House of Gucci

House of Gucci

A monumental chore to sit through; there’s at least an air of arch camp ridiculousness, which maybe is enough for some, but this sort of film just strikes me as profoundly pointless. Whether it’s the standard, blandly interchangeable biopic format or this new wave of pop-trash miniseries that are like gawking at the wreckage of juicy historical scandals, it all mostly amounts to a bunch of celebrities playing dress-up to perform Wikipedia entries and gossip columns. Scott and company here compound the film’s already inherent uselessness by getting a bunch of American stars to speak in English, but with thick Italian accents, for reasons that completely escape me; I think I at least made out about two-thirds of Lady Gaga’s lines, though I’m sure she’s very proud of her stunt, a colossal act of Oscar-chasing vanity that lets itself off the hook by misunderstanding the concept of Method acting. “Never confuse shit with chocolate. They may look the same, but they taste very different.” As painful as it is that this is an actual quote from the film, more painful yet is the fact of whatever it is Jared Leto’s doing while delivering it. A film that’s far more interested in the backroom corporate goings-on of Gucci’s empire than its salacious hook would suggest; the only thing that kept me from leaving was some dim hope that all the ludicrously underdeveloped bottom-barrel soap-opera passions would at least erupt into something kind of unhinged. They didn’t.

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