Timeless verse, timeless tunes - put them together and you've got a sure-fire winner.

At least that was presumably the thinking behind Kenneth Branagh's idea of infusing one of Shakespeare's lesser-known plays with classic songs by the likes of George Gershwin and Irving Berlin.

He's certainly managed to turn one of the Bard's most inconsequential pieces of work into a frothy and entertaining film in the mould of a 1930s musical.

But the contrast between the sometimes florid Shakespearean language and the lightweight idiom of the songs interpersed throughout is sometimes grating - which is not surprising when you consider the centuries which separate them.

You can't help feeling that you're watching a grandiose version of that insurance company advert on TV in which the main character unexpectedly breaks into singing: "There may be trouble ahead."

Love's Labour's Lost even features the same song - Let's Face The Music And Dance - as well as other familiar humalongs like There's No Business Like Showbusiness and They Can't Take That Away From Me.

The original play is infamous for being overlong but Branagh, who directs as well as playing Berowne, has managed to edit it skilfully for a modern audience and the film skips along merrily.

But it still strikes me as something of a cop-out.

There was little chance of the movie ever being a major contender as a serious piece of art.

Rather, you get the impression that Branagh has gathered together a gang of mates who all had a whale of a time making the film without being much bothered whether the critics would like it or movie-goers rush to see it.

Old lushes like Richard Briers and Geraldine McEwan pop up and seem to throw themselves into the top hat and tails scenes.

The plot, such as it is, tells the tale of the King of Navarre, played by Alessandro Nivola, and how he and his three companions woo the Princess (Alicia Silverstone) and her trio of attendants.

It begins farcically, with the King and his friends declaring - for no apparent reason - a preposterous oath to devote themselves to studying for three years to the exclusion of all worldly pleasures, including entertaining ladies.

There are plenty of frolicsome scenes along the way.

Timothy Spall puts in a near show-stealing cameo as Don Armado, featuring the most outlandish Spanish accent seen on any screen since Manuel polished his last spoon in Fawlty Towers. The scene in which he offers "ray-moon-ay-rathion" to the clown Costard (Nathan Lane, also in fine form as a fast-talking Groucho Marx-style wise guy), is hilarious.

And the cast have a lot of fun with buffoonery in which the King and his cohorts hide from each other in ludicrous fashion as well as a scene of sumptuous synchronised swimming in the manner of Busby Berkeley.

Shot sparingly with plenty of moonlight and very little sunshine on offer, Love's Labour's Lost has a more serious side, though.

Shakespeare left the ending of his play open to interpretation and Branagh weaves the theme of the outbreak of the Second World War into the fabric of his version.

The film is interspersed with spoof newsreel footage which starts off light-hearted but becomes darker as the war clouds gather.

Simon Ashberry

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