Robert Bresson's most famous movie that is not about a donkey is a thing of minimal pretense and maximal refinement. In it, there are acts of petty crime spelled out with thrilling precision. There is a bare Parisian garret. There is a girl so perfect and serene you expect her to pop out a second Son of God any minute. But the component parts add up to something far more basic and bracing, something like cold water, or a punch to the gut. (Metro Cinemas, 4500 Ninth Ave NE, 781-5755. 7 and 9 pm, $10.)