RicciBoi

Criticizing this film needn't go much beyond its premise - not that of the script, but the idea of producing a 'lost' Ed Wood script. Said script is a dialogue-free(!), surprisingly dark comedy about an asylum escapee, and in true Wood style it's a consummate triumph of imagination over any kind of narrative purpose or skill. Bright spots are Billy Zane's astonishing grasp of physical comedy, and some clever use of soundtrack, framing, jumpcuts and flashbacks. Still, it's unevenly paced and overlong, and neither slapstick nor camp-value can sustain it. The amazing supporting talent is unforgivably wasted. All up, a bold and fun experiment, but pointless.

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.