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.
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| 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. |
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.
Time passes; the newly married Maurizio and Patrizia receive an invitation to Aldo’s 70th birthday party. This is her introduction (and ours) to Maurizio’s uncle, and Pacino does not disappoint. Aldo is everything his brother is not: aggressive, outspoken, impulsive, impeccably dressed, flamboyantly ostentatious and given to impulsive gestures of extreme benevolence.
This, finally, is the lifestyle that Patrizia expected of the Gucci name. Lady Gaga’s smile is reptilian.
She also meets Aldo’s utterly hopeless son, Paolo (Jared Leto), who fancies himself a “with it” fashion designer, but has Absolutely. No. Taste.
“He’s an idiot,” Aldo acknowledges, more than once, with one of Pacino’s long-suffering sighs, “but he’s my idiot.”
Pacino chews up the scenery with style, his best moment coming in the third act, with an explosion of rage at Paolo’s most recent blunder, followed immediately — as the son reacts with sorrowful guilt — by an equally rapid, resigned softening. No parent has forgiven his son for more.
Leto’s portrayal extends far beyond acting; it’s a full-blown impersonation on par with his Academy Award-winning work in 2013’s Dallas Buyer’s Club. He’s utterly unrecognizable here, the transformation assisted by prosthetics and the genius of makeup artists Göran Lundström and Jana Carboni.
The resulting performance is sublime. Paolo is insufferably foolish, frequently irritating, but also pathetic and tragic. Most of what he spouts is utter nonsense, often non-sequiturs; we laugh despite ourselves. He’s encouraged solely by his loyal wife, Jenny, played by Florence Andrews as a blindly naïve co-dependent.
Once again, the wheels churn behind Patrizia’s eyes.
At this point, both sons have becomes disappointments to their fathers. Perhaps, she suggests to Maurizio, it would be beneficial to spend time with Aldo. In New York.
He resists, but ultimately cannot refuse.
And, in very little time, Maurizio’s bearing shifts. Driver’s shoulders no longer slump; he no longer has trouble meeting somebody’s gaze. Patrizia doesn’t know it yet — despite her cunning, she’s far from savvy — but she may be crafting something she cannot control.
She’s also not entirely rational, having by this point fallen entirely under the spell of Pina Auriemma (Salma Hayek), an eccentric television psychic who lives with multiple cats, and claims to read her new friend’s future. (As if Patrizia needed further encouragement to behave badly.)
Jack Huston is a quietly telling presence as Domenico De Sole, the Gucci family’s financial advisor. He never raises his voice — indeed, he often stands silently, missing nothing — but clearly wields considerable influence, particularly over Rodolfo.
Two additional players pop up in the third act. Camille Cottin is posh and proper as Paolo Franchi, one of Maurizio’s longtime friends, whose regal refinement is in direct contrast to Patrizia’s blatant vulgarity. Both women loathe each other on sight.
Reeve Carney, finally, is a striking presence as young, up-and-coming American fashion designer Tom Ford: a name that lifts everybody’s eyebrows on screen and off, when he becomes an (initially) minor player in what turns into a high-stakes power struggle.
The film’s other champion is costume designer Dominic Young, who pours Lady Gaga into more than 70 outfits as the narrative proceeds: everything from Gucci originals to “looks” inspired by Helmut Newton, Versace and Gina Lollobrigida. The men are clothed with equal elegance, if less extravagantly: the polished Saville Row/Beverly Hills look.
Honestly, it’s wholly entertaining to simply anticipate how Lady Gaga will enter the next scene.
Johnston and Bentivegna’s script compresses actual events a bit. Founder Guccio Gucci actually had five sons and a daughter; Patrizia and Maurizio had two daughters, not just the one we see here. But the key plot bumps are rigorously faithful to actual events, particularly as the third act builds to its jaw-dropping conclusion.
House of Gucci runs long, at 157 minutes, but it never sags; unlike many recent films, it warrants such length and firmly holds our attention.
Who knew that a clothing empire could be so scandalous?
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