Some films win you over so completely that you're prepared to overlook a wobble or two. History Is Made at Night tests that goodwill like it's trying to get a refund.
Charles Boyer and Jean Arthur have genuine spark, which is handy because the plot is often cheerfully daft. They make it feel like a feature rather than a problem. Colin Clive skulks about as the villain and does a surprising amount of damage without much screen time to work with.
For most of it, I was having a lovely time. Then the final ten minutes arrive with a plot contrivance so needless it feels personally insulting. It takes a film that was breezing along beautifully and parks it straight in a ditch.
What a frustrating near-miss. Great company; terrible destination.