Under the Roofs of Paris

René Clair's UNDER THE ROOFS OF PARIS (1930) is a lovely picture with one element so disturbing that I wonder if it was anachronistic even at the time of its release.

ROOFS, an early foray into the world of talkies, looks and feels like a silent movie for much of its running time. In fact, recording with the new technology was so cumbersome that Clair chose to use dialogue only when absolutely necessary, creating a hybrid of the two styles. It works, and it brings us the best of both worlds: the physical lyricism of a silent picture combined with the naturalism of a talkie.

But how's the movie? It's delightful. It paints a loving portrait of lower-class Paris, filling it with denizens kind and criminal, and its lead character, Albert, is a pleasant and agreeable guy. Here's the setup: Albert's a sheet-music salesman who conducts street-corner singalongs, selling copies of the music to anyone who might want to join in. He falls in love with Pola, a Romanian immigrant who's involved with a local thug. Complications ensue.

The disturbing element is the character of Pola. She's a cypher, a trophy, nothing more. She falls right in with whichever man claims her at the moment, seeming to let herself be carried along by fate. Was this the feminine ideal of the time?

That reservation aside, 'Under the Rooftops of Paris' is a good time, both for its place in cinema history and its light, loving touch. I enjoyed the heck out of it.