Paramount had a specialty of sex comedies set in Paris, France from the mid-twenties until the Production Code closed them down in 1935. At that point, the Screwball Comedy arose.
As long as they were doing comedies in Paris, they did a couple of straight programmers set there too. In this one, William Powell plays an American in Paris who, while trying to write, makes a living by an interesting blackmail scam -- I've never heard of it before.
This movie, with a script by Herman J. Mankiewicz and a good cast has a chance of being very good. But except for William Powell, as always, charming, and Guy Kibbee's emphatic muddleheadedness, director Richard Wallace seems to be unable to raise a decent performance. Carole Lombard keeps threatening to disappear into the background, Lawrence Grey seems impossibly callow, and Wynne Gibson seems to be reading her speeches phonetically off a blackboard.
One wants to like this movie and there are a few moments when it appears on the brink of turning into something very interesting, like the scene over onion soup at 1 AM, but then it turns into another pointless costume change.
William Powell's career was stuck at this point: he was trying to make the change from screen villain to leading man, but couldn't quite get the right vehicles. He would leave Paramount for Warner's until he struck gold at Metro in 1934. But he always remained a character actor, capable of small or broad performances that would delight the audiences. It's a pity he's not strong enough to carry this movie by himself.