As Figaro, Gobbi revels - almost too ebulliently - in the plenitude of his youthful powers, always a lively presence. Tagliavini sings in that honeyed tone that made him famous, but acts poorly. The film is in some ways most worth catching for Taranto, pompous and tetchy as Bartolo should be, and Tajo, a wide-eyed and zany Basilio, both giving an object-lesson in a kind of outrageous comedy and verbal acuity that is almost a lost art. The Rosina is inadequate, constantly fey and flirtatious in the manner of a B picture 1930s actress and singing unsteadily in a tweety soprano. Giuseppe Morelli's conducting is lively enough.
The staging looks, inevitably, dated. The score is seriously foreshortened, the remaining music amounting to not much more really than extended excerpts. The lip-synch is appalling. Even so, if you make allowances for these shortcomings, there's much to enjoy in the performances of the male principals.'