Every year, there's always one big, Oscar-baiting prestige epic, boasting top talent and top-of-the-line production values, that opens around the holidays and fails to be as good as it should have been.

This year, it's "Memoirs of a Geisha."

That's not to say "Geisha" is a bad film. But this is not the masterpiece it could have been. It's directed by Rob Marshall, the Academy Award-nominated director of "Chicago." It's based on a hugely popular novel. It boasts a talented pan-Asian cast of international stars and features a score by maestro John Williams. Yet despite all this, something, somewhere, just doesn't seem to work.

Visually, it's a different story. This is one of the most gorgeous films ever made, hands down. The cinematography, the costumes, the sets, the music - all superb. But for all of its visual splendor, "Memoirs of a Geisha" has all the emotional resonance of a pair of chopsticks.

Based on Arthur Golden's best-selling novel, "Memoirs of a Geisha" follows a young girl named Chiyo who is sold by her struggling family and brought into training to become a geisha. Geisha, in pre-World War II Japan, were an elite and mysterious group of women who provided companionship and a unique set of skills to men with the money to pay for it. But they were not prostitutes. They offered services of another kind.

Chiyo eventually grows up to become Sayuri, the most celebrated Geisha in all Japan, but her struggles lead her down paths she never expects, as she finds herself drawn to the mysterious Chairman, in a world where love is forbidden.

It's a fascinating story and a glimpse into a world that few Western eyes have seen. But Marshall seems so enraptured by the beauty of his own film that he forgets to infuse his story with the emotion and depth it needs to pull us in. The camera sweeps, Williams' marvelous cello theme swells, the colors swirl. And yet, it's hard to be drawn into this world when that's all the movie seems to be.

Oscar nominations are almost assured for Williams, cinematographer Dione Beebe, production designer John Myhre and costume designer Colleen Atwood. Their work is staggeringly good; their vivid recreation of pre-WWII Japan is swooningly ravishing.

But I am still amazed that such a talented group couldn't have made a more satisfying film. I wanted to like it. And I did, to some degree. After all, such a beautiful film could hardly be considered a failure. And it isn't completely. Ziyi Zhang (making her English-language debut after such international hits as "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" and "House of Flying Daggers") makes an attractive lead, and Ken Watanabe ("The Last Samurai") and Michelle Yeoh ("Crouching Tiger") elevate anything they are in. They keep the film just interesting enough to be worth all the visual effort behind it, but it is never lifted to the plane of greatness that it could and should have been.

"Memoirs of a Geisha" certainly is beautiful to look at, but it holds the audience at bay with one dainty, silk-shrouded arm.
