In Ridley Scott’s “House of Gucci” you sometimes wonder what kind of movie Ridley Scott was going for. Lady Gaga plays real-life murderer Patrizia Regianni, married to Maurizio Gucci (Adam Driver), heir to the Gucci fortune. She’s a gold digger, he’s a naive romantic. When Patrizia meets the Gucci family is when the all hell breaks loose.
Al Pacino (fantastic in the role) plays Aldo Gucci, the brains behind the New York operation, Jeremy Irons (very subdued) is the Godfather-type figure Adolfo, the ring leader, and Jared Leto (so good) is Paolo Gucci, Aldo’s clownish, neglected and bitter son.
Keeping her eye on the prize, Patrizia wants to take over Gucci, with the help of her shyly aloof husband. When Adolfo dies of cancer, Patrizia sees this as an opportunity to pounce. She wants to take out each and every Gucci, one by one, to take over the failing business.
I originally saw “House of Gucci” two weeks ago. I didn’t care much for it. For all the theatrical acting and soapy script, it felt tonally off to me; was Scott going for a serious movie or pure camp? A second viewing was a little more successful, as I then realized that Scott was going for a mix of both. It's as if he acknowledged that both the screenplay and actors at his disposal just didn’t match up but decided to keep a cool and muted air throughout the film.
Driver and Irons’ characters are the exacting and sane voices of ‘Gucci,’ the moral compass by which we see the film through a more serious lens. The buffoons, Patrizia, Paolo and Aldo, are the clowns, acting as if part of a circus that never ends. They aim for things that they simply cannot get, due to clearcut mental incapacities. By this respect, Gaga, Pacino and Leto’s overacting is a very much welcome accompaniment to their characters.
Gaga, who was half-good in “A Star is Born,” is in over her head here — her acting strains whenever her lines call for nuance and overacts whenever they demand fierceness. And yet, the performance somewhat works in and of itself. Meanwhile, Pacino is a blast to watch. His Aldo is some kind of dementia-ridden jolly man who seems to not really know how to conduct the Gucci business in New York, but he’s content and more than willing to bring Patrizia and Maurizio into the business.
However, all hail Jared Leto as Paolo Gucci. This is the kind of gonzo performance that deserves both an Oscar and a Razzie. Wearing a fat suit, with a bald wig and THICK Italian accent, Leto is damn-near goofy in his delivery. “A triumph of mediocrity,” Rodolfo calls Paolo, and that he is. Wait until you see a hammy Pacino and Leto go at it in a screaming match, it’s as glorious as it sounds. Whether Leto delivers a great or awful performance will be stuff of debate for years to come, but he’s the high-wire act that this movie desperately needed more of. Ditto Pacino.
In the end, what we have is an epic about how the Gucci family business gradually went downhill in the ’80s and ’90s, and how the daughter of a truck driver managed to be responsible for that downfall. By definition, “Gucci” is a fascinating wreck of a movie solely due to its tonally schizoid nature. It’s never boring, but so out of touch with reality that you at times wonder if Scott is in on the joke. The fact that he isn’t, or so it seems at least, turns it into the kind of movie whose destiny is to become a 3-hour meme. [B-/C+]
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