Like most of Sorrentino’s films, Loro is closer to a stylistic orgy than an existential rumination on Italy’s heritage.
Not even the choice of a lead with visible facial acne scars, a welcome gesture toward authenticity, is enough to overcome the gaping hole of psychological nuance at the film’s center.
This gorgeous, yet slimly supplemented, release places the film in the ideal cultural context: as last year’s ultimate art-house party movie.
The film succumbs to its own self-delusions of moral/political grandeur.
This Must Be the Place believes in maturity, but only as a freely continual process of acceptance.