With a title like that, you will be forgiven for thinking this film is about the great painter, Goya. Then after half an hour you decide it is more about the Roman Catholic Inquisition. With even more latitude, perhaps it is just a snapshot of the period. With lurid characterisation, too many axes to grind and a scant regard for fact, Milos Forman dishes up a colourful but shambolic, rambling mish-mash that fails on all three accounts.

Milos Forman (who lost his Jewish father to Nazi concentration camps), is the great director who painted the artist Mozart as a buffoon and got away with it. Won awards for it, in fact. His life in Czechoslovakia gave him a taste of diverse, repellent regimes, especially Communism. He also made the equally over-the-top but rather impressive, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. So, at the age of 74, how does he come to offer us this mess? In Goya's Ghosts, Goya is one step removed from buffoon. The main character is Brother Lorenzo, passionately acted by Javier Bardem. Natalie Portman is equally vibrant as Goya's model Ines (and later in the film, her own daughter). The tenuous connection with Goya is that he happens to paint both of them.

Lorenzo tortures (and then rapes) Ines who he suspects of being a Jew. Her father tortures Lorenzo. Napoleon dashes in to liberate Spain (briefly). Ines gets out of the dungeon the Church has left her in and searches for her child. Goya is still painting but has gone deaf. His main preoccupation seems to be helping Ines. And so on.

Historically, Goya was also a historian. As Forman had sadly relinquished the idea of a biopic of Goya the painter, this one fact could have been used to pull the whole film together  a large slice of history as seen by Goya. But the painter is too tangential to receive any weight. Similarly, a document of the terrors of the Inquisition should be done  compared to other despotic orders throughout time, the Holy See has been forgiven with barely a confession. Though one might ask if Forman is competent enough to be trusted with a factual account of anything.

"I thought this could be the heart of a wonderful story," he says in the production notes. "There were a great many parallels between the Communist society we lived under and the Spanish Inquisition." But the story is too tenuous to hold our attention. Against our expectations and with a background of something major (the life of a great painter, the horrors of the Inquisition, and even the French Revolution), we are instead asked to feel involved in a concocted (if kind) infatuation of Goya's. The result is that we feel cheated.

Background detail is appallingly handled. Goya went deaf in 1792 (when the film starts), not 15 years later. Napoleon is as believable as a cut-out from a cereal packet. We see the Church passing out a death sentence (when the normal procedure was for the Church to insist that the secular arm did that dirty work). Battles look overly-choreographed and stagey. A peppering of gratuitous naked bosoms hardly makes up for it.

On the positive side, the production values are mostly good. The colours are vivid, the pacing excellent (at least until we give up on finding any worthwhile storyline.) Bardem is excellent, and Portman is a joy until she goes into overdrive as a mad woman. While it doesn't say very much about Goya, what it does say is nice, even if superficial and pretty irrelevant.

I once had a late night drunken conversation where my friends and I asked each other, if you could choose a director to depict your life, who would it be? On his record, Forman would sadly have to be at the bottom of my list.

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