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First, the newspaper, and then Michel, holding the newspaper. The first time we see Michel, it’s in this state; ordinary in every way. This shot doesn’t convey any unpleasant feeling, nor does it evoke any particular sentiment towards the object of the newspaper itself.

Later, we realize that the presence of the newspaper in Michel’s hands isn’t related to his social or cultural dimension, but rather serves as a tool to observe the situation: the right moment to steal the car; a means of spying to hunt for the car; a form of watching while remaining hidden from others—since he is guilty. In this regard, the choice of a newspaper featuring an alluring image of the opposite sex seems to me a smart move by the filmmaker. That image too is something to spy on, something to secretly look at.
However, things take a different turn shortly thereafter: Michel has killed someone, and now he must urgently become aware of the news related to his own action—his guilt—and so he proceeds to buy a newspaper, this time viewing it from a different perspective.

And repeatedly takes action to buy newspapers and track the news; soon after, he exits the café and buys another newspaper.

The overall flow of the film, from another perspective, can be described as follows: as time passes, Michel grows more anxious, checking the newspapers more and more, and the audience, too, sees more and more newspapers within Godard’s frame. These newspapers gradually become an object of anxiety, transforming into a countdown to death, as each moment could bring a stop—an end to the film’s artist. The moment of printing the news, the moment of printing a news item more dangerous than the last, the moment when the catastrophe spreads further; a catastrophe that the fields and forests surrounding Paris—the location of the murder—could have hidden, but urban civilization didn’t allow it.

In the meantime, the fact that Patricia’s job is selling newspapers is a meaningful choice and an early signal for the more perceptive audience to guess the film’s ending. More accurately, it serves as an early signal to worry the audience. And I’m not sure where I should mention this in my writing, but perhaps this is the best place: Today, after many years, watching ‘Breathless’ again, directed by Godard, the film feels worrisome to me. A film that makes me more uneasy with every passing moment.
Let me take a moment to revisit some of the newspapers in the film… actually, the scenes where the newspaper appears, and in my view, each time they appear, they fan the flames of restlessness in the film:

A newspaper stand. A newspaper in Michel’s hand and newspapers in Patricia’s hands.

A young girl showing a copy of Cahiers du Cinéma to Michel and asking, “Sir? You’ve nothing against youth?”

Michel standing over a dead man in the street—a clever and early foreshadowing of the film’s ending—with a newspaper in his coat pocket.

The first image of the murdered policeman, with Michel looking at it.

Michel in the hotel. A newspaper in his coat pocket.

Michel walking down the city stairs, checking a newspaper.

Walking down the street. A newspaper in Michel’s right hand.

Patricia had a meeting with the male journalist, newspaper in hand.

Michel, with a newspaper in hand, standing by the newspaper stand.

Michel watching Patricia. A newspaper in his hands.

Michel in bed, holding a newspaper.

In several scenes, the newspaper appears small and blurry; as an example, I’ll point out one instance (in the background, in a man’s hands).

A remarkable sequence. The camera first shows the newspaper vendor from whom Michel buys a paper, then the same vendor sells another paper to a passerby—played by Godard himself. Then it cuts to an image of Michel in the newspaper, followed by a cut to Godard, then back to Michel. Later, Godard crosses the street and shows the paper to the police. The repeated cuts between Michel driving and Godard standing—one looking left, the other right—switching back and forth as they glance at the paper and then at each other, is, in my view, extraordinary.

The mechanic who recognizes Michel from his picture in the newspaper; by now, the whole city knows Michel.

To hide his picture in the newspaper from Patricia, Michel rolls it up.

The policeman shows Michel’s picture in the newspaper to Patricia and threatens her—in the office of the newspaper where Patricia works. A little earlier, the policeman had tapped Patricia with the newspaper to call her over, which I find an exceptional gesture to convey the stress and bad news to Patricia. It can be seen both as a blow to the intimacy between Patricia and Michel, whose bodies had been entwined, and as a symbolic gesture linking Patricia’s profession as a newspaper vendor to her unawareness of the newspaper’s current contents—this tap reconnecting her body to itself.

Michel uses a newspaper again to hide himself. The police are chasing him, and soon after, he is chasing the police.

Patricia has figured everything out. A newspaper is in Michel’s coat pocket.

Patricia is reading a newspaper. Michel’s details have been revealed in the newspaper, and Patricia learns through it that Michel was previously married.

Another girl recognizes Michel through the newspaper.

One newspaper is in Michel’s pocket, and another is in the hands of his friend.

Except for Michel, everyone’s eyes are fixed on what is written in the newspaper.

The last morning. Patricia has bought the latest newspaper; with worry, she places it on the bar and, with a phone call, informs the police of Michel’s location.

