Director: Ridley Scott

Starring: Lady Gaga, Adam Driver, Al Pacino, Jeremy Irons

Primary genre: Biography

Secondary genre: Crime

Third genre: Drama

Nominated for: Best make up

Oh my, how low the mighty have fallen. Of course we are talking about British director Ridley Scott (“Alien“ (1979), “Blade Runner“ (1982), “Black Rain“ (1989), “Gladiator“ (2000)). His “House of Gucci” is best described as a unique experience, a cinematic anomaly of epic proportions similar to the output of M. Night Shyamalan in “The Last Airbender” (2010).

Pushed as a (more) mainstream vehicle for Lady Gaga to flex her acting muscles, “House of Gucci” tells the story of Patrizia Reggiani, an ambitious woman who marries the heir of the eponymous house in order to climb the social ladder. What follows is a collage of thinly sketched sequences that attempt to present a supposedly Shakespearean aspired tale of love, ambition, monumental betrayal and old fashioned revenge missing any connecting tissue and most importantly, an established timeline. We do not know where we are and when we are. Scott is unsure of what type of tone he should be aiming for; his several emotionally contradicting moods end up cancelling each other out. When your story has Salma Hayek’s TV medium reading her cards in order to raise the dramatic stakes by intercutting to Maurizio’s infidelity much to Patrizia’s horror (no, really!) is the moment where any sort of substance has left the building.

Altering between a grandiose kitsch opera and a banal character drama with beats lifted straight from “Game of Thrones” (2011-2019), Scott’s film fails spectacularly on every conceivable level. The lack of depth in our antihero/villainess is a staggering problem offering nothing that could explain or suggest the reasoning behind her actions. Embracing Mexican TV soap opera tropes, the unintriguing Patrizia just does things and it shows as she is eventually sidelined in her own movie during the third (and most important) act. Gaga has nothing no material to work with besides an exquisite and extensive wardrobe while key events are bypassed or ignored and thus, wounding any aspects of dramatic heft in a labyrinth of superficial characterization; one day Maurizio is in love, the next he wants a divorce. “Goodfellas” (1990) of the fashion this ain’t.

The cast without being offered the necessary opportunity devours mountains of scenery at all times (excluding Adam Driver as the reserved Maurizio). While Pacino and Irons come unscathed, making the most of their ridiculous and underwhelming dialogue pay offs (i.e., imagine THAT infamous line from “X-Men” (2000) (“You know what happens when a toad gets struck by lighting?“) and multiply it by ten), it is a race between Gaga and Leto with the Pokerface’s bizarre Eastern European (somewhere between Bulgaria and Belarus) accent demonstrating how clueless the later American Italian generations are regarding their heritage. Yet nothing in this world can prepare you for what Leto did in his Paolo Gucci. More of a living acting gimmick than an accomplished actor and taking direct inspiration from the Super Mario games, his Paolo is an insult to all Italians, his performance transcending him into a higher plane of art form; a walking and absolute moronic caricature cliché and for that reason precisely he is so mesmerizing to watch painting the proceedings with “Showgirls” (1995) vibes of bad taste.

As it is to be expected from the US cinema, Italians are based on the elusive idea of the most minimal of cultural behavior. The roles incorporate every anticipated trait you can think off characterizing individuals more like idiotic and stereotypical cardboards instead of the novel gods of fashion they were (are). The choice of having the actors speaking English with exceedingly dodgy accents with a casual Italian word thrown in for good measure requires hearty is very distracting - in the 60s, this could be forgiven even though Fellini, Pasolini and Leone had been prolific at the same era. But this ain’t the 60s, it is the modern 2020s. Scott’s savvy direction cannot salvage this sinking ship despite its high production values and acting talent involved. The several production design anachronisms along with a misplaced, muted yet hyper-saturated cinematography and an on the nose soundtrack generate more artistic headaches in this Frankenstein monster of a film than admiration notes.

“House of Gucci” would have benefitted through the lens of someone who understands the Milanese culture and put an emphasis on the sheer vitality for which Italian cinema is known for. Even an American Italian director would have been deemed more suitable for this task. For all its numerous, Grand Canyon faults, Scott’s latest flick won’t elicit any emotional response unless you count a Pavlovian response to the countless product placement. However, it is so damn entertaining to watch several creative wrongs occupying the same space, especially if you come from Italy. This is a new love-to-hate-it film. A shame that came from Ridley Scott.

+Costume design

+Pacino/Irons bring some gravitas

+Leto, Leto, Leto!

+Gaga really tries

-OTT theatrics

-Accents are insultingly bad

-Leto, Leto, Leto!

-Terrible dialogue

-No pay offs

-Tonal inconsistency

-Offensive stereotypes

-No depth