Cult Review
Senior Film Conservator

If you have a thing for old French comedies that feel like they were filmed inside a giant, echoing parlor, you might find something here. It is definitely for the crowd that enjoys crisp suits, rapid-fire dialogue, and people acting indignant over minor social blunders.
However, if you need a movie that actually goes somewhere, you should probably keep scrolling. It feels a bit like watching a dinner party you weren't invited to.
Watching this felt a bit like looking through an old photo album where everyone is trying too hard to look important. The dialogue moves fast, almost like they’re afraid the film stock is going to run out any second. Aimé Clariond carries a certain weight, but there are moments where the camera just sits there, watching characters pace back and forth, and you find yourself counting the patterns on the wallpaper.
It’s not quite as snappy as His Parisian Wife, which had a bit more of a pulse. Here, the romance feels like a math equation that nobody actually wants to solve.
There is a scene near the middle that goes on for about three minutes too long. It’s just two people staring at a contract. You can feel the director realizing there isn't enough plot, so they just let the actors repeat their lines until the scene hits a certain length.
It’s not bad, really. It’s just... polite. It’s a movie that doesn't want to offend you, which is exactly why it’s hard to get excited about it. It sits there, it does its job, and then the credits roll and you suddenly want a glass of water. 🍷
Year
1933
IMDb Rating
—

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