Julian Craster (Marius Goring) is a talented young composer, Vicky Page (Moira Shearer) wants only to dance. Both wish to work with the Ballet Lermontov and Boris Lermontov (Anton Walbrook), who lives only for the ballet, is shrewd enough to hire them both. After shaky starts, they achieve first success when Vicky plays the lead in Craster's 'The Red Shoes' at Monte Carlo. But Lermontov demands total commitment to their art, so when Vicky and Craster fall in love, they must leave the company. They marry. Some time later, Vicky returns to Monte Carlo on holiday. Lermontov relents and she is again to star in 'The Red Shoes'. Unexpectedly, her husband turns up to reclaim her, with tragic consequences.
Who but Powell and Pressburger would have the nerve to present an entire ballet, specially written, within a feature film drama? The "Wanna Dance" sequence in "Singin' in the Rain", is, though magnificent, but a bagatelle compared with the "Red Shoes" ballet. The ballet itself is lavishly staged and is a clever cheat, slipping smoothly in and out of the theatre into a world of pure cinema, seeing with the eyes of the audience at one moment, then looking out into an amphitheatre filled with swirling colours. So, too, the more prosaic moments are perfectly rendered, with the wonderful sense of colour and design and costume that is a badge of The Archers. And the dancers! Robert Helpman and Leonide Massine (also the choreographer) dazzle us with their energy and command. And the puppeteer, or rather the Shoemaker to the the Ballet Lermontov, sits in his Monte Carlo office. To Vicky's Sylphide he is the basilisk gargoyle that sits on the parapet outside his window.
Anton Walbrook delivers a masterly performance as the fanatical, tyrannical, director of the Ballet. He can be ice cold, but then, a faint smile will seem filled with warmth. Every nuance of his performance is perfectly timed and delivered. In his final, passionate, pleading that Vicky abandon love and dedicate herself to dance, he glances momentarily at her dresser, indicating that Vicky is ready to put on her shoes. He calculates and he controls them all. But he has miscalculated, and his subsequent address to the theatre audience is delivered with raw chunks of grief, his voice strained, rasping. Marius Goring, too, is completely convincing as the young musician, his every word and action witnessing his commitment to his art. So, too, the collection of Russian emigres around Lermontov give sympathetic and well-modulated performances. Brian Easdale's music supplies all that is needed credibly to support the claims of the film. But, in the end, even amongst such talent, it is the image of Moira Shearer that endures, dancing her heart out in the ballet, then losing it in the shocking closing scenes.
Who but Powell and Pressburger would have the nerve to present an entire ballet, specially written, within a feature film drama? The "Wanna Dance" sequence in "Singin' in the Rain", is, though magnificent, but a bagatelle compared with the "Red Shoes" ballet. The ballet itself is lavishly staged and is a clever cheat, slipping smoothly in and out of the theatre into a world of pure cinema, seeing with the eyes of the audience at one moment, then looking out into an amphitheatre filled with swirling colours. So, too, the more prosaic moments are perfectly rendered, with the wonderful sense of colour and design and costume that is a badge of The Archers. And the dancers! Robert Helpman and Leonide Massine (also the choreographer) dazzle us with their energy and command. And the puppeteer, or rather the Shoemaker to the the Ballet Lermontov, sits in his Monte Carlo office. To Vicky's Sylphide he is the basilisk gargoyle that sits on the parapet outside his window.
Anton Walbrook delivers a masterly performance as the fanatical, tyrannical, director of the Ballet. He can be ice cold, but then, a faint smile will seem filled with warmth. Every nuance of his performance is perfectly timed and delivered. In his final, passionate, pleading that Vicky abandon love and dedicate herself to dance, he glances momentarily at her dresser, indicating that Vicky is ready to put on her shoes. He calculates and he controls them all. But he has miscalculated, and his subsequent address to the theatre audience is delivered with raw chunks of grief, his voice strained, rasping. Marius Goring, too, is completely convincing as the young musician, his every word and action witnessing his commitment to his art. So, too, the collection of Russian emigres around Lermontov give sympathetic and well-modulated performances. Brian Easdale's music supplies all that is needed credibly to support the claims of the film. But, in the end, even amongst such talent, it is the image of Moira Shearer that endures, dancing her heart out in the ballet, then losing it in the shocking closing scenes.