (Patricia Arquette). While retrieving her things from a bloodthirsty pimp (Gary Oldman, unrecognizable), he accidentally grabs a suitcase full of cocaine instead of one containing her things. From there they go to Los Angeles to try and sell the coke and get involved with a lowlife producer (Saul Rubinek) and a number of assorted underworld characters. And while it’s easy to write “True Romance” off as just another crime movie (you can feel Tarantino’s Elmore Leonard influence years before he adapted “Rum Punch” into “Jackie Brown”), it’s the movie’s oversized heart that leaves the biggest impression. Oh and the supporting cast: Dennis Hopper, Christopher Walken, Brad Pitt, Val Kilmer (as Elvis), Michael Rapaport, Bronson Pinchot, Tom Sizemore, Chris Penn, and James Gandolfini all have small roles.

All the Real Girls (David Gordon Green, 2003)

This movie was actually released on Valentine’s Day, 2003, so it’s appropriate it makes the list. David Gordon Green’s second feature is an absolutely devastating rumination on love and remains as potent today as it did back then. Paul Schneider (who co-conceived the script with Green) plays a small town ladies’ man who falls for his best friend’s little sister (Zooey Deschanel) and actually has, you know, feelings for her. What happens next is nothing short of heartbreaking, and there’s so much in “All the Real Girls” to relate to that you sort of feel like it was made for you. It doesn’t matter who you are. This thing will cut you up. But as far as modern day romantic dramas go, it remains unparalleled.

Blow Out (Brian De Palma, 1981)

This would have been my John Travolta Valentine’s Day choice, a searing masterpiece from Brian De Palma that remains, even after last year’s deluxe Criterion Blu-ray treatment, sadly under-seen. A lot of Brian De Palma’s movies came under fire for being too sexy (no such thing), and what’s interesting about “Blow Out” is, despite its opening slasher movie prologue and the fact that one of the characters is a sex murderer, is that the emphasis is on the emotional connection between two people, instead of the physical one. Travolta plays a sound engineer who accidentally records a political assassination, and Nancy Allen (De Palma’s then-wife) plays a prostitute who was meant to die in the attempt. As Travolta pieces the conspiracy together, Allen’s character becomes the target of an assassin (John Lithgow) who takes his responsibilities a little too seriously. The way that Travolta and Allen flirt, without ever becoming an item, is adorable and surprisingly sweet-natured, especially given the film’s tragicomic conclusion (one of the more cynical conclusions in De Palma’s ouvre, which is saying something). “Blow Out” is a peerless masterpiece and if you’ve never seen it, Valentine’s Day is as good an excuse as any.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry, 2004)

The single best movie made about the way that memory works with relationships, this psychedelic romp by mad Frenchman Michel Gondry (working from a script from Charlie Kaufman, author of “Being John Malkovich” and “Adaptation”) is about a sci-fi-y organization that can selectively zap memories out of your brain. So, that bad break-up can now be chemically treated, like your stubborn roots. Jim Carrey plays a sad sack who has been dumped by a free-spirit played by Kate Winslet, and then has second thoughts about the procedure… And that’s when things get really strange. Gondry and Kaufman have a kind of Philip K. Dick practicality to their decidedly outlandish concept, and the movie speaks volumes to the way that little things trigger significant memory detail after a relationship has ended. That sock you dig out from underneath your bed that can cause a full-on relapse? Stuff like that. (Other relationship memory gems include both versions of “Solaris,” “Annie Hall,” and last year’s terrific Oscar-contender “Beginners.”) Funny and bittersweet, with an all-star supporting cast that includes Bijou favorites Mark Ruffalo, Kirsten Dunst, and Elijah Wood, it’s pretty much unforgettable.

