The Great Beauty ★★★★☆
If ever a film lived up to its title, La Grande Bellezza is that film. It’s a two-and-a-half-hour visual feast that drags you, willingly or not, through the decaying glitz of Rome’s high society, making you feel like you’ve woken up with a prosecco hangover on the floor of an ancient palazzo. Paolo Sorrentino’s 2013 magnum opus is at once breathtaking, absurd, and deeply melancholic—a masterpiece for anyone who enjoys life served with equal parts existential dread and champagne.
Our guide through this gorgeous wasteland is Jep Gambardella, played with delicious nonchalance by Toni Servillo. Jep is a once-promising novelist turned jaded socialite, coasting through his 65th birthday and beyond. With Rome’s decadent parties, eccentric friends, and ancient ruins as his backdrop, Jep searches—though not very energetically—for a deeper meaning to life. His nights are filled with techno beats and empty laughter, while his days are consumed by a more elusive pursuit: the search for beauty, both past and present. Or, perhaps, it’s simply the avoidance of death.
At its core, La Grande Bellezza is a rumination on the ephemerality of beauty and the futility of excess. Sorrentino uses Jep’s aimless drifting to explore themes of alienation, nostalgia, and the hollow spectacle of modern life. It’s as though Jep has achieved everything a Roman bon vivant could want, but the glitter has long since dulled, leaving behind a sticky residue of ennui. This is a film that confronts aging head-on, asking whether anything we do has lasting meaning—or if, like Jep, we’re all just dancing through the ruins until we keel over from an overdose of our own pretensions.
Visually, the film is a love letter to Rome, though one penned by someone a little too inebriated to finish it coherently. Sorrentino’s direction is lush and hypnotic, with sweeping shots of the Eternal City that make you wonder if you’ve ever truly seen it before. Cinematographer Luca Bigazzi bathes the film in a surreal glow, bouncing from dizzying party scenes to serene contemplations of art and architecture. Sorrentino juxtaposes this beauty with the grotesque—the result is a visual poem that swings between ecstatic and eerie, much like life itself.
Toni Servillo’s portrayal of Jep is a masterclass in weary charm. He’s cynical but not entirely bitter, a man who knows he’s been complicit in his own soulless existence yet can’t seem to care enough to change it. Surrounding him is an eccentric gallery of characters, from the tragic stripper Ramona (Sabrina Ferilli) to the world-weary playwright Romano (Carlo Verdone). Each offers Jep (and the audience) a glimpse into different forms of disillusionment, their performances equally haunting and farcical. It’s a Fellini-esque circus where everyone plays their part, whether they realize it or not.
At 142 minutes, the film moves like a languid summer evening that you know will turn into dawn before you’re ready. Some will argue it’s too long, but isn’t that the point? Life’s drags are just as important as its moments of epiphany. Sorrentino employs a meandering narrative that mirrors Jep’s own existential wandering—occasionally it’s thrilling, other times it’s tedious, but you’re never entirely sure what will happen next. The film’s pacing mirrors its themes: indulgent, reflective, and periodically punctuated by moments of frenetic energy.
Watching La Grande Bellezza feels like standing at a party you don’t quite belong at, sipping expensive wine while pondering how it all got so meaningless. It’s a vibe I suspect many of us can relate to, especially as we grow older and the glamour of youth gives way to the realization that perhaps we’ve been chasing the wrong things all along. There’s a certain liberation in Jep’s cynicism, as if admitting life’s absurdity allows him (and us) to laugh at it. After all, if life is as fleeting as Sorrentino suggests, why not dance on the ruins while you still can.
This isn’t a film for everyone. If you’re looking for a tight plot or clear resolutions, you’ll leave disappointed. But for those who appreciate films that linger in the mind long after the credits roll, La Grande Bellezza is an experience. Its audience is one that can stomach a mix of high art and existential musings, garnished with a touch of absurdity. It’s a film that asks the big questions—about art, beauty, and our very existence—without feeling the need to answer them. And maybe that’s why it feels so human. Life, like the film, is a chaotic blend of the profound and the pointless.
