If you're titillated by the gothic possibilities of The Fairytale but find Powell and Pressburger too leaden or Tim Burton too twee, then this stellar example of short-filmmaking will knock you sideways. Exactingly executed from first frame to last, this short reinterprets the Riding-Hood story along the lines of an ancient French variant and blows the lid off the long-repressed sexual subtext. Ricci is caught at (I hope not) the peak of her dark craft, as an archetype of knowing femininity; Bourtasenkov, in beautiful counterpoint of form, dances (yes, literally) an aching helplessness. Quentin Crisp's delivery of the witty script is a dry delight, and the entire piece is constructed so perfectly alongside Debussy's 'Afternoon of a Fawn' that Allegro Non Troppo won't ever quite satisfy you again. See this masterpiece and never forget it.
Review of Little Red Riding Hood
