A Mermaid in Paris (2020)

A Mermaid in Paris feels like a love song to the city itself—tender, slightly tipsy with whimsy, and lit by the kind of visual imagination that makes ordinary streets and riverbanks seem enchanted. Mathias Malzieu mixes fairy-tale romance with offbeat comedy and a melancholy undercurrent, so the film can flutter from playful to poignant without losing its dreamy rhythm, helped along by music that practically breathes through the scenes. Nicolas Duvauchelle and Marilyn Lima sell the central connection with a sweetness that never turns syrupy, while Rossy de Palma adds a jolt of eccentric warmth that keeps the story buoyant. If you’re allergic to unapologetically fanciful, storybook logic, it may not convert you—but if you want a charming, escapist modern fable with memorable imagery and a big, bruised heart, it’s an easy yes.

A Mermaid in Paris is aiming for a dreamy, offbeat fairy tale romance set against a quirky Paris cabaret backdrop, with music, whimsy, and a dash of dark fable. The problem is it often feels more like a mood than a story: the pacing drifts, the rules of the fantasy are conveniently fuzzy, and the romance leans on “isn’t this odd and poetic?” rather than truly earned chemistry. If you want tight plotting, consistent tone, or laugh-out-loud comedy, this may test your patience, because it swings between cute, melancholic, and macabre without always landing the transition. Still, the film has a distinctive visual style and a sincere, storybook sweetness that will work if you’re in the mood for a gentle, slightly messy, artsy love spell rather than a conventional rom-com.