Votre sourire (1932) review - A dusty, frantic French comedy

If you have a soft spot for dusty, crackling 1930s French comedies where everyone talks at supersonic speed, Votre sourire is absolutely worth a look. It’s light, silly, and doesn’t ask much of you. But if you can't stand hiss-heavy audio and plots built entirely on people being dense, you will probably hate this within ten minutes. 📻

I stumbled onto this one late last night. It has that distinct, slightly frantic energy of early sound cinema where directors were still clearly figuring out where to hide the giant microphones.

The plot is basically a featherweight machine. Victor Boucher plays a guy who has to keep smiling, or maybe his smile is just highly valued—honestly, the copy I watched was a bit shaky on the details. There is a lot of running through doors and frantic hand gestures.

What really kept me watching was Marie Glory. She has this wonderful, expressive face that belongs in silent films, but she handles the rapid-fire dialogue like a total pro. She completely outshines the guys, who mostly just yell and adjust their hats.

Speaking of the sound, there is a scene in an office where every time someone takes a step, it sounds like they are wearing heavy wooden clogs. The foley work is so loud it practically becomes a character itself.

It reminded me a bit of the goofy, chaotic energy you find in Alf's Button, though with a lot more Parisian sophistication. It also shares that slightly theatrical, stage-bound feel of Leontines Ehemänner where you can almost see the chalk marks on the floor where the actors were told to stand.

There’s this one extra in the background of a café scene who just stares directly at the camera for about three seconds. It’s hilarious because nobody noticed it in editing, or maybe they just didn't care enough to redo the take. I love those little human mistakes.

The whole thing wraps up so fast you barely have time to realize how little actually happened. It’s definitely not a masterpiece, but it has a weird, cozy warmth to it.

A few random things I scribbled down:

• The main character's mustache deserves its own billing. It’s incredibly neat.
• Why does every telephone in 1932 look like a weapon?
• There’s a musical number that comes out of nowhere and then just... ends. No transition at all.
• I am pretty sure one of the doors they slammed almost knocked over the painted wall set.

So yeah. Don't expect some deep cinematic revelation here. Just turn off your brain, ignore the background hiss, and enjoy the vintage vibes.