If we are to believe Dr. Goebbels, post-war France was a politicians' playground, a hotbed of lewdness and corruption. If we are to believe "The Baker's Wife," it was a land of savory white bread and sparkling wine, the home of wholesome earthiness and tender charm. Whatever the historical truth, "The Baker's Wife" should manage to please everybody: Dr. Goebbels, because of its solid portion of "blood and soil"; and all the others, because of its warm humanity and charming malice.

The French Department should make this film required movie-going, and that is no slur upon its entertainment value. In almost every scene there is a slice of provincial France. The earnest, effeminate priest and the super-rationalistic school-teacher involve themselves in endless, fantastic arguments. A two-for-a-nickel marquis, complete with gloves and plus-fours, drops into town now and then from his chateau, to have a quick one with the boys at the "Club." There are also plenty of village dim-wits, who won't speak to one another because their parents and grandparents wouldn't either, because their parents disagreed about the shade trees in the back yard. Even the popular conception of French love-making gets its turn when the backer's wife and a handsome young shepherd start warming it up right under the unsuspecting backer's nose.

The plot pivots around the marital woes of a village baker whose wife seeks romance in elopement, and finally finds it in the arms of her forgiving husband. Raimu as the cuckooed villager strikes an unusually happy balance between humor and earnestness, burlesque and drama.

Through his uncouth boorishness shines the "tendresse" that made, and permeates, the whole picture. The priest who retrieves the sinful wife on piggyback, and the wine, women and horse-loving marquis fill the gaps in whatever there is of social parody. Somehow "The Baker's Wife" leaves you with the impression that perhaps Dr. Goebbels has not seen all of France.