Prince de minuit: A forgotten bit of French fluff

Is it worth your time?

Honestly, only if you have a specific itch for 1930s French cinema that you just can't scratch. It’s perfect for a lazy Sunday afternoon when you want to look at nice suits and hear people talk fast in French. If you get bored by static camera work or plots that rely on a single misunderstanding for an hour, you will probably hate it.

Cinematic perspective: Exploring the visual vocabulary of Prince de minuit (1934) through its definitive frames.

There is a real sweetness to the way these old films move, but man, sometimes the scene just sits there. You’re waiting for someone to do something, anything, but they’re just standing by a fireplace looking debonair. It feels like the director forgot to yell 'action' for about ten seconds too long in the second act.

Cinematic perspective: Exploring the visual vocabulary of Prince de minuit (1934) through its definitive frames.

Henri Garat carries the whole thing with a grin that suggests he knows the script is nonsense. It’s hard not to like him, even when he’s being a total nuisance to everyone around him. He plays the 'prince' angle so well that you almost forget he’s flat broke.

Cinematic perspective: Exploring the visual vocabulary of Prince de minuit (1934) through its definitive frames.

The vibe is... sleepy?

I found myself thinking about À nous la liberté while watching this, mainly because they share that same era's obsession with trying to look sophisticated while everything is clearly filmed on a modest set. But where that film has a bit of a bite, Prince de minuit is all soft edges. 😴

• The lighting in the ballroom scene is surprisingly nice for how cheap the set looks.
• I’m still not sure what the butler was doing in that background shot during the dinner party.
• The dialogue is sharp, but sometimes it flies by so fast you lose the joke.

There’s a moment where a character drops a glass, and the reaction shot lingers for an eternity. It’s hilarious for the wrong reasons. It turns into a silent comedy routine without anyone actually being funny.

I’m not saying it’s a masterpiece. It’s barely a footnote. But there’s something honest about how much this movie just wants to make you smile for eighty minutes. It doesn’t have the weight of Alexander Hamilton or the visual punch of À Propos de Nice. It’s just fluff. And sometimes, you know, fluff is enough.

Just don’t ask me to explain the ending. I’m pretty sure I zoned out for a minute and missed the resolution, and honestly? It didn’t matter. 🍷