The Red Shoes (1948)
The Red Shoes is a story of artistic ambition, devotion, and performance; about how art is made and the kinds of people who are driven to create, study, and perform it; and is made by one of the most creative film partnerships of all time. The experience is so much better described in this review by Frances Morgan in the Electric Sheep, February 1, 2010 after the restored print was shown at the BFI Cinema.*
And yet, on a Saturday night in the only venue of its type in our nation's capital, barely a fifth of the main theater's seats were occupied, and everyone seemed so quiet and disengaged. No one clapped for the director or the restoration (except for my embarrassing first smack of the palms), or laughed or cried, or gasped or anything. I realize that I am spoiled by San Francisco's film-goers, but I've seen pictures at this theater before and not felt such an utter lack of kinship with the audience.
* where I bet lots of people showed up.