All That Glitters

There is a specific kind of vertigo that comes from standing on the edge of the Paris Périphérique—the massive ring road that separates the glittering "City of Light" from the sprawling, concrete suburbs known as the banlieues. For some, it’s just a highway; for the protagonists of All That Glitters (2010), it’s the boundary of a kingdom they weren't invited to. I watched this film for the first time on a laptop with a dying battery while hiding from a sudden thunderstorm in a self-service laundromat, and honestly, the smell of industrial detergent and damp sneakers felt like the perfect sensory accompaniment to a movie about the grit behind the glamour.

The Ten-Minute Walk to Another World

Released at the tail end of the "indie-pop" French cinema wave, All That Glitters (or Tout ce qui brille) avoids the gritty, bleak tropes usually associated with French suburban films like La Haine (1995). Instead, co-directors Géraldine Nakache and Hervé Mimran give us a comedy that is candy-coated but deceptively sharp. We follow Ely (Géraldine Nakache) and Lila (Leïla Bekhti), two best friends living in Puteaux. It’s a ten-minute walk from the high-end shops of Paris, but socially, it might as well be on the moon.

The film perfectly captures that 2010 cultural hinge. It was a time when the internet was becoming a permanent fixture in our pockets, but before Instagram completely flattened the world into a series of curated filters. When Lila and Ely decide to lie their way into an exclusive nightclub, they aren't just trying to have a drink; they’re trying to occupy a space that doesn’t belong to them. Lila is essentially a high-fashion con artist who would sell her grandmother’s soul for a pair of Roger Vivier pumps, and the humor stems from the sheer, frantic energy of her social climbing.

Chemistry That Can't Be Scripted

The "Modern Cinema" era (1990-2014) was defined by the rise of the "buddy" comedy, and All That Glitters is one of the era’s finest European examples. The reason the comedy lands isn't necessarily the jokes themselves—though the script is snappy—but the lived-in chemistry between Nakache and Bekhti. They were real-life best friends before filming, and it shows in every overlapping argument and private shorthand.

When they meet the wealthy and effortlessly cool Agathe (Virginie Ledoyen, whom you might remember from the Leonardo DiCaprio vehicle The Beach) and Joan (Linh-Dan Pham), the film shifts into a masterclass in cringe comedy. We watch the girls scramble to hide their working-class roots, inventing lives that sound like something out of a glossy magazine. It’s hilarious because it’s so desperate. Audrey Lamy almost runs away with the entire movie as Carole, the blunt, blonde friend who serves as the comedic grounded wire to the girls' high-voltage delusions. Her delivery is rapid-fire, proving that French comedy had finally moved past the slapstick of the 80s and into something much more observational and dry.

A Snapshot of a Vanishing Era

Looking back, All That Glitters feels like a time capsule of 2010 Parisian street style—the heavy scarves, the oversized bags, and the specific "boho-chic" aesthetic that dominated the era. It also captures the transition of the French "banlieue film." For decades, these movies were about riots and hopelessness. Géraldine Nakache changed the narrative by suggesting that people in the suburbs have the same shallow, silly, and deeply human desires as everyone else. They want to be seen. They want to wear the shoes.

The film was a massive hit in France, even winning Leïla Bekhti a César Award for Most Promising Actress, but it remains relatively obscure elsewhere. I think that’s partly because the humor is so rooted in the geography of Paris. If you don't know that Puteaux is "close but not quite," some of the stakes might feel lower. However, the theme of "faking it 'til you make it" is universal. Interestingly, the film’s signature song—a cover of Véronique Sanson’s "Drôle de vie"—became a massive radio hit in Europe, further cementing the film's place in the cultural zeitgeist of the time. Apparently, the actors were so nervous about the singing scenes that they practiced for weeks in Nakache's apartment, which explains why the musical moments feel so authentically unpolished.

The movie isn't reinventing the wheel, and the third-act "friendship breakup" follows a fairly predictable path, but the journey is so vibrant that I didn't mind the familiar turns. It manages to be a biting satire of the French bourgeoisie while remaining a genuinely warm tribute to the friends who knew us before we tried to become someone else. If you’re looking for a comedy that has a bit of a brain and a lot of heart—plus some excellent 2010s fashion choices to giggle at—this is your best bet for a weekend watch.

The film serves as a fantastic bridge between the indie spirit of the early 2000s and the more polished, high-concept comedies we see today. It’s a reminder that sometimes the most important journey isn't the one that takes you across the world, but the ten-minute walk back home to the people who actually know your real name. Just make sure your laptop is plugged in before you start, unlike me.