The discreet charm of the French bourgeoisie is on display once again as Eric Rohmer, the master observer of amorous behaviour, delivers a variable yet generally engaging trilogy of tales about the folly of love, all set in arguably the most romantic city of all.
The opening story, The Seven O'Clock Rendez-Vous, is a slight but affecting drama of mistrust and fate, based on real-life events experienced by actress Clara Bellar. She plays a young woman who suspects her boyfriend (Basler) of infidelity and, through a series of coincidences, unexpectedly confronts him in the same café where she has arranged to meet another man.
The middle, and by far weakest segment, The Benches Of Paris, is set in the Latin Quarter where a girl is two-timing her fiance, but is scared of being seen with her lover, a young professor from the provinces. They arrange a dirty weekend, but like the story it's a non-starter all the way, and it's difficult to warm to the couple's precious and tiresome squabbling.
The final vignette, Mother And Child, 1907, is an amusing if rather open-ended drama of an artist who accompanies a friend to a museum where he falls in love with a stranger who has all the best lines.
If all three tales seem a trifle insubstantial, Rohmer gives them an impeccable sheen and the young cast deliver uniformly natural and credible performances. Trouble is, their characters are all so civilised, articulate and looking up their own derrieres so far that you end up longing for a bit of La Haine-style working-class grubbiness. This naval-gazing crowd's capacity for self-analysis is all very well, but like all French fancies, a little doesn't always go a long way.