Watching François Girard's The Choir is a lot like eating nouvelle cuisine in the 1980s. What is on the plate is skilfully prepared and tasty, but there isn't nearly enough of it.

At the centre of the frame is 11-year-old Stet (cherubic and blonde Garrett Wareing) who lives quite literally on the wrong side of the tracks and goes to a rowdy school where he punches anyone who badmouths his alcoholic mother.

Debra Winger, who, long ago, in An Officer and a Gentleman, was carried off by a marine, has a nothing role as the head teacher (who did she upset in Hollywood?) but she has noted Stet's singing talent and, when a posh boys' school comes to visit, pushes for him to audition for Carvelle, the music master.

Girard wisely chose Dustin Hoffman for the role as he can turn the simple action of looking out of a window into a Strasberg master-class, not that Stet cares, as he runs away.

But the destinies of the music teacher and the gifted boy are intertwined obviously as Stet's unfortunate mother is killed and the wealthy father he has never met sends him to the posh school.

At this juncture, there was a great opportunity to show how Stet would have struggled in this ridiculously mannered environment, but we just get moody looks and a lot of shrugging.

The staff, which includes Kathy Bates as the head and Eddie Izzard as Carvelle's unpleasant, but likely successor just bicker about nothing, while Carvelle dreams of the day when his choir will finally take the top spot at a national singing competition.

But with Stet in the choir…

The music is magnificent and Girard who made Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould knows his way around the staves.

But like a filo thimble of beef with cranberry jus, there is simply not enough to leave you feeling emotionally full.