Carlo Broschi (1705-82), known as Farinelli, was the most famous castrato of his age - one of those unfortunate boys whose testicles were removed before puberty to prevent his sweet, pure voice from ever changing. "The combination of the larynx of a youth, and the chest and lungs of a man produced a powerful voice of great range and sound," according to my encyclopedia. But as a playmate warns him before he is hauled away for the operation, "Your death is in your voice." (At the time, "death" had many meanings, especially in romantic poetry.) There is something about a sexually ambiguous man that drives some women into a frenzy; his very unavailability is a goad. In "Farinelli," we see how the singer's irresistible lure was used in a bait-and-switch routine with his untalented brother Riccardo.

Farinelli would seduce a female admirer, and then Riccardo would supply the missing parts.

Was Farinelli happy in this lifestyle? Yes, apparently he was.

He was rich, famous and adored - so idolized, in fact, that he was often willing to allow his artistic ambition to be sidetracked by the romantic and financial needs of his brother. The greatest composers in Europe wanted to write for his voice, but for many years his principal composer was Riccardo, who was no Handel (as Handel himself points out several times in the movie).

"Farinelli," one of the 1995 Oscar nominees in the foreign film category, is onto an interesting story, all right, but it leaves us feeling, like some of Farinelli's lovers, that something is missing.

What, exactly, is the point? To depict an interesting lifetime? It does. To tell us something meaningful about music, and about how it was taken so seriously that for more than a century few people seriously challenged the practice of castration? Here it is less successful, confusing music with fame, fame with sexuality.

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