The movie starts off with a fascinating slowly unfolding scene of the gathering of a rich family to pay homage to their patriarch. My appetite whetted I waited for the unfolding of a delicious saga of wealth and the inevitable inner rot. Instead the movie continues to have us watch, at some emotional distance, the Italian version of "Damage." A rich woman (Swinton at her most taut)tastes the forbidden fruit and ends up with far more guilt than she'd bargained for.
There is no passion here, no empathy for the characters, merely a rich travelog through the boring, sumptuous lives of the beautiful people. Swinton beds a chef, but we see no evidence of love beyond the obligatory bits and pieces of nakedness.
When it all comes crashing down, as in "Damage" I expected at least a resounding splat, but instead we get loud music, and a quick exit for our anti heroine. Instead of Sturm und drang we get flatulence. What is the Italian for Sturm und drang, anyway.
There is no passion here, no empathy for the characters, merely a rich travelog through the boring, sumptuous lives of the beautiful people. Swinton beds a chef, but we see no evidence of love beyond the obligatory bits and pieces of nakedness.
When it all comes crashing down, as in "Damage" I expected at least a resounding splat, but instead we get loud music, and a quick exit for our anti heroine. Instead of Sturm und drang we get flatulence. What is the Italian for Sturm und drang, anyway.