I hope I have been able to clarify my point about the “worrisome” aspect with these clear examples. However, to prevent ambiguity and reinforce my point, I will mention another important example: the presence of night in the film.
Did you notice how, strangely and cinematically, the daytime—sunlight—stretches excessively throughout the film? So much so that we can never say with certainty whether the scenes before the first dark sequence (Michel’s meeting with his friend) were all meant to portray a single day in Paris or several days in Paris (without showing its nights).
Whether this was due to technical issues and the filmmaker’s limitations in shooting at night, or the filmmaker’s preference to structure the screenplay in a way that most events occur during the day rather than at night, both approaches ultimately lead to the same outcome: the film’s night sequence becomes intensely powerful and profoundly dark.
It’s as if all the energy of the unshown nights erupts in a short period. This is where the domino of betrayal (betrayal as the unifying and most defining post-it note of the writer on the wall) falls piece by piece into place, only to collapse in the next sequence—the final one of the film.
The woman learns through the newspaper that the man was previously married. She realizes that another woman recognizes him from a photograph. Michel’s friends even have the newspaper with his image in it. All the city’s neon billboards are filled with the man’s name (a striking and intelligent combination for the night).
Thus: the woman feels threatened (both socially, especially after her conversation with the police, and personally/relationally).
Generally, Patricia is dissatisfied with Michel’s presence in her life. Recall the scene where Patricia, after her meeting with the journalist, kissing him, and the joy she experiences in the city—which the filmmaker effectively depicts (seeing her own smile in the glass, joyfully jumping over the street lights, checking her figure, etc.)—returns home only to find Michel has taken the key to her apartment.
Michel is evidently not someone she desires; Patricia’s behavior after meeting the journalist clearly confirms that she doesn’t love Michel. In the opening dialogue of the film, Patricia also mentions how she had previously left Michel without saying goodbye. Finally, there’s Patricia’s stance after witnessing Michel’s untimely and “worrisome” presence in her home (see the image below).
Michel has shown that he is not an ordinary man: he can take the key to your house without permission and invade your private space.

The man, too, in the film’s night sequence, feels endangered; he is more frightened, appears more dangerous, and, for the first time, steals in front of Patricia’s eyes—a car theft (Michel had previously stolen away from Patricia’s sight). This time, Patricia becomes part of the theft process: Michel shows her another side of himself during the night.
Night is the prelude to tomorrow’s betrayal. It’s where the narrative is pushed toward closure. Even the film’s music, which initially seems lighthearted, takes on such a terrified tone during the night sequence that it feels as though it’s confessing to the audience: I was always filled with dread! Watch me again!
From this perspective, I believe the film’s anxiety-inducing city, which had already revealed itself from the beginning in its rotating shots, shadow-heavy close-ups, or even in jump cuts that manipulated people and spaces, delivers its punch more sharply, precisely, and vividly during the night sequence. Due to its brevity and singularity, this sequence very bluntly tells you/the audience that you should be worried when seeing this city. It tells Michel that he must be worried and flee from this city, and it tells Patricia that she must be worried and make a decision about this relationship. Umm… you know… in short, I think if the film’s scenes had been balanced between night and day, I—at least as the writer—would not have felt this impact and allure with such intensity.
The sense of worry I’m referring to, I understand, may not be comprehensible to everyone. The plot in ‘Breathless’ is exaggeratedly objective; the filmmaker deliberately avoids deepening or subjectively examining the issues raised in the film. Michel kills someone hastily, and the filmmaker cuts hastily. Patricia spends the night with Michel and betrays him by day, then makes a face at the camera, and the filmmaker captures her in close-up. Godard cuts or mocks any point where the ideas could become more internalized, given reasons, or moralized.
Generally, when the audience encounters an anti-hero (as opposed to an all-capable hero), their mental logic tends to expect more explanations from the filmmaker, to connect more with the characters, and to learn more about their past and hidden aspects of their lives. This enables the audience to better understand the anti-hero’s flaws and problems and empathize sufficiently with them. The reason is clear: an anti-hero who has failed to become a hero must be explained to the audience—why they failed to become a hero. Otherwise, the audience will inherently despise an anti-hero they do not understand, whose flaws they cannot grasp, whose circumstances they cannot relate to, and whose mistakes they cannot forgive.
Thus, there’s no expectation to call ‘Breathless’ a non-objective and profound film. Hence, there’s no expectation for the audience to feel deeply emotional (of any kind) when watching Godard’s work. I, as the writer, understand and accept this. But still… I feel that an audience member who, by the end of ‘Breathless’, has not felt some kind of worry, has not sensed insecurity in the environment, or has ignored the haste of the film’s characters has likely missed a crucial piece of the film.
Watching this gap—or rather, watching the film through the lens of this gap—whether in places where something important is omitted, where something unimportant is emphasized, or where this empty space has kept the subject and the significance of its details out of your view, and where emptiness itself has become part of the subject’s identity, is an intriguing idea to me. I can’t quite love it, and it even annoys me at times… but well… when I look at Godard’s body of work as a whole, I can’t say it stems from an artistic miscalculation or a lack of intuition. In fact, at times, I might even admire him for this different approach.