The story is enjoyable fluff, zipping past in a droll flurry of conniving, gaffe, hysterical chase, mistaken identity, public dishonesty, false appearances, and social hypocrisy around money. A snotty starving artist who owes everyone wins the lottery but his fateful jacket upstairs is missing and makes its round of Paris.
Now for the musical touch.
The jacket ends in the hands of an opera singer who thinks it authentic ('bohemian') enough for his stage costume—it's closing night for a bohemian opera. The singer is rich but gets no satisfaction out of his art, constantly bickers with his co-star, lecherously chases skirt backstage. Our man along with the girl that is secretly in love with him follow the jacket on stage, as curtains go up and the show begins.
What follows is a magical moment where the fake bohemian couple provide the song that conciliates the two lovers hiding on the same stage behind a piece of scenery, a marvelous setup.
In the dreamlike reality of the musical, the jacket is miraculously retrieved, miraculously snatched away in the next beat, and—lo— miraculously presented again in the finale. All because he realized the richness of love.
And how about this as framework? A vast tracking shot opens the film, over a sleeping city to a rooftop where two neighbours peer from a window to wild celebration below. The two of them wonder why the ruckus, which is promptly followed by the dancers relating the story that is our film. I am in awe of how they achieved the shot, it looks like they had to build a few acres of cityscape inside the studio.