By the normal standards of cinema critics, these are one-star, that is to say appalling, films; but at least their badness is not of the realistic-sensationalist kind that gains its effect by dealing in violence so impressively brutal that they become serious contenders for four stars or five. The offences here are (principally) silliness and sentimentality, and these, it must be said, are unredeemed by any pervasive distinction in the acting or value of the musical content. That does not mean that they can be returned to the cinematic oblivion from which these Bel Canto Society issues have retrieved them.
The first has Gigli cast as a celebrated tenor called Tino Dossi (a near-miss for Tino Rossi but perhaps that gifted entertainer and light tenor had not come to the fore by then). Dossi is mourning the death of his beloved Maria and is conned by a nightclub singer who tells him her name is Maria, too. She grows fond of him, and the deception becomes odious to her; she writes a letter and prepares to leave. Meanwhile, Dossi has left for Paris to sing in La traviata. The woman follows and takes her seat in a front box. In the interval, before the scene of Flora’s party, Dossi learns of the betrayal, so that when it comes to the ‘Scena della borsa’ he directs Alfredo’s reproaches and denunciations towards the box. Gigli’s mouth, normally half-closed while singing, becomes wider and wider, and his acting comes to life with genuine passion. This is worth having.
The second film (Follie per l’opera was its original title) tells the story of an Italian restaurateur in London who supports the idea of raising money by means of an all-star operatic concert and finds there is a plot afoot to thwart its success. The film is half over before the stars arrive, but when they do, much of London is there to greet them at Croydon airport. Gino Bechi obliges with ‘Largo al factotum’ while jumping about on various external parts of the aircraft. That is almost worth having. What really does impress, and so rescues this film from the dustbin, too, is Gobbi’s wonderful performance of the Prologue to Pagliacci. Caniglia’s part is restricted to a verse of ‘Casta diva’, mostly obliterated by loud talk, but what can be heard does not encourage regret for the loss of the rest. Gigli’s appearance before the Tribunal in Andrea Chenier shows little of him. Schipa’s contribution is Almaviva’s serenade in Barbiere, coming out on the soundtrack not implausibly a tone below score-pitch; and it cannot be said that the sight is a pretty one. Previously the restaurant owner and his friends had listened in wonder to a record of Gigli singing the Romance from Martha – as well they might, for this is a full tone above score-pitch. The name of Gina Lollobrigida in the cast-list may raise expectations of another kind: unfulfilled, I’m afraid.'