With its dodgy CGI, Greco-Roman myths updated to a “contemporary” setting, stilted dialogue and overall odd and bizarre feeling, The Opera! (Paolo Gep Cucco, Davide Livermore, 2024) initially plays like the Erasmus English cousin of Megalopolis (2024), Francis Ford Coppola’s hallucinatory cinematic vision of New Rome that’s prompted various walkouts, baffled reactions and spirited debate as to whether it’s a late period masterpiece or mere masturbatory nonsense (I liked it!).
But as the film drags on and gets progressively more boring and repetitive, a far worse comparison comes to mind. The Opera! is Joker: Folie à Deux (Todd Phillips, 2024) for people who think Classic FM is the height of musical sophistication. Less a fresh update of the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice for people who prefer their operas Berlin-served over Bayreuth-style, and more of a feature-length jukebox musical advert for Dolce & Gabbana’s new Autumn collection (costumes provided by the luxury Italian brand), The Opera! is one of the most obvious — and dreadfully tedious — movies of the year.
Vincent Cassel is our Charon, acting both as our chaperone to the underworld and the film’s one-man Greek chorus, aping his iconic close-ups in La Haine (Mathieu Kassovitz, 1995) as he introduces the tragic story of lovers separated by death. In scenes resembling a graphic novel — all fake backdrops and heightened violence and colours — the beautiful Eurydice (Mariam Battistelli) is shot and taken into the depths of Hades, leaving our Orpheus desperate (Giuseppe Valentino Buzza) to save her.
It’s ostensibly an adaptation of Christoph Willibald Gluck’s 1762 opera Orpheus and Eurydice, with many well-sung arias and duets from the opera (both Battistelli and Buzza are opera singers), but Cucco and Livermore throw in bits of Vivaldi, Puccini, Verde, Bizet and even Frankie Comes to Hollywood (a dreadfully saccharine version of “The Power of Love” [1984]) in their basic attempt to appeal to someone whose only interaction with classical music comes through watching Britain’s Got Talent.
The entire thing reaches a nadir as our hero sings a by-the-books rendition of “Nessun Dorma,” from Turandot (Giacomo Puccini, 1926), a song that has been beaten to death by Pavarotti and later Bocelli, gracing endless variety concerts, talent shows, European football tournaments and so on and so forth, becoming one of the most basic classical songs of all time. The sheer obviousness is blinding, the emotional effect meaningless.
It doesn’t help that while Battistelli and Buzza are excellent singers, performing opera is not the same as acting in a film, with blank expressions and one-note physicality. So when Almodóvar regular Rossy de Palma and former bond girl Caterina Murino phone in silly and deliberate camp performances, the wild clash of styles — as in Coppola’s latest — is painfully noticeable.
Only Cassel comes out relatively unscathed. He seems to understand the absurdity of the film and drives moments along with a manic, unhinged energy. But he cannot save this film. Just as Orpheus cannot save Eurydice, falling into the underworld forever. Cringe has no floor.
Redmond is the editor-in-chief of Journey Into Cinema.