Jeremy Irons | Screenlife Reviews

Giving Ridley Scott the keys to the Gucci story – a wild tale of family, betrayal and murder – should have made for one of the most arresting crime capers of the veteran director’s career. After all this is the man who gave us Gladiator, American Gangster and just this year The Last Duel. The result therefore is as baffling as it is frustrating; House of Gucci may just be Scott’s most bizarre film to date – a tonally jarring mishmash of humour and intense drama that does neither particularly successfully thanks to some truly horrendous performances and a painfully slow pace that somehow manages to also feel as if it is rushing through its dense narrative.

When working class Patrizia Reggiani (Lady Gaga) runs into heir to the Gucci fashion fortune Maurizio (Adam Driver), she senses that her fortunes are about to change, latching onto the man who is intent on becoming a lawyer and leaving his family’s business behind. When Maurizio introduces his new girlfriend to his hotheaded father Rodolfo (Jeremy Irons), he senses Patrizia’s less than honourable intentions, cutting his son off from the fortune and ceasing all contact as Maurizio assumes a less glamorous, but fulfilling life with his new bride.

But when Maurizio’s boisterous uncle Aldo (a fantastic Al Pacino) learns of his brother and nephew’s estrangement he makes it his mission to bring Maurizio and Patrizia back into the fold, offering him a lucrative job at Gucci and indoctrinating Patrizia into a life of luxury she could only have dreamt of. As Patrizia’s manipulation of Maurizio into taking the reigns of Gucci becomes more and more damaging to the rest of the family, including Aldo’s dimwitted son Paolo (Jared Leto), she is forced to consider desperate measures to stop the monster she helped create.

What immediately stands out about House of Gucci is the Italian accents. Everyone in the film attempts them, largely to godawful results outside of Al Pacino, and it is the first sign that something is not quite right. By and large it doesn’t stop the genuinely good performances of Adam Driver or Jeremy Irons from shining through but in Jared Leto’s case it turns what seems to be Scott making a serious attempt at telling this story in dramatic fashion into a farcical mess. Swathed in prosthetics and make-up, Leto completely loses himself in the character of Paolo. Unfortunately that character plays as more of a Mario Brother than a convincing human being, with Leto’s offensively stereotypical Italian accent taking the character to levels of parody the rest of the film is not prepared to follow. Every time his dimwitted, fat-suit laden character appears on-screen you can guarantee that the scene will devolve into unintentional hilarity, often at the expense of genuinely compelling dialogue or a pivotal beat, forgotten in the wake of Leto’s ridiculousness.

The film’s overall forgetfulness is also compounded by the strange pacing decisions Scott makes in his telling of Maurizio and Patrizia’s story. The introduction to these characters feels incredibly rushed, with them meeting and together within the opening fifteen minutes. We never get a reasonable amount of time to establish the characters or reason why we should care about them other than their functions within the story; Gaga as the manipulative temptress seeking status and Driver the unwitting cog in her plan, forced to betray his family for power and getting swept up in the allure of that power himself.

Once this dynamic is established Scott meanders through the inner workings of Patrizia’s long con, which mostly involves displays of exorbitant wealth and the obvious journey through Gucci’s fashionable history. Sure we get the impression that these characters are slowly transforming through their experiences, but once again Scott rushes the sudden switch Driver undergoes into monstrous business owner and Gaga’s sudden departure from that world, culminating in a finale that should be a lot more impactful than it is, with Scott keeping the audience at an arms length from his characters at all times; never allowing us to form any meaningful connection to them.

Much has been made of Gaga’s performance but she only narrowly escapes the same issues as Leto, her accent constantly wavering between an exaggerated Italian and Russian as she hams it up every chance she gets. Whenever a scene skews particularly dramatic or “awards-worthy” Gaga goes berserk, rarely giving anyone else in the scene a chance to go back and forth as she commands the room, regardless of the context of the conversation. It’s a distracting method of acting that undermines these important scenes, where Gaga could have benefitted from a “less is more” approach she almost always pivots the other way, regardless of how that affects the scene. For someone who schemed and plotted from the shadows as Patrizia Reggiano did, there never seems to be much quiet intensity in Gaga’s performance, replaced by a need to shine and exaggerate even the most imperceptible traits.

