What images do you conjure when thinking of Paris? Romantic walks along the Seine, a stroll down the Champs-Elysees, people watching from a sidewalk cafe? Or do you envisage a darker side—dog manure on the streets or pickpockets in the Metro? Having visited for an extended period recently, I've seen both sides.

Films over the years have also shown both aspects of the City of Light, but until Rene Clair released Under the Roofs of Paris (Sous les Toits de Paris) in 1930, filmgoers hadn't seen the seedier side of the city on celluloid. From the city that can be credited with introducing cinematic art to the world via the early work of the Lumiere brothers and the magic of Georges Melies, only the better side of Paris had been shown. But Clair changed all this with a magnificent panning shot over the lower class tenement rooftops that descends onto the street below to a gathering of common folk and some unsavory characters.

This initial revelation of Paris "with its warts" struck responsive chords first in Germany, Britain, the U.S., and other markets before Parisians were able to appreciate Clair's work. Not only is the film historic for its breakthrough subject matter, but also for its groundbreaking technological work Under the Roofs of Paris is the first of his sound pictures. Although he wasn't enamored with using sound, especially with the technical limitations of the day, Clair always desired to appeal to the public and realized that he needed to find effective ways to use the technology.

Ranked among the preeminent filmmakers of French cinema in the 1930's, Clair's reputation has drastically fallen, notably when compared to imaginative French directors like Renoir and Cocteau. Signaling the beginning of the New Wave in the late 1950's, the writers of the Cahiers du cinema (Truffaut in particular) attacked Clair for his "Old Guard" cinematic ways of shooting emotionless scripts on static studio sets.

But that criticism applied to Clair's post-war era films. Two decades earlier, Clair pioneered the brave new era of talkies in Under the Roofs of Paris. From the beginning, a street singer can be heard as the camera closes in on a street corner, revealing Abert (Albert Prejean) leading a small neighborhood troupe in song. Clair's camera zeros in on a young woman (Pola Illery) who catches Albert's eye he protects her from a pickpocket working the crowd. It's love (or infatuation) at first sight, but it turns out that Albert is mixed up with the pickpocket and an organization of petty thieves that lead to his eventual arrest, despite his innocence. Complicating the melodrama, his newfound girlfriend finds herself drawn to Albert's best friend, Louis (Edmond Greville), during Albert's jail stint, which leads to an inevitable showdown.

The film is basically sweet but forgettable (aside from its historic import). The competent ensemble cast acting hits its marks by the numbers, but there's a strange detachment evident throughout that goes against what Clair's statement that he's "more interested in the ideas of the script." Clair can't fault the shallowness of the script since he wrote it, but he leaves the impression that he's far more enamored with smooth camera technique than he is with substance or the characters in this case.

Modern audiences will never be taken with the simplistic story unless they are ten years old or less, but that's not a reason to seek this film out. Film students will want to view Under the Roofs of Paris for its historical value and to watch for Clair's camera movement and visual techniques, which reflect his mastery of silent film while incorporating new sound technology. The memorable opening boom shot gradually closes in on the street singer, and the music gets louder while other scenes have music blaring, attracting the camera's attention until the door is closed and the music muted. Those who were mesmerized by P.T. Anderson's use of layering simultaneous versions of "Wise Up" in his pretentious Magnolia may find themselves shocked that the idea is hardly original. Sixty-nine years earlier, the occupants in Clair's tenement building do exactly the same thing with the street vender's catchy tune, and the camera tracks each separate apartment as it joins in with the ditty that will either bring a smile or irritate the hell out of you: