Ben Cahlamer
Euphemistically, writer-director Paolo Sorrentino dreams of his youth in his films. His coming-of-age stories are full of ideas. They aren’t tinged with regret for missed opportunities, meaning his sordid dramatic melancholy thus becomes an anachronistic exercise, seeking a conciliatory chord between the loss of the past and the reality of the present. For his latest film, Parthenope, the director defines a more practical way to relive the past while satisfying the present through a siren who is not a siren, a myth who is real: a looking glass.
Parthenope stars Celeste Dalla Porta in a stunning turn, carrying the film’s namesake. Sorrentino spends as much time exploring the sun-drenched brick-lined streets of Naples, full of hidden turns and twists, a constant reminder of the rugged terrain Naples sits upon as Parthenope seeks to find her calling. She is nothing of the Greek siren whose name she carries, though Dalla Porta drives the men she encounters mad, drawing them in only to be dismissed, becoming a myth. Politely, of course. Dalla Porta offers a tactile performance in this regard. The actress is aware of her beauty, and Sorrentino takes advantage of this aspect as well. However, his character development does not make that aspect her main charge.
Dalla Porta embraces this challenge head-on as she reflects upon her past journey, moving away from the impoverished state of Naples and into an attitude that avails the actress’s beauty. Sorrentino and Dalla Porta use the tempest of the looking glass to define her calling.
The character’s empathy for others sings songs for miles. Parthenope explores the depth of the human condition with great ease. The director has been quoted as saying the character is neither the siren she portrays nor the myth. Sorrentino and Dalla Porta strike the right blend between the two aspects as she slinks her way into becoming an anthropological prodigy, stimulating intellectual and emotional curiosities. Whether this means lulls creep into the 136-minute run time is for the viewer to determine. Parthenope ebbs and flows with ease.
“Slinks” is not necessarily the correct term – Parthenope earns that distinguished leaf in her anthropological laurel. The sensuality oozing from the actress draws the likes of the drunkard American novelist John Cheever (Gary Oldman in an exquisite turn) as they debate the merits of the young men who inhabit Parthenope’s sphere. Sorrentino feeds into this through cinematographer Daria D’Antonio’s camera as Parthenope catches Cheever’s eye and ear, matching wits rather than sexual postures, leveling situational humor within the humanistic drama.
Sorrentino interplays Parthenope’s Cheever encounter with a suitor, whose butler and helicopter spend more time chasing after her than the man himself. When this potential suitor finally catches up with Parthenope, escargot, oysters, and champagne flow on a secluded beach at night, the aphrodisiac qualities become apparent and appreciated; Parthenope rebukes the very idea of this man, and she knows her boundaries.
Sorrentino tests the mythical qualities of Parthenope as she embarks on her archaeological quest, playing into the religious implications of Parthenope and making for the most interesting aspect of the film – Peppe Lanzetta’s bishop portrays a man of the cloth, demonstrating a myth of the church. At the same time, the character takes advantage of his cloak to approach Parthenope, becoming the most interesting of Parthenope’s exploits. His faith clouding his oaths are equitably as hard-charged as Parthenope leans into her beauty as a siren—her rebukes making her a myth in an exquisite contrast. The character and his interactions with Parthenope touched on the pains driven by a religious ideology. When one commits to the church, the oath of celibacy challenges every notion of what it means to be human: to desire, feel, and want in the face of sin. To achieve the highest level of being an anthropologist, Parthenope must endure this setting.
Parthenope feels like a “greatest hits” album as the writer-director uses the looking glass to balance the past with the present to determine the future. The look and feel of the film are focused as if the audience is in the Louvre, armed with a guided tour of events in Parthenope’s past, and each encounter just described as exhibits to be appreciated or dissected ad nauseam. Dalla Porta glides through each encounter, playing that guide, while Sorrentino bears the confidence to tell this type of story. The siren lulls, the myth graces, and the artist inspires while the audience experiences.
Parthenope knows what it wants to be, though sometimes it confuses want and desire for emotional need, a byproduct of Dalla Porta’s beauty and Sorrentino’s need to be honest within his framework. The balance between the two aspects is in her ability to call out the past and ultimately be satisfied with her journey. The studied behaviors and cultures bring meaning to modern societies, driving a better understanding of the future human condition.
Sorrentino isn’t for everyone, and the energy in Parthenope isn’t sustained. Its strengths lie in its performances, namely Celeste Dalla Porta and Gary Oldman. Sorrentino’s story connects its dots through the visual rather than the dialog, building up a sigh of relief that, through the looking glass, decisions we made in the past contrasting with challenges we’ve faced have been taken head-on and are exactly what we were destined to do with our lives, abandoning the siren, generating the myth, making Parthenope powerful, if uneven, cinema.
