Renoir is regarded my many critics as among the greatest directors to stand behind a camera. By the time he made this film, he was approaching his twilight years and had no doubt read his press clippings and come to believe that he was indeed a great artist who could turn everything he touched into a masterpiece. No director, however, can make a good film without a decent script. The script for this, if there was one to begin with, is a complete mess. There's no rhyme or reason to anything that goes on, and the "comedy" is not the least bit amusing. Poor Ingrid somehow managed to continue her career after this atrocity. At least the color is stunning.
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