House of Gucci

House of Gucci ★★★

With one performance, Jared Leto, a shitty rock singer who moonlights as a one-man Daniel Day-Lewis cover band, has completely changed my perception of him. The chutzpah it takes to refer to his portrayal of Paolo Gucci-as-Nintendo's Mario as his "love letter to Italy" is just... *statue that stands in front of the local pizza place of a stereotypical Italian chef's kiss*

And that's not all! You've also got Lady Gaga in full-on Mona Lisa Vito mode—those outfits! that ass!!—and Adam Driver continues to refine his seemingly preternatural ability to embody the worst man you've ever met (who you'd still let hit it anyway). I just wish there were someone else behind the camera. For a true crime saga set in the world of haute couture, the filmmaking is disappointingly inert, relying too heavily on Scorsese-lite needle drops as a stand-in for style. I'm no Ridley Scott basher, far from it, but this material requires a director who would feel at home in a Roman discothèque, like a Sofia Coppola or—I can't believe I'm suggesting this considering I don't like his movies—a Paolo Sorrentino, not Ridley's fusty British ass. Then again, would those other filmmakers have allowed Leto to soar... like a pigeon?

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