There's considerable color, lots of energy, and the grins of the dancers tell us that we are supposed to think that this production is absolutely delightful. But the choreographer and dancers don't display sufficient technical virtuosity to off-set the almost complete lack of an actual story here. Imagine a second- or third-rate '40s musical, eliminate the singing, and replace the movie make-up with that appropriate to live theater, and you'll have a rough idea of what this film is like. Danny Kaye would have been expected to move with more precision than does Leonide Massine; the nameless dancers for MGM would have been expected to be better synchronized than are the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo. While I'm sure that, with a run-time of 20 minutes, a more tiring film *could* be made, I'm not sure than one *has* been made.