Sex and Lucia (Julio Medem, 2001)

Yes! Sex! That used to take place in movies for adults, before everything had to be marketed for 13-year-old boys. It still is happening overseas, thank god (see also: last year’s terrific Romanian infidelity drama “Tuesday, After Christmas” or Mexico’s Best Foreign Language Feature entry “Miss Bala”), and it’s hard to think of a sexier movie than “Sex and Lucia.” Starring Paz Vega, who Americans will most remember from the horribly unfunny Adam Sandler vehicle “Spanglish” (ugh), as a young woman who falls in love with a depressed writer (Tristan Ulloa). Like “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” the narrative toggles back and forth between past and present, reality and fiction (in the form of Ulloa’s writing) and for all the graphic sexuality (re: nudity), the movie has a pleasantly old fashioned feel. In fact, it’s not unlike the great melodramas (or “women’s pictures”) Douglas Sirk made for Universal in the 1950′s, right down to its weepy ending. Vega is a force of nature, and the primary reason to watch the movie (and not just because we frequently get to see her in the altogether), and it remains a frustrating focal point of film fans as to why she’s never been able to break through (most recently she had a brief role in Frank Miller’s bizarre “Spirit” adaptation). You’ll fall in love with her Lucia, for sure. The sex is just a bonus.

But, you know, it’s really, really, ridiculously funny.

In fact, when I saw the world premiere at last year’s South by Southwest Film Festival, there were whole chunks of the movie that I missed because I was laughing so hard that paramedics had to be called to the scene (not really).

And while the humor is much appreciated (there’s a priceless bit where he’s heckling Jack McBrayer from “30 Rock,” who used to appear on his old NBC show), and you get a really good sense of what the live show was (and what it was trying to accomplish), the more revelatory thing about “Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop” is how it shows you the inner workings of Conan’s mind. This dude was torn up about being ousted from “The Tonight Show” months after taking it over, and he makes his unhappiness clearly known. He’s a complicated dude, as most comedians are, and the documentary fully explores that.

If you missed “Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop” the first time around, now is the perfect time to catch up. It’ll have you giggling in the aisles. Just, you know, please clean up after yourself.

Belafonte is the subject of the amazing HBO documentary “Sing Your Song,” which has its stateside theatrical premiere tonight at 8 at our very own Bijou Theatre.

I first knew Belafonte from his memorable appearance in the third season of “The Muppet Show.” I was quite small and adorable but knew that there was something powerful about Belafonte – about his presence and his music. Looking back on the clips now, you don’t see any of the anguish, or the upheaval that Belafonte had lived through (and would continue to crusade against). Instead, there’s just the Zen-like Belafonte, surrounded by amazing Henson creations inspired by African folk art, preaching optimism and universality. It’s pretty incredible stuff.

The documentary, directed by Susanne Rostock, chronicles Belafonte in terms of the volume of his accomplishments, both professionally and in the political arena. (She wisely sidesteps the more problematic areas of his personal life, which maybe would have made for a fuller portrait but would have played outside of the film’s central focus.) This is a guy who still fought segregation while headlining Las Vegas and backed John F. Kennedy’s presidential campaign. And, also, sang with Muppets.

What’s amazing is just how much of a sparkplug Belafonte still is. He’s still fighting the good fight and no matter your political persuasion, you have to admire his chutzpah and commitment to the cause. The day that Belafonte stops singing his song is the day he’s six feet under. He’ll leave the quilting to others.

“A Dangerous Method,” adapted from the play “The Talking Cure” by the original playwright Christopher Hampton (who was also partially responsible for another February Bijou film, “Carnage”), focuses on the relationship between two titans of psychology, Sigmund Freud (Viggo Mortensen, seemingly taking over from Jeremy Irons in the “Cronenberg’s muse” department) and Carl Jung (Michael Fassbender, hypnotic as always). Their relationship, a kind of student/mentor dynamic, is directly challenged when a young woman is introduced into the picture, Sabina Spielrein (Keira Knightley, in a part originally intended for Julia Roberts), who is suffering very seriously. (In real life Spielrein would go on to herself become a titan in the field.) Through austere camerawork and painterly compositions, Cronenberg brings the period to life in a real, vital way, and, coming from the director of the NC-17-rated J.G. Ballard adaptation “Crash,” adds some sizzle to the sex scenes you normally wouldn’t expect.

