The Red Shoes is a symphony that can only be hymned to the razzle dazzle that Hollywood does on large scale, for the plot has very little skin in the game.
Pressburger and Powell’s musical number has the least gooey romance methodology which ups the ante of the game for its maturity clause. First and foremost, all the musical numbers are purely elegant. The choreography is beautifully weaved out into the narration fluently. Along with that, it too is performed lethally with co ordination like mirrors not only to the fellow performers but to the background score too. Dipped entirely into the abstractness of the fame and unquenching thirst for the art, these “red shoes” puts you into the spot as the concept of the feature itself is the host that welcomes you with open arms.
But as far as storytelling is concerned, this slow pill is definitely effective as the final product, but as the procedure ages on screen, the sloppy writing fails to withhold the audience with its voice. The primary reason why the drama is left out dry and numb and fails to create the anticipated impact is due to its inability to project a wider range allegory. Since whenever it attempts to be poised, mellow and extra sweetening, the makers have its tactics right under their sleeves on demand. But when the storyline gets dark and dirty and it requires a bit ruggedness, the makers seems to hesitate and are afraid to get their hands dirty.
Unfortunately, it also is short handed on performance, neither the lead cast nor the supporting ones are good enough to stand on merit. As much as plausible Shearer’s talent as a dancer is, she fails to fabricate the affection and guilt expressively. Walbrook and Goring to falls under the same trap due to a non-effective portrayals especially at the peak of their moments. The Red Shoes is a symphony that can only be hymned to the razzle dazzle that Hollywood does on large scale, for the plot has very little skin in the game.