It is simultaneously fitting and curious that it took almost 25 years for the Italian auteur Paolo Sorrentino to make a movie that is about, obsessed with, and literally named after a siren of Greek mythology. While his previous 10 features have all been about men drawn to beauty in one way or another, Parthenope is somehow the most blatantly lustful entrant in Sorrentino’s filmography, perhaps because it’s the first time the writer/director has ever attempted to look through the eyes of a young woman as she contemplates who and what she attracts. Yet as the film tracks the titular Parthenope (Celeste Dalla Porta in a remarkable breakout turn) and the events of her life in Naples – Sorrentino’s hometown, to which the siren once lent her name – through a bevy of dreamlike encounters, Parthenope reveals itself to be a film that exists in order to justify its director’s fantasies. That sounds more critical than it actually is, given how the act of fantasizing has been a penchant of his dramatic tendencies over the years and is something he’s mastered, for better or worse. But that these reveries don’t appear to be coupled with a desire to unpack their defined meanings is at the real root of Parthenope’s problems.
To be honest, the borderline-psychedelic nature of the film’s construction makes it hard to care. We still do and still should, but at what point does a work of art deserve to be left to lie without criticism and instead be admired for its beauty despite its many intrinsic flaws? Of course, that’s a difficult ask for a literal critic, as the job title and description can be viewed as one in the same. But Parthenope made me direct a great many questions back at myself, and while I don’t think those involved in its making necessarily intended to cause an introspective reckoning within one viewer, the film itself makes it feel warranted to think that they would be fine with it. Among these internal interrogations: Does any of this really mean anything? Does it have to? Is losing my mind over the soullessness of A Minecraft Movie or Captain America: Brave New World really worthwhile when something like Sorrentino’s languid drama seems perfectly happy being more reminiscent of a series of paintings than it is a coherent film? Most of all: Do I even care?
So, I’m in a fight with myself here, an admittedly fascinating thing for Parthenope to cause given what my gut tells me: That it’s a fine movie with an interesting central performance but less on its mind than it wants us to believe it does. On the one hand, I could accept the film on the terms I believe it presents itself with. On the other, I could attempt to dissect what it could be saying, even if it isn’t. Trying to split the difference is a challenge, but I do see a way. There is a narrow way through… stick with me here.
Parthenope’s plot, insofar that a strict one exists, is familiar enough: The journey of life seen through a lens operated solely by one, that being Dalla Porta’s character. She has friends, though many of them double as suitors, the reason being that she’s the most beautiful person they’ve ever seen. She fascinates every person she passes, both in explicit terms and those that are more subtextual. Bystanders are all but brought to their knees by Parthenope’s beauty, but her brilliance is evident and transfixing, too. She’s an anthropology student, both well-read and spoken, and has interests that span beyond the world she and her fellows (fellas?) live in. People wonder, is she real? Is she being real to who she is, or merely maintaining a mysterious aura about her so that those who might otherwise approach her steer clear out of fear?
You could answer “yes” to all of the above, which makes things far more complicated for anyone who dares to try to understand her, let alone get close to her. But for all intents and purposes, Parthenope’s life seems relatively uncomplicated on the surface. She was born in the sea in 1950, her mother having been transported across the water by an illustrious carriage that looks as though it might have once been Cinderella’s pumpkin prior to the stroke of midnight. Her grandfather is extremely wealthy, hence the carriage and the mansion in which she and her family live. She is close with both her brother, Raimondo (Daniele Rienzo), and her housekeeper’s son, Sandrino (Dario Aita). They are both obsessed with her, but she appreciates their adorative company, silently hoping that neither will break if she ends up resisting their romantic pursuits, of which there are plenty.
But the surface of Parthenope’s presence, like that of the glimmering rim of the ocean, can be misleading, given how tortured most of the people who wish to be or become entangled within her protectively-strewn web. Raimondo shares her blood, yet still wants to be with her, knowing nothing else when it comes to love other than what he feels for his sister. Sandrino, meanwhile, drives himself mad while observing their relationship, never once considering the whole brother-sister thing. Even strangers are entranced just by the idea of breathing the same air as her. In one scene, when she and these two male companions are nearly kicked out of a restaurant, a nearby middle-aged patron interjects to say, “If she leaves, then we’re all leaving,” gesturing to the rest of the establishment, with whom an unspoken agreement has been made. Needless to say, she gets the opportunity to finish her meal.
The most interesting connection Parthenope forms is with the “alcoholic, depressed, marvelous” writer John Cheever, played briefly but memorably by Gary Oldman, looking a lot like “Mank” on a European holiday. Her conversations with him are persuasive and intellectually stimulating, as he asks about her beauty rather than falling into a coma because of it. “Are you aware of the disruption your beauty causes?” he inquires moments before noting that he’s thankful for the writers “who vary the monotony of their words.” Parthenope isn’t used to being disrupted herself, and finds a certain charm in Cheever’s way of life; you know, aside from the copious bottles of liquor he downs before the day is through. And it’s from here that more is revealed about her actual interests, something far meatier for the film to make its primary focus than her heaven-sent looks. Parthenope wants to be a researcher, a trade that leads her to encounter a sexually insecure Cardinal and an emotionally hamstrung heir, and to discover the value of a relationship that isn’t wholly transactional, that being with her mentor (Silvio Orlando).
That’s the movie, really, with some redacted details to avoid spoiling every moment of its bloated 136-minute runtime entirely. But it’s important to note that while it sounds narratively unilateral, Sorrentino is sure to keep his audience aware that he is the man behind the project, that we are aware of the disruption that the beauty of his films tends to cause. The film is peppered with tantalizing imagery without much substance behind the tableaus because the point of them is to enchant, not to make one’s head ring as they attempt to solve their meaning. This tends to be what Sorrentino does best, after all: Offering questions that don’t have concrete answers, that is if they have any answers at all. His melodramatic script and his obsession with capturing beauty from behind the camera work hand in hand beautifully, both in Parthenope and in conversations about his body of work.
The questions Sorrentino asks across his whole board aren’t so much about the meaning of profound beauty or the meaning of one’s life in and of itself, but about the value of distraction from those things. We’re so obsessed with finding definition that helps keep our feet safely planted to the earth that we don’t let ourselves experience distraction, or hypnosis, or love with pure abandon. Perhaps this idea is the answer to every existential question I found myself asking about his movie and the purpose of art. Perhaps it’s indicative of my own makeup that my favorite exchange in Parthenope involves one character asking, “What is she thinking about?” and the other answering, “About always finding the right answers.” Perhaps Parthenope’s best quality is that it makes us think hard about not thinking hard, about what it actually is to feel and experience something without knowing precisely what our emotions tell us. We still might not understand the play, but it doesn’t matter as long as we keep telling the story.
Parthenope is currently available to rent or own on Digital platforms courtesy of A24.
Will Bjarnar is a writer, critic, and video editor based in New York City. Originally from Upstate New York, and thus a member of the Greater Western New York Film Critics Association and a long-suffering Buffalo Bills fan, Will first became interested in movies when he discovered IMDb at a young age; with its help, he became a voracious list maker, poster lover, and trailer consumer. He has since turned that passion into a professional pursuit, writing for the film and entertainment sites Next Best Picture, InSession Film, Big Picture Big Sound, Film Inquiry, and, of course, Geek Vibes Nation. He spends the later months of each year editing an annual video countdown of the year’s 25 best films. You can find more of his musings on Letterboxd (willbjarnar) and on X (@bywillbjarnar).
