The Wildest Dream

There are times when you sit there in the dark simply willing a film to step up to your absurdly high expectations, and then feel churlish as you emerge blinking into the foyer because it didn't quite get there.

Not quite getting there could be the tagline for The Wildest Dream. The material doesn't get much better; George Mallory's doomed 1924 Everest expedition, and the enduring mystery of whether or not he reached the summit before falling to his death with climbing partner Sandy Irvine. The photography is ravishing. The narration doesn't get more stellar; Liam Neeson, Ralph Fiennes, Alan Rickman and - in her last ever movie - Natasha Richardson.

And yet. Somehow the film manages to be less than the sum of its parts. Partly this is because too much is crowding for attention and in need of a ruthless edit. George Mallory's life and his triangular relationship with his wife and with Everest is enough for a film in its own right, but intercut is documentary footage of climber Conrad Anker - who found Mallory's body on Everest in 1999 - attempting to climb Mallory's route with English climbing prodigy Leo Houlding and dramatised reconstructions of Mallory's last attempt.

It comes across like a television mini-series poorly edited into a cinema production. Which is a shame, because both Mallory and Anker deserve better, and the film features some absolutely stunning cinematography; so stunning, in fact, that you spend much of your time wondering "How the heck did they film that at that altitude?" and feel inclined to forgive some of the hackneyed but brief elements of CGI.

As to the enduring mystery, director Anthony Geffen is clearly an incurable romantic and makes an almost convincing case for Mallory and Irvine getting to the top. Someone really should tell him, though, that no amount of wishful thinking will make 'summit' into a verb.

In short, a film that is ravishing to watch and listen to, but which ultimately frustrates by trying to deliver too much.