The Great Beauty (2013)

The Great Beauty is one of those rare films that makes you feel like you’ve wandered into a dream of a city—Rome as a glittering, decaying cathedral of pleasure, memory, and longing—captured with such sumptuous visual confidence it’s hard to look away. Paolo Sorrentino turns high society parties, quiet dawn streets, and odd little cultural rituals into a hypnotic procession that’s both funny and mournful, and Toni Servillo’s Jep moves through it all with the weary charm of a man who’s seen everything and is suddenly haunted by what he’s missed. The vibe is elegant, sensual, and melancholy, less about plot than about the slow, intoxicating realization that beauty can be absurd and still pierce you. It won’t be for everyone—especially if you need a tight, conventional narrative—but if you’re open to being enthralled by style with real emotional aftertaste, it’s a feast.

The Great Beauty is clearly aiming for a grand, Fellini-esque meditation on aging, art, and the hollow glitter of high society, and it often lands as a hypnotic postcard of Rome with a weary, razor-smart guide at the center. The catch is that it’s more mood and spectacle than story, so if you need a tight plot, clear emotional catharsis, or characters who feel warmly accessible, this can come off as remote, indulgent, and a bit self-impressed. Sorrentino leans into operatic excess—lavish parties, surreal detours, big statements—so the experience can feel like being dazzled and lectured at the same time. If you’re patient with slow, contemplative cinema and can enjoy beauty even when it’s tinged with emptiness, it’s rewarding; if not, it may feel like two-plus hours of gorgeous frustration.