Spoilers ahead.

From films like The Devil Wears Prada and Zoolander to competition shows such as America’s Next Top Model and Project Runway, many of us know about the fashion industry from myths constructed by (American) film and television. Fashion has been the subject of interest on the silver screen because, for the longest time, the space had been exclusive and elusive, knowable only by the elite. It piques audience interest: What happens in these spaces? What does it take to get in? And more importantly, how do you make sure you stay?

So when Patrizia Reggiani (Lady Gaga) meets Maurizio Gucci (Adam Driver), her engrossment needs almost no explanation, her eyes manifesting her madness like a miner who’s just struck gold but immediately wonders who to tell. The sparks between the two sets, at least in the beginning, ablaze not only a decades-long romance but also the flames which will eventually reduce the Gucci family into cinders. Adapted from Sarah Gay Forden’s book of the same name, House of Gucci charts the famous fashion house’s rise and fall, peppering the narrative with betrayal and greed that seems characteristic of the ultra-rich and famous. 

Unlike many of the pandemic-made films that limit themselves to few characters and locations, House of Gucci is a film that thrives on excess. Stuffed with elaborate set pieces, paparazzi-ready hair and makeup, and luxurious garments straight from the Gucci archive, watching the film fills you with the kind of envy that makes you sick and feeling more broke than you are. Much of this is the product of director Ridley Scott’s fascination with using film as a means to create and understand worlds that he is unfamiliar with. He’s done this before with the sci-fi horror masterpiece Alien, the endlessly parodied Thelma and Louise, and the testosterone-filled Gladiator — utilizing his background in advertising to create entertaining, elevated films – the kinds you flock to theaters for or see a year later replayed on Star Movies. 

But despite the on-screen excesses from fashion shows, expansive Italian villas, and alpine ski trips, the peak of excess is still in the performances. The penultimate of which comes from Lady Gaga — whose mere onscreen presence baits awards season chatter after her stint on Bradley Cooper’s A Star Is Born (spoiler alert: she was snubbed). 

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In the beginning, she is subtle, wearing Patrizia’s discomfort from the wealth disparity on her sleeve, letting it inform every side glance and shift in posture. Despite mistaking Klimt for Picasso and being shamed for being an heir of a truck-driving business, she has an unstoppable spirit that carries the film. As the lovestruck veneer falls away exposing her rotten capitalist core, Gaga commands attention by instilling Patrizia with the kind of self-belief and grandiosity that define social climbers and psychopaths, behaving like “the most Gucci of them all” even before she gains the name and way after she loses it.

Even in moments when she is not in the frame, the narrative is in reference to Patrizia: Maurizio is disowned by his father Rodolfo (Jeremy Irons, not giving a fuck about accents) to prevent her from accessing their wealth; Maurizio returns to grace through his uncle Aldo (Al Pacino) and begins to care about the family business for the sake of their unborn child; they form an alliance with the incompetent Paolo (Jared Leto) to remove the old guard, only to later turn the tables on him; and the eventual murder of Maurizio after he divorces Patrizia to be with Paola Franchi (Camille Cottin). All the characters are forced to deal with the repercussions of their actions and inactions against Patrizia, who would sooner let go of her sanity and morality than the Gucci name and the fortune that comes along with it. 

Gaga isn’t the only one who has drawn awards season attention: fellow method actor Jared Leto has drawn considerable ire, too. In the years prior, Leto has turned from an internet heartthrob to one of the most annoying method actors working today (see his shenanigans as Joker on Suicide Squad). Director Ridley Scott harnesses his public persona as an actor and uses it against the audience. Buried under a fat suit and pounds of make-up, Leto is unrecognizable as Paolo Gucci — a frustrating imbecile and a failed designer desperately trying to prove himself to his family. We spend much time with the character for no apparent reason except to see Leto go at it, and it’s a performance that easily teeters between comedic commitment and failed seriousness. Whether it’s bad or not will be polarizing, but you can’t deny that you build a gut reaction towards it, and in a sea of actors, Leto’s will remain memorable (even if for the wrong reasons).

There’s definitely something satisfying about watching the rich eat dirt: seeing Aldo give into rage as he signs away his shares; Paolo turning into a bumbling mess after a cease and desist letter terminates his fashion show, burying him in debt and embarrassment; Patrizia desperately pleading with Maurizio in front of a building, only to be rejected. None of the characters in House of Gucci are worth rooting for because, well, they’re terrible people. Yet it is exactly this satisfaction over seeing their misery (schadenfreude) that makes the film tolerable, even entertaining at times.

It depicts a family whose ego and greed ultimately become their downfall and, to quote Trixie Mattel talking about Bling Empire, shows us “how money unhinges you from the swinging door of reality.” But what more does it have to say that hasn’t already been said? In a world where programs like Keeping Up With The Kardashians and social media influencers are glorified, much of what happens in House of Gucci (bar the actual murder) just seems bland; lacking the epic-ness of the romance and revenge that Scott is known for. 

Much of this is due to the material’s trepidation with its subject matter and its scattered tone. There are moments when the film is labeled as “camp” by way of Pauline Kael, but I’m not sure if Scott and his screenwriters Becky Johnston and Roberto Bentivegna are fully in on the joke in the way the actors are. House of Gucci sits languidly near limits — with the artistic liberties considerably toned down compared to the more absurd behaviors and insidious deeds of the Gucci family. It’s a serviceable drama that is much stronger when taken as a comedy, but not by much, especially as it doesn’t give into its narrative demands despite having actors that can clearly commit. Or maybe the acting is as committed as it is because the script (and even the style of storytelling) is lackluster.

Early on in the film, Patrizia “chances” upon Maurizio at a library and later writes her number on the window of his scooter. “I want to see how this story goes,” she says. Sadly, the film, much like the love story within it, never really goes anywhere. House of Gucci creates a fictionalized world that is far less intriguing, entertaining, or horrifying than reality, and in that, it leaves audiences little reason to see it. You can scroll through Twitter for clips and get more out of the movie that way. It is a film whose rewards are neither the journey nor the destination; a trip into a world that’s not worth taking.

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House of Gucci is available in cinemas and on Amazon Prime Video, Vudu, and Apple TV.