Movies have been my university ever since I graduated from journalism. For my career as an advertising art director and novelist, films have taught me more than textbooks ever could. These days, the best writers are in cinema—because that’s where the money is. The best marketing strategies? Also in cinema. The best sound design, photography, storytelling? Yep, all in cinema. And Parthenope? This film is all of that and more.
I don’t remember the last time I felt this captivated by a movie. Not because of a mind-twisting plot, but because of an overwhelming awareness of its beauty. The camera movements, the music, the art direction—it’s all so intentional, so harmoniously intertwined. The Me, how it sees Parthenope. The I, how she sees everything. Both perspectives complement each other, creating a cinematic experience so coherent that I couldn't help but watch it every single day during its short run in Miami. It was only a week—but I went every day, paying tribute to the pure visual and emotional feast that this film is.
Even when Parthenope’s life starts unraveling—her brother’s death, her parents blaming her, a man trying to diminish her intelligence—she doesn’t lose herself. Her inner and outer world remain intact. She remains intact. And through her, the film stays luminous, unwavering in its beauty. As Devoto Marotta says, "It's very difficult to see, because it's the last thing you learn." And in Parthenope, you learn to see.
The color palette alone deserves an Oscar. It’s beautifully crafted—golden Mediterranean light, deep ocean blues, warm nostalgic hues that make every frame look like a painting. There’s an elegance in the way the world of Naples is presented, a love letter to the city that even includes a nod to Maradona in the '80s. It’s Naples in all its messy, poetic, breathtaking glory.
And then, there are the dialogues. The kind of lines that make you pause, make you think, make you scribble them down because they’re too good to let go.
"What do you like in a woman?" "The back. The rest is pornography."
Parthenope, undeterred: "Don't you find desire a mystery and sex its funeral?"
Or how about:
"At the end of life, only irony will remain."
It’s a film that doesn’t just speak; it whispers, it seduces, it laughs at itself. And yet, it’s not cynical. It’s full of life, of curiosity, of a relentless desire to understand and be understood. As Flora Malva says, "An actress has the moral duty to be curious. Even a woman. Otherwise, she succumbs."
Maybe that’s why Parthenope stays with me. Because it’s not just about Parthenope the character—it’s about all of us. About beauty, about loss, about how we learn to see when everything else begins to fade.
So, sorry, Nolan. You’re still the reason I’m here. But Parthenope? This is the one that stole my heart.
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