There are many things I could say about Lisztomania, like it’s exactly what you’d expect from the director of Tommy… if he’d injected mescaline directly into his eyeballs then listened to the London Philharmonic Orchestra’s Liszt: Les Preludes/Orpheus/Tasso while simultaneously watching Behind the Green Door and The Benny Hill Show; that it’s Amadeus by way of Zardoz, but not so restrained; that it’s a period piece that makes 1836 look like 1976 and vice versa; that while the movie is set in the world of music and has some musical numbers, it is not really a musical, it just looks like one; that it features a cameo by Ringo Starr as the motherfuckin’ Pope; that its humor is alternately crass and juvenile (gas-spewing ass sculptures) or just silly (one of Liszt’s lovers urges the composer to join a monastery, saying: “You can become a Franz-ciscan!”); that while it’s ostensibly about an imagined rivalry between Franz Liszt and Richard Mahler (Roger Daltry and Paul Nicholas, respectively, and both appearing to be having a great time), Lisztomania’s story is more about set pieces than plot, and that’s OK because one of those set pieces is this:
