Los cuentos de Hoffman

I was privy to two views of Powell and Pressburger's THE TALES OF HOFFMAN before watching it: filmmaker Martin Scorsese's passion for the film, stemming from childhood, and critic Imogen Sara Smith's confession that she found the movie "airless." Most viewers seem to agree with Scorsese. There is no doubt that the visuals are imaginative and gorgeous: if you loved the ballet sequence of THE RED SHOES, then this gives you two hours' worth of that same expressionistic sublimity.

However, unlike THE RED SHOES, HOFMMAN is a much colder experience. For a film about the joys and sufferings of love and desire, the whole thing is quite remote, never reaching the emotional depth of other Powell and Pressburger films. The whole thing feels overlong and if you aren't an opera fan, you aren't likely to take to the music either.

The three sequences which make up the runtime are uneven: the Olympia story is whimsical and fun though a touch overlong; the Giuletta sequence is gothic and well-paced; the Antonia sequence is just about the worst. Olympia and Giuletta benefit from having charismatic performers at their center in Moira Shearer and Ludmilla Tcherina, but Ann Ayars lacks any real personality as the dying songstress, making the last section such a drag to sit through.

By the time the film came to its close, I was more than ready for it to be done with. No doubt, a lot went into the sets, costumes, special effects, and camera work. I must also give a shout-out to Robert Rounseville as Hoffman: he carries himself well throughout the long running time. But I'm sorry to be the naysayer: when a movie is over two hours long, I need more than gorgeous visuals to see me through it.