House of Gucci is a strange anomaly in Ridley Scott’s filmography; a concept that on paper looks suited to his particular talent for complex, intense storytelling but which in practicality devolves into a messy, haphazardly paced jumble of poor accents and jarring tonal shifts. It almost feels like Scott on autopilot; a perfunctory telling of a story that could have been a gripping, steadily intensifying examination of a family on the way to a breakdown. Instead we’re left with a film that will at best gain a cult following for Jared Leto’s hilariously bad performance and at worst fade from collective consciousness.

House of Gucci stars Lady Gaga, Adam Driver, Al Pacino, Jeremy Irons, Jared Leto, Jack Huston & Salma Hayek – In cinemas now.

4/10

Director’s cuts are not an uncommon occurrence in the movie industry. We’ve seen classics like Blade Runner and Apocalypse Now improve upon the already iconic finished products and some not as successful attempts (sorry George Lucas). Zack Snyder’s Justice League may be the most deserving of all for its director to be given a second chance, with the original 2017 film caught in a storm of personal grievances and restrictive studio mandates which eventually led to his replacement by Avengers director Joss Whedon. The resulting product was a surface level fight-fest, with nary a full character arc in sight, that attempted to please studio executives rather than the fan base rampant to see out Snyder’s vision, which began with 2013’s excellent Man of Steel. Finally, after years of vehement online support, Warner Bros acquiesced, allowing Snyder to present his full, gigantic 4 hour vision of the ultimate DC super-hero team-up on streaming services around the world. Does it live up to the hype? Yes and no. Let’s get into it.

For the uninitiated, the broad strokes of Justice League centre around Batman (Ben Affleck) and Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot) attempting to recruit a team of super-powered individuals to fight against the oncoming threat of Steppenwolf (Ciarán Hinds), an intergalactic being hell-bent on destroying the Earth and cultivating it into an apocalyptic wasteland for big bad Darkseid (Ray Porter). In order to do this, he must collect the DC equivalent of the Infinity Stones, the Mother Boxes; three cubes scattered across the globe which, when combined, create an unstoppable force to change the planet to the user’s will. As the newly formed Justice League – now including Aquaman (Jason Momoa), Flash (Ezra Miller) and Cyborg (Ray Fisher) – clash with Steppenwolf, they begin to realise that their only way to achieve victory may be through some less than ethical means and a recently deceased Kryptonian.

Simply put, Zack Snyder’s Justice League is the vastly superior version of the film, feeling like far more of a thematically and tonally consistent sequel to Man of Steel and Batman v Superman than Whedon’s cut. Narratively it is a very similar beast, with majority of the big action set-pieces remaining intact, but where Whedon’s version threw away character development and story in favour of quippy one-liners and mindless filler scuffles, Snyder restores these aspects, with a particular focus placed on the characters of Cyborg and Steppenwolf, two of the most underserved and generic characters from the 2017 film. Cyborg’s origin and relationship with his father is the emotional centre of the film, leaving the baffling question as to why Whedon chose to remove the only fully fledged character arc from his movie. Fisher is wonderful as the troubled half-man half-machine, conflicted over his feelings towards his father’s work that left him alive but cost him his mother and any semblance of a normal life. No longer does Cyborg simply become a hero after a pep-talk from Wonder Woman, but from some serious soul-searching and forgiveness, a theme Ben Affleck’s caped crusader learnt the hard way in Batman v Superman.

