Beautiful to look at, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger's "The Red Shoes" is astonishing and ravishing as photographed in color by Jack Cardiff: blood reds, creamy whites, midnight blues and inky ebonies all blend together as if in a dream. A would-be prima ballerina and a would-be music composer both come in contact with a brilliant showman, an impresario who becomes their mentor but soon tries to destroy their love for each other. The "Red Shoes" ballet sequence is, of course, the highlight--and it's interesting to note you do not see it from the audience's point of view, but from within the dancer's imagination. This centerpiece alone puts all other ballet films to shame, and in fact makes some (like Herbert Ross's "The Turning Point") seem downright irrelevant. Problems with the last act may be due to the constraints of (and faithfulness to) the Hans Christian Andersen fable the plot derives from, but the finale is so over-dramatic it may provoke some giggles. The picture manages to capture happily frantic backstage life like no other movie, and is memorable and exciting for many different reasons, but when the final bows come, the story has somewhat molded over. *** from ****
Review of The Red Shoes
