Stanley Donen’s 1963 film Charade has been described as “the best Hitchcock film Hitchcock never made,” and it would be tough to put it more elegantly than that. It’s a glossy, gender-flipped North by Northwest, with a healthy squeeze from the screwball comedy lemon. The result is a slick and silly spy story set in Paris with just enough intrigue to keep you hooked. It’s a film that thrives on charm—both in the impeccable craftsmanship of Donen’s direction and in the sheer magnetic presence of its two leads, Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant.

Much of Charade’s immediate appeal comes from how ridiculously good it looks. The cinematography by Charles Lang bathes the film in a rich colorful sheen that makes Paris feel like a dreamscape. Every frame could come from a fashion magazine, thanks to Hepburn’s dazzling Givenchy wardrobe (not to mention legendary beauty) and Grant’s effortlessly panache. Their combined star power is intoxicating, and they carry the film with a kind of natural elegance that makes even its silliest moments feel effortlessly chic.

The screenplay by Peter Stone is a little slow to get moving, taking its time setting up the central mystery: after the sudden death of her husband, Regina Lampert (Hepburn) learns that he was involved in some dangerous business, and now three mysterious men (played by James Coburn, George Kennedy, and Ned Glass) believe she knows where a missing fortune is hidden. Enter part two of our romance, Peter Joshua (Grant), a sort of male fatale. Peter and Regina hit it off, but much like a good Hitchcock yarn, the audience learns Peter has more to his story than he reveals well before Regina.

Once the story gets going, Charade is buckets of fun, full of double crosses, excellent quips, and even a little of that ol’ Hitchcock suspense. The film constantly shifts between tones—at times playful, at times romantic, at times thrilling—but Donen keeps it all in balance. His Hepburn’s wide-eyed reaction shots to each turn are half the fun, balancing between genuine peril and lighthearted laughs. The mystery itself is a delight, with enough twists to keep the audience engaged without ever becoming convoluted.

That said, Charade doesn’t have the same underlying tension or psychological complexity as Hitchcock’s best work. It’s more of a stylish confection than a deep, psychological thriller, but it doesn’t need to be anything more than that to be immensely satisfying. If anything, its lightness is part of its appeal. Even in its moments of danger, there’s a knowing wink to the audience, a recognition that this is all part of the fun.

The film does have a few moments that border on the broad and silly—James Coburn’s exaggerated Texas accent is a particularly odd choice, and some of the villainous antics lean toward cartoonish. But none of this detracts from the overall experience. In the end, Charade is a near-perfect cocktail of wit, romance, and suspense, wrapped in one of the most stylish packages Hollywood ever produced. It may not be Hitchcock, but it doesn’t have to be—it’s Charade, and that’s more than enough.

Rating: *** (out of 4)