Ciarán Hinds’ incompetent villain Steppenwolf is also reworked into a more sympathetic character this time around, less concerned with collecting macguffins to destroy the world than he is to serve out a debt owed to Darkseid and win back his place as the right-hand man of DC’s answer to Thanos. Sure this may be shown in something of a clumsy and eerily relatable way, with Steppenwolf communicating with his boss via a series of magical Zoom calls, but using redemption as a motivator following an implied betrayal of Darkseid makes for a much more interesting character. Steppenwolf’s revamp extends to the visual side as well, marking a significant upgrade for the creature who has gone from a poorly rendered, gladiator armour wearing alien to a ferocious, spike clad minion of death, worthy of the threat Snyder insistently reminds us he is to the newly formed league of heroes. The scenes involving Steppenwolf also showcase a new feature of the Snyder Cut: the R rating. Gore features heavily as Steppenwolf slices and dices his way through scores of Amazonian and Atlantean soldiers, who explode in puffs of viscera at the blade of his lethal axe. It’s an unneeded touch for sure, likely to alienate the ever-present audience of young children who come to these films to see Superman and Wonder-Woman kick butt without any evidence of actual harm, but it certainly fits in with Snyders MO of throwing everything at his likely last outing in the DC universe.

That’s right, all the quirks that come with Zack Snyder’s style are present here on a scale larger than anything we have seen before. That includes some truly cringe inducing dialogue, a return to the gritty, grounded characters of before (gone is the giddily childish humour of Whedon) and as much slow-motion action that the human mind can physically endure before exploding. Seriously, at times it feels like a quarter of the film is just slow-motion shots of our heroes narrowly avoiding a bullet or pushing something out of the way of harm. The lack of a restriction on runtime allows for all sorts of overindulgence on Snyder’s part, from an extended scene of hymns to Aquaman sung by an Icelandic village to an almost Return of the King number of endings, including the much hyped “Knightmare” sequence, which serves as an intriguing, if unfulfilling look at where Snyder’s proposed trilogy of films would have gone. Jared Leto’s singular scene as the Joker here is better than the entirety of Suicide Squad, even if it is about a fraction of the length of that mess, but doesn’t elevate the film significantly or warrant a complete viewing on its own merits.

The continued narrative of Superman continues to be Snyder’s greatest contribution to this iteration of the DC universe, even if he doesn’t lean into the character’s moral compass as much as in Man of Steel, with his endlessly positive message of hope ringing louder now than ever. It is genuinely exciting to see him return to save the day, and the touches of Hans Zimmer’s Man of Steel score in Thomas Holkenborg’s completely re-recorded and otherwise rather generic score are goosebump inducing during the climactic fight scenes. Cavill’s performance is one for the ages and the fact that this may very well be the last time we see him don the blue and red (or black this time around) suit can’t help but feel bittersweet, especially given this film’s lack of importance to the overarching DC story going forward, with Warner Bros declaring Whedon’s cut the canonical entry in the franchise. There is some retribution in knowing that Cavill’s last appearance as the Man of Steel isn’t marred by a digitally removed moustache (Google it) but here’s hoping it isn’t the last time we see him on-screen.

Zack Snyder’s Justice League is a fascinating experiment of a film. Whilst it is an undoubtedly good thing that Snyder was allowed to see out his full creative vision, the fact remains that this version of the superhero epic – whilst superior to Whedon’s – is at times a bloated, directionless cluster bomb of a movie, with the director let loose to throw everything and the kitchen sink into the viewer’s eyeballs: the good, the bad and the godawful slow-motion (seriously stop doing that). As a continuation of his previous DC work, this feels like a satisfactory, suitably epic conclusion, even if the epilogue scene doesn’t convey that sense of finality. While it is easy to look at the Snyder Cut as a win, it also represents something of the toxic side of fandom, where “fan ownership” of characters leads to the bullying of studios and individuals into getting what they want. I’m more than curious to see what Zack Snyder would do with the sequels to this film and I genuinely hope they get made, but only if the creative team has genuine interest and supports the project, not as a result of a bunch of bullish, entitled fans. When part of the fandom turns as dark as Darkseid’s minions, no one wins.

Zack Snyder’s Justice League stars Ben Affleck, Gal Gadot, Ezra Miller, Jason Momoa, Ray Fisher, Amy Adams, Diane Lane, Willem Dafoe, Jesse Eisenberg, Jeremy Irons, Connie Nielsen, J.K. Simmons, Ciarán Hinds, Amber Heard, Joe Morton and Henry Cavill – Streaming on HBO Max in the US and on Binge in Australia now.