Casanova

Ivan Mosjoukine pulled out all the stops to make the notorious rake look like a prototype James Bond. We've seen this in countless silent films already: historical and pseudo-historical figures such as Don Juan, Villon, any Doug Fairbanks movie. He's a superhero: irresistible lover, unbeatable swordsman (in both senses), daring spy, flashy gambler, unstoppable polymath, contortionist and escape artist, international man of mystery, debonair socialite, hero of the common people, and officially a wanted/outlawed desperado.

The weirdest thing is that that's exactly what Casanova was in real life, according to himself, but more or less substantiated by official documents and other persons' accounts. He was far, far more than merely the inveterate lover that his name has come to signify.

The film is spectacular, sensational, dazzling, a Baz Luhrmann extravaganza that even features stencil coloring (although pretty bad in some places: highlighting Casanova in red and white usually smears other characters in a bilious all-over green). The settings, including real Venetian and fake Russian exteriors, are fabulous; the interiors are sumptuous; the costumes and powdered wigs are superb (I'm happy to have finally discovered what makes farthingales stick out so absurdly on both sides).

Alexandre Volkoff directs magnificently. Mosjoukine is long in the tooth but full of commanding force. I struggled to keep the women distinct - those wigs and the clown-white makeup were an identity handicap for me - but they were all competent, while the main male supporting actors managed to stay just this side of farcical.