Everything in “House of Gucci” is over the top. The accents. The performances. The fashion. The settings. The runtime. The music. The greed.
Everything in “House of Gucci” is over the top. The accents. The performances. The fashion. The settings. The runtime. The music. The greed. This movie knows exactly what it is and, sweetie, it is gloriously decadent, ridiculous fun. There is an alternate universe in which “ House of Gucci ” is a subtle Italian-language film. Perhaps it’s a more straightforward tragedy. Maybe it’s even a limited series taking the viewer back to the origins of the Italian luxury label, in 1921. But director Ridley Scott, and screenwriters Becky Johnston and Roberto Bentivegna, have chosen the route of operatic artificiality. You don’t cast Jared Leto as clownish Fredo-type and have him act against a father played by Al Pacino by accident. Big is the point. Based on a book by Sara Gay Forden, “House of Gucci” is about the dissolution of the Gucci dynasty. Their reign over the eponymous leather goods and fashion house lasted only three generations. But as any new money family knows, by the time the third generation takes over, usually no one is left to remember a time when there wasn’t extraordinary wealth and privilege. And this is where we pick up with the Gucci family, with the business being run by founder Guccio Gucci’s sons Rodolfo (Jeremy Irons) and Aldo (Pacino). Scott’s film glosses over the other second-generation siblings in part to streamline an already sprawling story but mostly to hammer in the father-son themes. Aldo’s son is Paolo (Leto), a fool with delusions of grandeur and little talent to back it up.
