House of Gucci adds a trashy hue to the notion of decadence

Poor performances, weak cinematography, and inconsistent plotting fail to do the film’s lavish source material justice

Ridley Scott’s second cinematic foray of the year was met with great anticipation from fans the moment Lady Gaga evocatively uttered “father, son, and house of Gucci” in its first official trailer. The film promised a seductive, opulent, and gratifying exploration of the family politics and inner machinations of the lavish boutique empire. Instead, what crossed the screen was a hollow, lethargic, and inept melodrama that cemented itself as a seminal lesson in how not to construct a drama.

Almost every creative decision in House of Gucci directly conflicts with the tenets of what makes a great film. Throughout its runtime, the film is caught in a state of flux between being a prestige drama or a campy dramedy, creating an experience that is ultimately confounding and unremarkable, painting the decadent events of the film with a trashy hue.

House of Gucci follows Patrizia Reggiani (Lady Gaga), a woman of humble origin whose ambition leads her to marry Maurizio Gucci (Adam Driver), sparking an unravelling of the family legacy through debauchery, betrayal, and murder. But what could have been a captivating, mature, and entertaining delve into the rise and fall of the prolific Gucci family comes across as high camp. This could’ve been fine if Scott leaned into the camp style, but many scenes are laced with an ambition for high art which renders the film into a hodgepodge of conflicting styles, and consequently, inconsistent quality. Serious scenes that focus on complex family dynamics are slotted right next to ones that are absurd and highly comedic in tone, forcing the audience to bear the brunt of this perpetually shifting tenor in the film’s plot. Just as the dramatic underpinnings of the film seem to come into formation and begin building momentum, they are diluted by the next moment’s insistence on being farcical, making this tour through boutique fashion seem instead like a jaunt through a trite department store.

The fluctuating style and quality of the film are wholly encapsulated in the performances. Lady Gaga convincingly embodies the ferocity and cunning inherent in Patrizia’s ambition up until the moment she opens her mouth. Gaga fails to nail down the accent, as her attempt at an Italian dame comes across as more annoying than alluring. Her performance throws every notion of subtlety out the window, opting instead for oversaturation, which results in a caricature rather than a character.

Jared Leto’s Paolo Gucci continues this trend of overacting as he plays the archetypal jester within this cast of characters. The scenes he occupies are, at the very least, entertaining, but they imbue the plot with an absurdity that lingers over the ensuing dramatic scenes.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Adam Driver’s Maurizio and Jeremy Iron’s Rodolfo are understated, with performances more reflective of the human stakes that are meant to underlie the film.

This stark juxtaposition between naturalism and hyperbole traps the film between two opposing forces—one that is going for lighter fare and the other for emotional heft. This ultimately hinders the narrative, as key plot points come and go without any real resonance. Al Pacino’s performance as Aldo Gucci is the only one that successfully walks the line between comedy and drama. His range brings to life a man who exudes both depraved excess and emotional gravitas.

House of Gucci is filled to the brim with beautiful people and locations, but none of it is filmed beautifully. Like the audience, the camera is a passive observer. The cinematography never takes an active role in conveying key motifs or emotional information. It allows the script to do all the heavy lifting, as the camerawork only exists to serve its basic function: capturing the people who are acting on screen. The shot compositions do nothing to prevent this film from becoming a slog that overstays its welcome before coming to a deflating end that leaves so much to be desired.

Ridley Scott’s second feature film of the year is one that is in desperate need of a reimagining. The plot, acting, and cinematography are in a perpetual clash with one another as they create an experience that feels emotionally unfulfilling. The storied past of the Gucci family was begging for a dazzling cinematic rendition that showcased their dissolution with tact and storytelling confidence. But all we are left with is a film that redefines the notion of decadence as something that is trashy rather than enrapturing.

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