But this movie, for all its Cronenbergian weirdness (it’s there – just hidden beneath the surface or masked by some period-specific costuming), is really about the trio of performances that anchor the film – and one supporting performance that comes in and jolts the movie like its been hit by lightning (but more on that in a minute). 2011 was, unquestionably, Michael Fassbender’s year. Each performance that he provided – as emotionally distant Edward Rochester in Cary Fukunaga’s icy, brilliant “Jane Eyre,” as the firebrand young mutant Magneto in the zingy “X-Men: First Class,” and as the troubled sex addict Brandon in Steve McQueen’s uncompromising “Shame” – should have made him a star. That hasn’t, not yet, but with a swaggery turn as a villainous spy in last month’s brilliant “Haywire” and an upcoming role in Ridley Scott’s “Alien” prequel/sequel/whatever “Prometheus,” it shouldn’t be long. In a way, his performance as Jung is the most understated of his performances from last year, but its subtlety shouldn’t be frowned upon – it’s a precision role, one that could cut class, and in the movie’s waning moments, as he is left to ponder his role as Europe is about to enter the first World War, are some of 2011’s most chilling and unforgettable.

Knightley does a lot to make you forget about her underwritten role as a waif in those “Pirates of the Caribbean” movies, putting forth a transformative performance that is as physical as it is intellectual (how’d she do that thing with her jaw?), while Mortensen, looking very happy to be back together with Cronenberg, plays a kind of velvety elder statesman, turning his pipe-smoking into a performance art piece. But the unheralded star of “A Dangerous Method” is Vincent Cassel, in his second Cronenberg team-up (after playing a weirdo gangster in “Eastern Promises”). As Otto Gross, an Austrian psychoanalyst who advocates a kind of anything-goes approach to analysis, he turns up the volume on the movie a good ten notches. You can’t take your eyes off of him. He is, very much, electric. Rarely do you see a movie dramatize one strand of psychoanalysis, let alone a handful of approaches. But then again, Cronenberg has always been one to accomplish the impossible. And here he goes again.

Let’s start with Ben Wheatley’s “Kill List.” Wheatley is a young British filmmaker who had made one film, the highly entertaining gangster comedy/drama “Down Terrace,” before embarking on an altogether different beast with “Kill List.” While a low budget film, the scope of “Kill List” is staggering and it’s hard not to talk about it without giving something away. But let’s just say that the film starts out in a very specific way before turning into something altogether.

Initially, the film seems like something of a domestic drama. As the film beings we watch a middleclass couple in the suburbs squabbling, sometimes fighting violently and you can feel the financial strain almost swallowing them whole (it’s got teeth). When an old buddy presents a business opportunity the pair (Neil Maskell and Michael Smiley) set out on the road. Initially you don’t know what they do but then you realize that they are low-level contract killers, and the movie slips easily into a kind of gangster movie. And you are comfortable here, watching them talking and x-ing out names on the titular list. But then things are so slowly revealed… and everything leads to the most terrifying climax in recent motion picture history. Seriously: you can have all your “Paranormal Activities” and “Saws.” This is the real deal. And it is chilling.

“Kill List” is the kind of movie people are going to be talking about for years to come. Not just this year, as the film slowly makes its way out, but at the end of the year when people are comparing their favorite films, and in sleepovers for years to come, when some in-the-know kid says to his or her friends, “Hey, you want to see something that’s REALLY scary?”

It’s that kind of movie. It might not end up being all that famous, but people will love it. And infamous is cooler than famous anyway.

