“Parthenope” is an Italian film that follows its titular character (Celeste Dalla Porta) through a series of encounters in Naples, Italy. Spanning her life from ages 18 to 73, the film is less of a structured narrative and more a collection of vignettes loosely tied together that attempt to capture fleeting moments of beauty, longing and self-discovery. As Parthenope navigates love and personal growth, the film attempts to paint her as a woman searching for meaning in a world that constantly objectifies her. However, the movie fails to create a truly cohesive exploration of its central character’s life.
Director Paolo Sorrentino ventures to craft a compelling female protagonist but, ultimately, falls short. Parthenope’s beauty defines her almost entirely, with nearly every character — men and women alike — expressing desire for her. This crowd of admirers includes her brother (Daniele Rienzo) and even a decorated Catholic bishop (Peppe Lanzetta), which pushes the film into uncomfortable territory. Sorrentino tries to add complexity through her intelligence and deep interest in anthropology; however, these traits feel more like an afterthought rather than a defining part of her character.
Parthenope is the definition of the male fantasy. She is strikingly beautiful, to the point of grabbing the attention of every person in every room she walks into. She seems, however, utterly unaware of her beauty until someone else informs her of its power — this mimics the ultimate male fantasy: a woman who doesn’t know her own beauty and, therefore, cannot wield it as a weapon against men. Furthermore, Parthenope’s interactions are almost exclusively with men, and only one of those relationships — her relationship with her anthropology professor, Marotta (Silvio Orlando) — is non-sexual. Even her one interaction of note with a woman, famed former acting coach Flora Malva (Isabella Ferrari), turns sexual when Malva asks to kiss her “beautiful mouth.”
Like Parthenope herself, the movie remains frustratingly elusive. Other characters constantly ask the main character, “What are you thinking?” a question that mirrored my personal struggle to find meaning within the film. I kept hoping that the final act would reveal something — some plot point, messaging or symbolism — that ties everything together. However, I was sorely disappointed. The pacing of the movie is akin to a child meandering through a field, as it speeds through certain moments while lingering on others without clear purpose. The plot wanders through disparate interluding: an outbreak of cholera, a foray into acting with an aged former star (Luisa Ranieri) and a surreal New Year’s Eve where Parthenope is taken on a first date to a bizarre mafia fusion event involving the public consummation of a marriage between the heirs of two powerful mafia families.
The film’s overarching metaphor, Parthenope as a representation of Naples itself, lacks subtlety. The city of Naples, like Parthenope, is named after the siren from “The Odyssey” who supposedly washed up on its shores. The film doesn’t trust the audience to grasp this symbolism on their own, with Parthenope outright stating she is like the city. If this metaphor was the entire meaning of the film, I fear Sorrentino made it far too apparent, throwing the audience headfirst into the metaphor rather than allowing them the satisfaction of finding meaning themselves.
As Parthenope, Dalla Porta delivers an impressive performance, bringing rare depth to a character that could have easily been completely flat. The cinematography, fixating on Parthenope’s face as the film’s visual centerpiece, emphasizes her natural yet almost otherworldly presence.
One of the film’s few sources of intrigue is the bishop, who provides an odd form of comic relief through his contradictory character. On one hand, he exists within the upper echelon of the Catholic Church, even hoping to eventually become the Pope. However, he is a known seductress who has frequent sexual relations (even within the cathedral). He is in charge of performing a religious miracle every year but uses this opportunity as a way to nurture his own vanity and gain attention rather than forming a deeper connection with God. Despite all of his unlikable qualities, there is something endearing about his contradictions, reminding us that even the most pious-seeming figures contain possibly unseemly multitudes.
Another notable performance is Gary Oldman’s portrayal of John Cheever, a closeted alcoholic writer whom Parthenope is taken with on a summer trip to Capri. His scenes, the only ones in English, are filled with life lessons that, at times, make the film feel like an audiobook with gorgeous visuals. Despite this, his presence is engaging enough to keep the audience invested.
Visually, “Parthenope” is breathtaking. The cinematography is the film’s greatest strength, with each frame containing the careful composition of a painting. Sorrentino uses warm, golden hues to capture the sun-drenched beauty of Naples, contrasting it with the cool blues of the sea. The lighting is soft and dreamlike, giving the entire film an ethereal quality that makes even the mundane feel poetic. At times, the film almost feels like a love letter to the beauty of southern Italy itself, with Naples serving as much of a character as Parthenope herself. The only elements that disrupt this visual elegance are the overabundance of sex scenes, which, rather than feeling essential, often appear at odds with the film’s otherwise poetic essence.
Throughout, I wondered if the film’s dreamy, poetic quality would hold up if the dialogue were in English. Many lines, when stripped of the romanticism of the Italian language, might come across as overly sentimental or shallow, only masquerading as something deep. Ultimately, “Parthenope” is a film that succeeds in aesthetics but struggles with substance, leaving me dazzled but unsatisfied.
