One of the hallmarks of a truly extraordinary story is its ability to be adapted countless times, including instances where it is mangled and reconfigured into entirely different contexts while still retaining some degree of resonance to the original work. This is precisely why artists like William Shakespeare and Franz Kafka have remained so incredibly popular, often having their work viewed as rites of passage for those entering into different areas of artistry. This is also why ancient mythology remains so relevant, even millennia after these legends were created. In the case of Greek mythology, few stories are more widely beloved than that of Orpheus and Eurydice, the star-crossed lovers who found that not even the finality of death could keep them apart, with the former plunging himself into the Underworld to rescue his beloved, despite the enormous risk. It is a legend that has been retold countless times, and yet still seems so fresh and exciting, even by more rigid contemporary standards. This is the foundation on which Virgilio Villoresi (who has previously made several short films, each one complex and engaging in its own right) constructs Orfeo, which is a retelling of the classic myth – and while it is adapted to a more familiar milieu, it would be disingenuous to call it a contemporary retelling, since there’s nothing about this film that is all that recognisable. Set in what appears to be the present day (or rather the closest approximation of it), the film is a nuanced, complex exploration of a classical myth that is quietly devastating and artistically daring, handcrafted by a filmmaker whose style is more than matched by the substance of his work, tackling an intimidating text with poise and elegance, and immediately establishing himself as an essential new voice in contemporary cinema.

What is the exact appeal of this particular legend, and why has it proven to be so enduring, especially in a format as notoriously challenging as this one? The answer isn’t obvious at first, but it becomes clearer when we strip away the historical context and instead focus on the themes themselves in isolation. The story of Orpheus and Eurydice is the ultimate expression of love – someone so hopelessly devoted to the person he considers his soulmate, he is willing to sacrifice everything to make her his own, including descending into the underworld. We are all attracted to stories about love defying the impossible (even those who allow their cynicism to get in the way of proper assessments), and all of this is perfectly encapsulated in this narrative. What Villoresi does that is so incredibly effective is he sets it in an uncanny version of reality – we think we’re in some iconic European metropolis like Paris or Rome or London (the exact location is never stated, intentionally so), but everything is slightly off-kilter and unconventional. Orpheus is now a pianist deeply in love with Eurydice – and rather than simply retelling the story beat-by-beat, the director creates his own bespoke riff on its central ideas. A good adaptation of a classical text should be allowed to take as many diversions as it sees fit, granted the destination is somewhat recognisable (or in case where it isn’t, at least be interesting enough to justify such a radical departure), and this is certainly the case here. It certainly does not require a working knowledge of the original myth – in fact, viewers who have never even heard of the story will be just as enthralled as those who have dissected every adaptation, since it is made so incredibly accessible through its strong, daring storyline. It’s a wonderfully compelling film, and one that knows exactly how to handle difficult subject matter in a way that feels authentic and engaging in equal measure.

The appeal of Orfeo comes in the visual aesthetic – the story is strong and very compelling (and does hold our attention for long enough to be considered a wholeheartedly successful adaptation), but what truly makes this film special is the effort that went into bringing it to life visually. Villoresi has a history in animation and other alternative means of storytelling, and he seems to be utilising all of those skills here, creating what can perhaps most appropriately be called a multimodal collage of ideas, an assemblage of styles and motifs that may not be particularly complex in isolation, but move with an extraordinary fluidity that feels much more earnest and unique than a lot of other adaptations. There are only so many versions of this myth that can be set during antiquity before it becomes exhausting, and while this is far from the first time an adaptation has been set in a more modern period, it is arguably one of the most visually striking as far as its form goes. Bright colours (found in both the costuming and production design), striking compositions, and a fluid sense of camera work come together to create something quite enthralling. Every frame in Orfeo could be a painting in its – and the director doesn’t hide his many inspirations, and is being quite clear that he looks towards people like David Lynch and Franz Kafka, two artists who could not be more different, but yet are united as influences on this strange confection of a tribute that combines their individual work with the director’s own unique and daring vision.

Choosing an adaptation of a classical text as your feature directorial debut does seem quite safe in theory, especially since audiences will be at least partially familiar with the material going on, requiring less effort on the part of the director when it comes to drawing our attention. However, something that Villoresi does that proves to be extraordinarily effective comes in how he chooses to interpret this classical myth, filtering a story told hundreds of times before in every conceivable medium through his own unique perspective. It’s a wonderful film – visually striking and daring in a way that we may not have imagined possible, especially for a story that has been retold so many times before. Ultimately, Orfeo is actually not a film that plans to be even vaguely definitive as far as adaptations go – it’s unconventional, daring and provocative and seems to be intent on challenging not only how we view this text, but understand the medium as a whole. It’s a film that takes its time and moves at its own pace (although it runs less than 80 minutes, a welcome change considering how many filmmakers may have been tempted to inflate it to a longer running time), but never bores us – the images alone are worth seeing the film, so, as far the underlying concepts that define this story. Bold and unflinching in its artistic vision, but also deeply moving in ways that would surprise even the most cynical of viewers, Orfeo is a tremendous film, and one of the biggest surprises of the past few years.