The often-reliable Leonard Maltin says this is a "delightful romance" and that Sanders is "superb." Maltin must have confused this movie with something else. Sanders is snide and droll and superb, as usual,  you can imagine his delivery of the line regarding adultery, "Sometimes the chains of matrimony are so heavy they have to be carried by three," but dull, wooden and dated describe this movie more accurately. The storyline itself, an autobiography with Sanders as a suave jewel thief, Francois Eugene Vidocq, who becomes chief of police but can hardly resist the lure of fine jewels, is entertaining enough, but it has the same kind of hollow historical Hollywood treatment that marred such period epics as *Marie Antoinette*, and certainly the deplorable *Forever Amber* (which screams for a classy remake). Though, in his defense, Sanders tries mightily to add some depth to his character, it is all for naught. I am an unabashed Douglas Sirk fan, but this is 1946, and it is one of Sirk's earliest American efforts, lacking many of the signature touches that would define his florid, breast-heaving potboilers. Sirk is just getting his feet wet here, and made a number of unmemorable films over the next ten years until he struck gold with *Magnificent Obsession*, and hit his stride, bombarding us with such estrogen-fests as *All That Heaven Allows*, *Written on the Wind*, and *Imitation of Life*. But *Scandal In Paris* is hardly his best work  a relatively low-budget affair with cheesy sets and ineffective costuming.