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5.9/10
Senior Film Conservator
A definitive 5.9/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. A Night in Montmartre remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
Look, if you’re a fan of those super early talkies where everyone acts like they’re still on a stage shouting at the back row, you might dig A Night in Montmartre. If you prefer, you know, movies that actually have a pulse, you’ll probably find this one a bit of a slog. It’s got that weird, stiff charm that makes you wonder how people ever thought this was the height of drama.
It’s not quite as breezy as The Last of Mrs. Cheyney, which managed to make its silliness feel intentional. This one just feels like it’s trying to be a serious crime thriller while forgetting to actually make the crime interesting.
The couple, played by Heather Angel and Hugh Williams, live in this tiny, claustrophobic space under a café. It’s the kind of set that makes you feel dusty just looking at it. The lighting is dark—like, really dark—which I guess is supposed to be moody, but mostly it just makes me squint at the screen trying to see if that shadow is a piece of furniture or an important clue.
The landlord is a real piece of work. You know the type; he’s got that mustache that practically screams, "I’m going to blackmail someone in the next five minutes." He’s not in the movie long, and honestly, the film improves significantly once he’s out of the picture.
The husband’s father is the real highlight, if you can call it that. He wanders into the plot with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. It’s funny watching him try to act like a detective. Every time he leans in to inspect something, he looks like he’s trying to read a menu in a dim restaurant. It’s not exactly Sherlock Holmes, but it’s got a weird, personal rhythm that kept me watching.
There’s this one scene where they are arguing about the evidence, and the background noise of the café upstairs sounds like a stadium crowd. It’s so distracting you almost forget what the murder weapon was. Or who did it. Actually, I stopped caring about who did it halfway through.
The pacing is all over the place. Sometimes it crawls along, then suddenly we’re in a chase that lasts for all of twelve seconds. It reminds me of the pacing in Adventure Mad, where the movie seems to realize it’s being boring and panics. 🧐
Is it a masterpiece? No. Is it a disaster? Not really. It’s just… there. A relic from a time when cameras were stationary objects and actors were terrified of moving too fast. If you’ve got a rainy afternoon and nothing else to do, you could do worse. Just don’t expect to remember much about it by breakfast.
IMDb 6.9
1929
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