THE RED SHOES (1948) **1/2 A fairy tale within a fairy tale with peripheral fairy tales. A dance within a ballet inside a script coated with opera pathos secreted in the birth canal of a film. When you deal with emotion of these currencies in lighting like this you're mainly inviting a coup of derisive laughter. To their credit they get at a lot of other things, only to lose them down the stretch. No worries, it takes very big balls just to aim and let fly on a trajectory like this. Moira Shearer is the star, and incredibly manages to bring ballet to the cinematic masses in a language that we can enjoy-and no mere translation of highbrow, but the greatest moments go to Leonide Massine, as the dance teacher no less. The really weird thing is that this is probably exactly the way that high art would look if those of us on the outside had more access. Just as well, it might lead to the downfall of idolatry. I only have one question: if even great passionate artists, who were married and hetero, slept in separate beds...how did the rest of us get here?
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