The movies of Paolo Sorrentino, like “The Great Beauty” and “The Hand of God,” have always been bursting with color and movement and emotional energy, with torn-up romantic and family passion, all rooted in a baroque flamboyance that can be compelling but also messy and overstated — which is why I blow hot and cold on him, and am usually in the middle. (In Italy, and to a degree in the U.S., he’s been a critics’ darling.) The most recent Sorrentino film, “Parthenope,” was, I thought, a disaster of florid loose ends that never came together.
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