Cult Review
Senior Film Conservator

If you have a thing for movies that feel like they were pulled out of a time capsule from the early 1930s, sure. Go for it. But if you need your films to move faster than a snails pace, skip it.
This is for people who like to watch tiny expressions on faces. It is definitely not for those who need high-octane thrills or sharp, punchy edits. 🎞️
Couturier de mon coeur moves in a way that feels very deliberate, maybe even a little stubborn. The actors hold their poses just a second too long. It gives everything a theatrical weight, like you are sitting in the third row of a stage play that has been filmed on a shoestring.
André Berley carries himself with this weird, nervous energy. He is trying to be the center of the room, but he constantly looks like he is about to trip over his own feet.
Jeanne Fusier-Gir steals whatever frame she is in, though. There is a scene about halfway through where she just stares at a piece of fabric, and you can tell she is thinking about something entirely different from what the script probably intended. It is these little gaps in the performance that make it feel alive.
Honestly, the pacing is a bit of a mess. It hits these lulls where you start wondering if the projector stalled out. Unlike the chaotic energy in See My Lawyer, this thing is almost too polite for its own good.
I found myself zoning out during the long dialogue stretches. Then suddenly, someone drops a teacup or sighs in just the right way, and I am back in it. It is that kind of movie.
It is not a masterpiece. It is just a movie that exists, occupying its own little corner of history. Sometimes, that is enough. Sometimes, I just want to watch people in old clothes act like they have the weight of the world on their shoulders.
Would I watch it again? Probably not. Am I glad I saw it today? I guess. It’s got a weird, dusty heart. 🧵

IMDb 6.6
1935