unrated, 88 mins.

Although closely associated with the freewheeling spirit of the French New Wave, Louis Malle had already established himself before his first narrative feature, 1958’s “Elevator to the Gallows.” Maybe that’s why “Elevator” has always seemed so different from other seminal films of this period, the work of a more refined sensibility.

True to New Wave form, “Elevator” opens with a close-up of Jeanne Moreau whispering sweet nothings into a phone and quickly establishes itself as an homage to American noir. Florence (Moreau) and Julien (Maurice Ronet) are lovers, plotting the murder of her war-profiteering husband (Jean Wall), for whom Julien works. As agreed, Julien offs the boss one evening at the office. But he then gets stuck in the office elevator, missing his meeting with Florence.

When Julien’s car is stolen by a young couple (Georges Poujouly and Yori Bertin), the narrative splits not only into three threads, but three genres. Julien tries desperately to escape from the elevator. Florence wanders the streets in a daze, a character out of romantic melodrama. Meanwhile, the two youths coast along on a night of recklessness straight out of the New Wave playbook: When they find Julien’s gun, we might wonder if we’ve somehow wandered into Godard’s “Breathless.”

Well, almost. There is little joy in the youths’ nocturnal spree – they’re a dim couple, clearly headed for trouble. The youthful abandon of “Breathless” is absent here, as is the romantic playfulness of Truffaut’s “Shoot the Piano Player.” Malle is, at heart, a determinedly more classical filmmaker than those directors. Unlike the inhabitants of other New Wave films, his characters exist in a very real moral universe; there are complex consequences to their actions. Maybe that’s why Malle’s film hasn’t dated one bit.