Watch Lady Gaga plot a murder. Eat a bowl of Olive Garden Alfredo fettuccine. Twin experiences separated at birth?
Recently I had dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant in Austin. I won’t give the name, but a friend had an absurdly generous gift card. We racked up nearly $ 500 on the gift voucher, I can’t stress this enough, card – and for dinner I ordered a dish renowned for its elegant perfection, cacio e pepe.
Everything was fine. How are you. But if I spend a few car payments for a meal, I think the food should be better than the good. Otherwise, I’d rather go to that kitschy bastion, Olive Garden, and sink into a gallon of heavy cream and Parmesan cheese for a fraction of the price.
By the way: “House of Gucci” is not fine dining. It’s much more delicious than that.
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Ridley Scott’s True Crime Story stars Lady Gaga as Patrizia Reggiani, the activist who married into the Gucci fashion empire and, when rejected by her husband, took her frustrations away in a most murderous way. The attributes are all there for some serious drama: 80-year-old director, pop star seeking to take over Hollywood more via a biopic, a murder for account / crime of passion arc based on real events. Just like the golden Gs on a Gucci belt, the whole affair screams prestige.
Fortunately, “House of Gucci” is much more imaginative than that. Scott and screenwriters Becky Johnston and Roberto Bentivegna found sexy silliness in all of this luxury. Period fashion? Always meticulous. The panoramic views of the Reaganite glass villas and penthouses? Sumptuous. Cameos and historical references? Damn, thank goodness.
And with Lady Gaga in the foreground, it’s a big slice of rich, ricotta-filled cinematic magic.
Gaga is undoubtedly the star, and yet every time she’s not on screen in “House of Gucci” it gets a little harder to watch. From the first moments of the movie, she purrs “luxury” and “power” in that Super Mario Bros. voice, and you’re hooked. All she does – write her phone number in lipstick, sneak through a zippered truck yard in 1970s secretarial tailoring, indulge in Donna Summer under a disco ball, play the agent junior of the FBI in a library with a scarf on his head – is a pure prominent woman. .
And these moments are just the beginning. During “House of Gucci”, Gaga takes Patrizia of a nervous young woman out of her depth, who jumps when Rodolfo Gucci (Jeremy Irons) says her name, to a gabagool gargoyle, her heart contorted with a greed that makes itself rare. on her heels, betrays her and buries her in a golden coffin. For something this strong, it’s a beautifully nuanced turn.
A constellation of men (and a pinch of Salma Hayek to taste) orbit her. Adam Driver, as Patrizia’s husband Maurizio Gucci, opts for a silent awkwardness that gently slides into cruel indifference. Its giant glasses should benefit from shared billing. Al Pacino is the benevolent opulence embodied by label boss Aldo Gucci. It’s Pacino, and that’s all it needs to be. Likewise, Irons is precisely moving a muscle to play the faded nobility of the disapproving stepfather Rodolfo, which makes less sense, since Jeremy Irons is British, but also makes a lot of sense, as he was probably born in a jacket. silk tuxedo.
And then there’s the Jared Leto affair, slipping into a vat of latex to play oafish cousin Paolo Gucci. Beyond any hope of a divine plan, the guy from 30 Seconds to Mars has carved out a place for himself in Hollywood as a sort of chameleon acting methodically. Here he is unrecognizable as the “House of Gucci” clown, a big bald rascal who is as inept as he is confident.
It’s a pretty pointless performance – you don’t need someone doing “The Nutty Professor” antics while you also have Lady Gaga sprinkling Parmesan on the set before she bites – but it does. is also undeniably funny. It is also perhaps the last link in the chain of realism at House of Gucci.
As you can see, each manager takes a slightly different approach to the task. We will call it the Irons-Leto continuum. The chameleonic quality of every movie star’s portrayal of an obscenely wealthy ghoul, however, is not worth noting here. This is the thing that makes “House of Gucci” a hoot instead of a cringe.
As Patrizia, Gaga is a lot of things: vain, venal, idealistic, loving, vibrant, clingy. But above all, she is one thing: an impostor. Initially, she cannot distinguish a Klimt from a Picasso. Later, in a fit of projection, she becomes obsessed with the proliferation of counterfeit Gucci handbags, seeking to wipe them from the face of the earth. You see, even when she’s whispered into enough ears to reach the top of a Swiss ski resort, Patrizia is still a strong jealous pop of color in a snow-white world. She knows that deep down there will always be a tell.
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“House of Gucci” is a big part of the big philosophical questions of its eponymous fashion brand. What is Gucci? Is it Gucci? It’s not Gucci! The characters in the film are obsessed (sometimes tediously) with the idea of guessing the soul of an empty pair of moccasins. You can play the movie as a simple camp adventure and enjoy it as well. But there is something harmonious about a cavalcade of awkwardly wealthy suitors, and with extremely varied results, ripping their characters to match what they think this artificial idea looks like.
That’s why conversations about the accuracy of Gaga’s Italian accent are boring. We do not care? Like Patrizia, she’s pretending, but it’s not a fraud. Some things taste better than the real deal.
“House of Gucci”
Class: B +
With : Lady Gaga, Adam Driver, Jared Leto, Al Pacino
Director: Ridley scott
Rated: R for certain sexual content, language, brief nudity, violence
Duration of operation: 2 hours 37 minutes
To concern: In theaters