The Crimson Playgoer

On the eve of the fourteenth, Anna is ordered by the proprietor of a "Dancing" to depart with her flowers; "she does not like to be kissed by drunk and very very rich patrons, well she shall leave." Slightly annoyed, Anna meets her neighbor Jean, a taxi driver, and tells him her woes. Anna and Jean appear to be fond of one another; they quarrel; they settle their petty grievances in a doorway. The rain that had scattered the jubilant throng stops. Life is indeed pleasant. But there is a harlotish-looking friend of Jean who drops into his room and insists on staying for the night. All very innocent, of course, for Jean leaves, but when Anna goes to visit him the next morning, she can not help seeing women's clothing in his room. She is angry, so angry that she slaps Jean when he comes to bid her good morning; they separate.

Rene Clair's theme is simpler than usual. The two young lovers are finally reunited by the unoriginal trick of having Jean's taxi collide with Anna's flower cart. And yet Mr. Clair succeeds in making his sentimental story uniquely plausible. Japanese lanterns, a cawing band, and dancing couples serve as a background to the first part of the film. We were delighted with the customs of an irrelevant family in this film that was awed on one occasion to find Anne and Jean embraced at their front door and almost proud to see the same exhibition several months later. But then, these Frenchmen. The preceding comment is hardly mine; Mr. Clair depicts their idiosyncrasies.

Annabelle and Georges Rigaud act with a finesse that we wish American actors would imitate. When they are meant to be healthy young animals, they are. "The rake," Raymond Cordy, handles one scene almost as expertly as Charles Chaplin; he is a drunk, one you would tolerate eternally in your drawing room if he were always as comical.