Self-titled as “the first ever Maltese opera film,” Blat is a journey only the strong-willed can take, patience a requirement to get through the technically disastrous and narratively disappointing affair.

I wouldn’t consider myself to be a fan of opera, but I do appreciate it. Like any other live performance, it isn’t simply about the enjoyment or the narrative; it is about the high level of skill required to hit the perfect notes, to harmonise with the music as a live orchestra show off their hours of practice.

Opera may not be an artform I seek, but it is one I value as these shows are closer to feats of human strength and creativity rather than a product simply made to entertain. It is intellectually engaging as emotion shines through the surreal melodies and crescendos, striking me even when I can’t understand what they are saying. Opera is beautiful, and Blat: The Island Fortress, Malta’s first self-titled film-opera, is anything but.

Set in World War II, the film loosely follows Madeleine (Nicola Said), a middle-class girl from Valletta whose family sides with imperial Britain over the fascist Italian alternative. In Shakespearean fashion, she falls for Mussolini sympathiser Marco (Angelo Muscat), the pair unable to formalise their forbidden love – except there is none.

As the film moves at a snail’s pace, Madeleine and Marco barely interact with each other; their few moments together weak at their best and painful to watch at their worst. But the issue is far worse than that.

The entire cast, whether it is a central role such as Astrid Cacciatore’s barmaid or a recurring extra, lack an amount of chemistry and believability. Every performance is theatrical and bombastic, cinematic subtlety thrown out the window in favour of comical and extreme caricatures – except when they sing.

The moment the music starts, and the pre-recorded vocals begin, everyone turns into a rigid statue, forgetting to show passion in the scenes where it is needed the most. When Madeleine sings down to Marco from her balcony, neither of them move a muscle as Marco holds a clear-as-day fake plastic rose (which is used multiple times in the film).

The wonder of live talent destroyed... the film never lets you forget its inauthenticity

What doesn’t help is the bare minimum attempt at lip-syncing to the music: more often than not, the vocals don’t match up with the actors at all as their mouths are clearly closed or at different parts of the song, reminding me of Italian-dubbed Dragon Ball I watched as a kid but with none of the charisma.

The musical issues don’t end there. Songs don’t transition into each other; instead, one of two options are chosen: either the film falls into complete silence for five seconds before the next track starts or the next song abruptly begins in the middle of the last.

When the cast ‘sing’ – a term I use loosely as it is visibly obvious that there is no sound coming out of their mouths – the audio quality is either clear or sounds like it was recorded in a bathroom, sometimes switching in the middle of a line. Even its sound design is haphazard: loud footsteps (once again, out of sync) arbitrarily thrown into a scene when the majority of the film lacks ambient sounds, or the same background noise clip looped with a noticeable gap in the middle.

However, the most troubling matter is the subtitles which desync from the lyrics twice. Twice! This isn’t the kind of issue that requires a budget to fix, only a quick quality assurance watch of the production before calling it a day – which clearly wasn’t done and only makes the film look rushed and amateur.

The war can’t come soon enough… Nicola Said.

I don’t understand why this was turned into a film, as every aspect of cinema is either overlooked or done without a second thought – if anything, it being a film hurts more than it helps. While the edit is extremely clunky and contributes heavily to the inconsistent and fake performances, the cinematography is a dimension that is completely forgotten about.

The camera adds nothing to the narrative, choosing to capture the actors awkwardly ‘singing’ near each other on location with little to no movement; the few times it does go in for a redeeming close-up it is either out of focus or the actor looks at the camera in the middle of the take.

In every direction, Blat underperforms; sponsored jewellery brands are shamelessly placed in view, breaking any sense of periodic immersion, while odd pieces of choreography are jammed into the film, often looking like a school talent show that is only being watched out of obligation. At no point is the magnificence of opera captured as every aspect feels fake and alien, the wonder of live talent destroyed while the film never lets you forget its inauthenticity.

And without opera it is just a film, one that goes nowhere and accomplishes nothing. It is indifferent and lethargic. It is unprofessional and unprepared. And above all, it is the worst descriptor a film can be: it is absolutely boring.