Jacques Offenbach himself labeled his "Tales of Hoffmann" a "fantastic opera," and the London Films adaptation is just that. The Technicolor screenplay displays all of the lavishness and sensuality that the libretto and score imply. The result may surprise the unwary moviegoer, and it may even irritate him a little. For that reason it is important to remember that the movie, like the opera, is intended to be "fantastic."

The film is a close approximation of the original. It is divided, in a manner that seems a little artificial for a motion picture, into a prologue, three acts, and an epilogue. In the prologue Hoffmann, a student in an ancient German university city, tells of his love for the ballerina Stella. Later, in Luther's Tavern, he falls into a reverie and tells his fellow students the three tales of his "folly of love."

These three acts show Hoffmann and his companion Nicklaus in Paris, Venice, and an island off the coast of Greece. By straining one can find significance in Hoffman's three loves: the automaton Olympia, the courtesan Giulietta, and the singer Antonia. Then, too, Hoffmann's evil genius appears in different guises in each adventure, to thwart Hoffmann's desire. But whatever symbolism there is in the story is secondary to the purely sensual pleasure of the movie.

In this respect Hein Heckroth, the designer, is the most outstanding contributor to the production. His settings and costumes are highly spectacular and yet are generally in perfect sympathy with the meanings of the film. At times Heckroth's display becomes a bit overwhelming, and his taste a little maudlin. Such is the case in the third act, which in other respects is also the poorest sequence. But as a contrast, the second act is a superb blending of decor, music, and dance.

The elements of music and dance are very important in "Tales of Hoffmann." Sir Thomas Beecham conducts the Royal Philharmonic in Offenbach's familiar score. Robert Rounseville, as Hoffman, has a strong, clear voice that is excellent for the role. Most of the other voices are dubbed in, however, with generally good results. The dancing in "Tales of Hoffmann" is all good, but it suffers by being fragmented; Frederick Ashton's choreography consists chiefly of short interludes, beautifully danced by Moira Shearer, Leonide Massine, Ludmilla Tcherina, Robert Helpmann, and the Sadler's Wells Chorus. Miss Shearer's best work is shown in the "Dragonfly Ballet" of the prologue, and in the automaton's dance of Act I. Helpmann appears successively as Lindorf, Coppelius, Dappertutto, and Dr. Miracle--Hoffmann's magnificently sinister enemy. He turns up unexpectedly with such insistency that the film might well be called "Tales of Helpmann."

Imagination is the prime virtue of the production, which never suffers the stagnation that plagues most film versions of opera. The prime fault of "Tales of Hoffmann" is its limitations of this imagination, in carrying along much unnecessary action and dialogue from the original. The good far outweighs the bad, however; "Tales of Hoffmann" is a virtuoso display of craftsmanship and talent, if not a true artistic triumph.