If you’re expecting something of the presence Ledger delivers in Brokeback Mountain, I suggest you stay on your horse and keep riding. In director Lasse Hallström’s hands, Casanova is a pleasing trifle from the man that brought us Chocolat. It is, perhaps, as sweet and, perhaps, as deniable. For where the former had an edgy tartness, this sugar has been mixed with syrup. Ledger is agreeable as the legendary lover for whom all Venice was agog, although he’s hardly stretched. The film requires he look as handsome as the production around him, which he does. Agreeably.

This version of legend suggests that the loin stirring, nun-banging, Papal enraging Casanova of yore was, in fact, coupled up. While guilty of such charges, he fell for a woman of fiery heart and before you could say pipe and slippers, they were planning to elope. Of course, their story is complicated by a merchant with first rights, a rampaging Bishop and the tricky matter of a woman’s male impersonations.

All of which makes for fine, glossy entertainment. Carry On Casavnoa, if you will.A lively screenplay by Jeffrey Hatcher (Stage Beauty) keeps things moving while Oliver Stapleton’s (Restoration) cinematography captures the age in all its golden essence. Irons and Oliver Platt are particularly easy to watch, Venice even easier. The disappointment is Hallström’s treatment. There’s nothing especially wrong with it, simply that he hasn’t tried especially hard. Here is no rival to the recent television adaptation that covered the same story in largely the same fashion. Casanova is unambitious – a feather-light entertainment that tickles the eye instead of the heart.

// COLIN FRASER