Review: Parthenope (2024) — Sex, Cigarettes and Epiphany
Paolo Sorrentino’s obsession with the young and the restless takes a warm, hallucinogenic chill pill
★★★½
“I’m still too young to catch all the nuances.”
Paolo Sorrentino’s zen study of youth and beauty vibes quite a bit like vintage Antonioni — moody, aimless, bizarre and ultimately captivating. Following its statuesque title character through a drifting odyssey of cigarettes, sexual and intellectual awakening, sun-kissed Neapolitan days, WTF Neapolitan nights, and dodging various dudes afflicted with acute Pepé Le Pew Syndrome, Parthenope is the kind of film you take an edible for, chill the fuck out on and let wash over you.
Celeste Dalla Porta’s central performance really carries this. As Parthenope she is an anchor of enigmatic coolness, contrasting the urgency and madness of nearly every man around her. Much has been made of the lens and plot casting a male gaze, but I’d argue the movie focuses far more on Parthenope’s autonomy and crafting of her own sexuality than objectification.
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She is a refreshingly intelligent and flawed protagonist, navigating her twenties not unlike any of us did — armed with a strong internal philosophy constantly tested, reshaped and applied to fickle dreams and people. Her name, taken from the place of her birth and the mythological siren who tempted Odysseus, is practically an inverse joke — with several men attempting to lure her away from her journey and sense of self.
Supporting performances vary from impressive to thinly sketched. Sorrentino vet Silvio Orlando is excellent as Parthenope’s fatherly anthropology professor/mentor Devoto, his calm papa Lucio Fulci aura complementing Dalla Porta nicely. Gary Oldman was far too advertised for his super limited screentime, but he’s nonetheless compelling as expat “Chekhov of the suburbs” novelist John Cheever. I love the dynamic between Nope and Cheever, and kind of wish we spent more time on that. And Luisa Ranieri is hilarious as Nope’s would-be acting, celebrity and sass coach Greta Cool. The battle between her and the boat staff might be my favorite scene.
I couldn’t really get into any of the revolving door of Nope suitors. Peppe Lanzetta’s kinky, 1930s gangster-mugged Bishop comes the closest — my kind of fucked paradox of a character. Past the premise though he’s not written especially well. And the rest of the Italian Marky Mark and the Horny Bunch crew don’t fare any better, really only giving us an unsettling would-be incest plot device and a fear the poor horrorshow highlighted by Midsommar-style sad communal sex.
Fans of Sorrentino’s Young/New Pope series (raises hand) won’t be too surprised by how batshit Parthenope gets in its final act. But heads up on an enormous what in the holy fuck moment of epiphany for Nope near the end. What that epiphany exactly is I’m still trying to figure out.
But again, take an edible, drink a glass of wine, sniff some glue — anything that will help you settle into Daria D’Antonio’s gorgeous, toasty cinematography, Dalla Porta’s razor glances into the camera and the overall relaxed and very 70s humanity of it all.
Where to watch Parthenope.
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