Romuald et Juliette

A more or less typical form of numbskull Hollywood osmosis was responsible for the change of title for this charming French interracial romance when it crossed the Atlantic, from the perfectly adequate 'Romuald and Juliette' (shades of Shakespeare), which at least identifies the two unlikely lovers. Romuald is an aggressive yogurt tycoon who works in the executive suite of a Paris skyscraper; Juliette is the black cleaning woman who empties his garbage overnight, and when she learns of an insider trading and sabotage scheme the two become allies and (inevitably) lovers. There's nothing deep or significant here, but the script is both sensitive and, at times, even clever, and (surprisingly) never loses sight of the obvious social/racial/economic gaps dividing its two protagonists. But to say it ends happily-ever-after is an understatement: the resolution is too incredibly upbeat. And does it seem odd that a French film should have to justify their affair by showing Romuald's wife also fooling around?