House of Gucci: Dressed to Kill

House of Gucci (2021) • View trailer

4.5 stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity, sexual content, brief nudity and violence

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.26.21

These folks would have been right at home in the 15th century, living next door to the Borgias.

 

Ridley Scott’s cheeky depiction of the Machiavellian treachery, manipulation, avarice and grasping ambition that roiled the fabled Italian fashion empire for two decades, is a showcase of bravura acting chops by five high-wattage stars. The narrative approach is simultaneously giddy, sordid and occasionally laugh-out-loud funny, the latter due to the often arch script by Becky Johnston and Roberto Bentivegna, adapting Sara Gay Forden’s 2000 non-fiction book.

 

Patrizia (Lady Gaga, second from right) listens intently as Aldo Gucci (Al Pacino, far
right) waxes enthusiastic about his plans for the fashion empire, while — from left —
Paolo Gucci (Jared Leto), his wife Jenny (Florence Andrews) and Maurizio Gucci
(Adam Driver) listen, with varying degrees of interest.

Ah, the obscenely rich. They truly are their own repugnant species.

At its core, this is the saga of two fathers, two sons, and the scheming woman who — with impressive success — maneuvers them against each other. The latter is played by Lady Gaga, with a mesmerizing blend of dramatic intensity and voluptuousness rarely seen on screen since Marilyn Monroe’s reign. We hang on her every word, deed and sinuous shimmy; cinematographer Dariusz Wolski ensures that she’s framed and lighted — and frequently shadowed, within sinister darkness — for maximum carnality.

 

The setting is the late 1970s. Patrizia Reggiani is introduced working for her adoptive father, Fernando (Vincent Riotta), who runs a successful Italian trucking empire. Scott opens his film as Patrizia saunters to the trailer office on an average morning, in a form-fitting va-va-voom dress, deliberately teasing the drivers hosing down their rigs. It’s an entrance, by Lady Gaga at her most vampish, that tells us everything necessary about this woman.

 

Her family’s success allows Patrizia to mingle with the jet set; during a discotheque party, she chances to meet Maurizio Gucci (Adam Driver). He’s shy and bookish, clearly uncomfortable in this raucous, libidinous environment; Driver is oddly endearing in this stammering nerd mode.

 

Patrizia seems unlikely to give him a second glance; indeed, her initial approach is mildly taunting, which embarrasses Maurizio even further. But her attitude abruptly shifts upon hearing his last name; we can practically hear the click of opportunistic hunger behind her eyes.

 

She subsequently stalks him. He’s surprised and flattered, and succumbs all too quickly. Really, he’s no match for her.

 

Maurizio takes her to meet his father, Rodolfo (Jeremy Irons), who with his bother Aldo (Al Pacino) controls the Gucci empire. But although Rodolfo carefully safeguards his 50 percent, wholly expecting Maurizio — studying to become a lawyer — to one day take his place, he has little to do with business operations. He’s distant, withdrawn and distracted by ghosts from his past.

 

Even so, Rodolfo is a shrewd, steely eyed judge of character, and he sizes up Patrizia in a heartbeat. “She is not the girl for you,” he cautions, in a stern tone that matches the gravitas Irons summons for the moment. But Maurizio, hopelessly in love, ignores this counsel.

 

The aftermath is severe.

A Star Is Born: Loses some sparkle

A Star Is Born (2018) • View trailer 
3.5 stars. Rated R, for relentless profanity, sexuality and nudity, and substance abuse
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.5.18

This saga is as sure-fire as The Three Musketeers, and it has been brought to the big screen almost as many times.

Jackson (Bradley Cooper) is at his best when he stops drinking long enough to noodle
a new song on the piano. Unfortunately, as Ally (Lady Gaga) soon discovers, such
moments are becoming increasingly rare.

The original William A. Wellman/Robert Carson story set the template back in 1937, with Janet Gaynor and Fredric March starring in the alternately exhilarating and melancholy tale of a wannabe actress’ chance encounter with a sympathetic veteran: her star on the rise, and his on the wane. Ships passing in the night from opposite directions, their encounter incandescent and mutually beneficial … but all too brief.

Shifting the narrative to the music industry was a brilliant touch, as took place in subsequent remakes of this rock-solid story. That solidified the formula, because there’s always a new diva-to-be waiting in the wings, as musical taste evolves.

So yes, this 2018 edition of A Star Is Born has much to recommend it: most notably an impressive big-screen dramatic debut by Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta, better known as Lady Gaga.

Definitely a (dare I say it?) star-making performance.

She’s a standout during this film’s first act, as her character reels from wary vulnerability to giddy enthusiasm, not quite willing to believe the opportunity that has dropped into her lap. She’s touching, bubbly, feisty and wholly convincing as a nervous neophyte singer/songwriter who’s terrified of exposing herself to public censure: quite remarkable, for somebody with Lady Gaga’s actual performance chops.

You’ll detect a definite echo of 1968’s Funny Girl, where — in its first act — the already quite accomplished Barbra Streisand similarly conveyed the panic of inexperience. (In a droll touch, Lady Gaga’s Ally also is self-conscious about the size of her nose.)

It’s difficult to ascertain if Lady Gaga’s acting ability is instinctive, or whether first-time director and co-star Bradley Cooper coaxed something magical from her; we won’t know until she has more film work under her belt. But there’s no denying the result: She’s equally powerful whether delivering a song, or during a particularly heartbreaking dramatic moment.

Too bad Cooper didn’t trust her more.

He makes several mistakes, as a first-time triple-threat hyphenate (also co-credited for scripting, alongside Eric Roth and Will Fetters, with a nod toward Wellman and Carson). The screenplay isn’t deep enough — sidebar characters are shamefully underused — to justify a running time of 135 minutes. He should have let editor Jay Cassidy do his job. 

(In fairness, the 1954 Judy Garland version is even longer, at 154 minutes.)

Cooper also is too self-indulgent. He favors slow reaction shots, particularly with his own character; it often feels like he’s struggling to remember his lines. And yes: Even for a quasi-musical, and even given the strength and appeal of the original songs by Lukas Nelson, Jason Isbell, Mark Ronson and Lady Gaga herself, there are too many of them. This is supposed to be a melodrama, not a concert documentary.