On the complete opposite end of the spooky spectrum is Ti West’s “The Innkeepers,” which is sort of a funny-scary little romp that will leave you screaming for more. West is an amazing young filmmaker who has already directed a handful of films. His last feature, 2009’s “House of the Devil,” was an irreverent ode to the babysitter-trapped-in-a-house subgenre, and genuinely felt like a movie from the late 70s or early-80s. West takes a different approach with “The Innkeepers,” but it the results are just as amazing.

Set in a Connecticut hotel on the eve of its closing (the film was shot in Torrington), when a pair of employees (the very-adorable Sara Paxton and authentically nerdy Pat Healy) decide to prove whether or not the hotel (Torrington’s Yankee Peddler Inn) is haunted. Things unfold at a deliberate pace, fluctuating between scary and funny and back again. There’s even a brief cameo by mumblecore sensation Lena Dunham as a barista, and a small role for the always-great Kelly McGillis, as one of the hotel’s last guests (who may or may not have a connection with the other side).

Eventually the humor gets shed away and things get seriously scary. But the movie is more a fun romp than “Kill List” and its occasionally oppressive bleakness. But both films represent the very best of current genre filmmaking and both deserve to be seen with a responsive audience (seriously – if people aren’t screaming or crying or throwing up, then we have a problem). Come get spooked at the Bijou this February!

Based on Walter Tevis’ philosophical sci-fi novel, 1976’s “Man Who Fell To Earth,” as directed with impressionistic grace by Nicolas Roeg and featuring a stunningly off-center performance by David Bowie as a displaced space alien, is a classic any way you slice it. It just has, over the years, developed a vocal and active cult audience.

In the film, Bowie (in his first starring role), plays an alien who arrives on Earth as part of a mission to bring back water to his very thirsty home world. While on our planet he becomes consumed – by wealth, power, sex, and alcohol. His mission, while still important, becomes less of an issue. Instead, Bowie’s alien proves himself to be all too human, prone to neurosis, addiction, self-doubt, and crippling insecurity.

“The Man Who Fell To Earth” is a quiet movie, full of philosophical quandaries and existential angst and Roeg’s unique editorial approach, which turns what could have been a conventional sci-fi movie into a cubist rumination on what it means to be human. (It should be noted that this was during Roeg’s “Absolute Genius” period of his career, three years after his career-high horror movie “Don’t Look Now” and few years before the psychosexual “Bad Timing” and “Citizen Kane”-like “Eureka.”) The movie divided audiences and critics alike when it was released in the spring of 1976, but a small but devoted following has, over the years, turned into a general consensus that the film is really, really, exceptionally good.

One of the reasons people are so enamored with the film is the lead performance by David Bowie. Bowie has always given off a kind of otherworldly glow, with his shimmery white skin, reedy frame, ambiguous sexuality, rock star magnetism and shock of red hair. In “The Man Who Fell To Earth” he doesn’t just inhabit the role of marooned space alien Thomas Jerome Newton, he IS him. Roeg wisely plays on Bowie’s persona, weaving it into the character in very specific ways. There’s a reason, once the government captures Newton before he can leave to return to space, that they stick him in a hotel room. Bowie must have been used to it by then. The feelings of alienation, displacement and loneliness come prepackaged. Ditto his spacey stage persona, which goes a long way.

While seen as a marginal, experimental work upon its release (keep in mind that it was released the spring before “Star Wars”), the film is hugely influential. Not only is it regularly cited as a favorite among movie-lovers, but you see references to it everywhere. Just a couple of years ago in the big budget superhero movie “Watchmen,” two of the major sets are based around similar sets in “The Man Who Fell to Earth” (keep an eye on Dr. Manhattan’s apartment – notice the wallpaper!), while it’s been widely cited that both Guns N’ Roses and Marilyn Manson have used the film as inspiration for their music.

So if you haven’t seen “The Man Who Fell To Earth,” get ready to join the cult. And those who already have seen/love the film, well, it’ll be beautifully presented, in glorious HD, at The Bijou this week. Get ready to be beamed up.