Saw two interesting French films recently. Notable for plump waffling padding almost masking charming stories in both cases. And both redeemed by little heart-wrenching moments. For this viewer at least.

Dans Paris told the tale of a turbulent relationship between a crazy obsessive depressive older brother and his livelier amorous younger brother. I was interested to discover that the director was the same chap that directed a godawful film called "Ma Mere" which culminated in the son shagging the mother as they injected drugs together. Arthouse cinema at its pointlessly provocative worst to my mind. But maybe I've just led a sheltered life.

The former film was briefly redeemed by a charming scene which saw the reprobate older brother read aloud one of the reprobate younger brother's favourite childhood books to him. It got me weeping (briefly) at any rate.

The Tango Lesson was a self-indulgent tale of two self-loving people that bonded over laborious tango lessons. Beautiful cinematography that rather overwhelmed a skimpy plot in many instances. And all interspersed with the tribulations of the main character attempting to find funding for her masterpiece film which told the tale of a legless man who rolled round murdering fashion models.

Both films were notable for suddenly (and inappropriately) lapsing into song at climactic moments. Which was disconcerting and even slightly cringeworthy.

But the latter redeemed itself with one of the loveliest screen kisses I've seen for a long time, oddly located on the moving walkway in an airport. It almost made up for the weird simpering song that took us into the final credits.