Benjamin Millepied makes his directorial debut with his screen adaptation of Bizet’s opera Carmen. The reimagining supplants the setting and time, strips the characters of their arcs, and selectively features segments of the opera’s music sung by a French choir. Bizet’s Carmen is reduced to an echo in a modern adaptation that is in name only. Millepied’s Carmen indulges in the art of dance and music, but what does that say for its standing as a film adaptation of the iconic story?

Carmen follows the titular character, played by Scream queen Melissa Barrera, as she flees Mexico after her mother is murdered. Hunted across the Mexican desert, she crosses paths with Aiden (Paul Mescal), a recently discharged Marine struggling to find stability. His sister hopes to get him on his feet and suggests he work for militia-type Border Patrol officers. In a twist of fate, Aiden and Carmen’s lives violently collide as Aiden saves her life. They are then forced to flee to Los Angeles, where Carmen is meant to find her mother’s best friend, Masilda (Rossy de Palma).

Paul Mescal in Carmen

The film is experimental in many ways. Millepied is a man who has mastered the art of dance, and so he has brought his passion to film. Paired with Nicholas Britell’s emotive and impactful score, the dancing sequences are hypnotic. The film opens with a riveting dance number that has Carmen brimming with hope. Carmen’s mother, Zilah (Marina Tamayo), starts the story with a fierce flamenco, each movement more passionate than the one before. The dance then turns deadly as she continues in the face of a drug dealer who silently watches as though he is the grim reaper himself. Emotions are not a problem for Millepied; the movements capture it all brilliantly, whether it be unfettered passion, desperation, love, hope, or anguish.

Millepied could have crafted an entire narrative feature with dance and music alone. However, the film has a lackluster screenplay and waning conviction. At best, this adaptation can be called confused or uneven, as very little of the opera shines through this modern lens. Those with little knowledge of the opera will be utterly lost as Millepied hesitates in making this feature a bold interpretative dance. He cannot balance what he desires with what is expected, and he cannot focus the narrative on the core couple.

Despite occupying so much of the film’s time, with Barrera tasked with exploding into spontaneous dance at particular junctures of Carmen’s journey, the two characters don’t connect. There is a sequence with the two dancing in the desert, a bold proclamation of their love, but it is at a point where the film has barely defined what it is that actually draws them together. Chemistry is not a problem, but chemistry can only do so much. There isn’t enough dancing between the two to chart their progress as a couple. Additionally, there is no connectivity from one dance sequence to another — it’s a task that is left to the French choir.

Paul Mescal and Melissa Barrera in Carmen

Carmen is a tragic romance that hinges upon Barrera and Mescal’s chemistry. Luckily, they have plenty of it; the heat between them radiates off the screen. The two do a lot to communicate their character’s desires and attraction to one another. Furthermore, both actors hold their own when expressing their character’s hopes for their lives. Barrera displays a level of ferocity that propels her Carmen into danger as she escapes for a better life. And Mescal dips into his sad boy bag to evoke a sensitivity and wounded spirit that, in the eyes of his family and community, is unbecoming of an American Marine. The actors and their dance sequences do a lot of heavy lifting to carry their tragic romance.

Sadly, Loïc Barrere, Alexander Dinelaris and Lisa Loomer’s script is flimsy at best.The film is far too abstract for its own good, relying on its visual narrative over any dialogue or plot to carry the story forward. Carmen is a cautionary tale of what not to do when experimenting with an internationally acclaimed classic. Without a proper script to guide our character’s journeys, both figuratively and metaphorically, the film becomes a weak show of limited artistry that barely captures the story that has captivated audiences for nearly 200 years.

We know what Millepied’s aim is, to have interpretive dance substitute for dialogue and character development, but ironically his attempt at centering human movement as a means of communication is hard to understand here. The experiment cannot escape accusations of pretension, and the grandiosity is underwhelming at best. Despite the strong performances, Millepied’s adaptation lacks clarity, focus, and confidence. The discombobulating trip is not made any better with a runtime that is nearly two hours long. Ambitious ideas and stunning visuals do not make for a great film, but Millepied should consider following his instincts to fight for an all-dance musical for his next feature.

Carmen is now playing in theaters. It is 116 minutes long and rated R for violence, language, and nudity.