Pavarotti occasionally has this look in his eyes, somewhere between wide eyed wonder and a needy child holding their breath for a parent's approval. It just doesn't work for a romance. With a little tweaking, you can almost (emphasis: almost) see a version of the film that would work better as a screwball comedy, with a near-burned out opera singer finding an unexpected, combative muse in a throat doctor. As is, it's an ineffective and unnecessary framework to get Pavarotti to sing various songs. Just stick with one of his concerts.
Stellar, bonkers. Weirdly emotional, especially as the late star/director's daughter introduced the film at the MoMA screening. The main conflict is in the flashy, cheap trickery of "spiritual boxing" vs bluntly practical kung fu in wildly inventive set pieces that keep pushing just how contrived a story we can tolerate if the action is that good. Mistaken identities, charlatans, multiple groups converging on a single target...it sounds like a mess, but it ultimately comes together in a deftly humorous action classic.