I’m finding it very difficult to figure out where to begin with House of Gucci. I could start where the movie started, the last morning of Maurizio Gucci’s (Adam Driver) life. Or, I could start with Lady Gaga’s bizarre Italian accent as Patrizia Reggiani. There’s also the extremely questionable prosthetics used for Jared Leto to portray Paolo Gucci. Given all of that, I’ll start with what I wanted to get out of this movie.

There are movies released this time of year that seem to exist only to go for Oscar glory. It’s difficult to explain what qualifies those movies as Oscar bait, but you know it when you see it. Many times it’s a period piece, stuffed to the gills with an all-star cast and a flashy director. What these movies lack, though, is heart. They don’t feel honest. The film doesn’t have to be a personal movie for the writer or director in the sense that the story is something that happened to them. It does, however, need to be personal on a fundamental level. The movie and the story they’re choosing to tell have to mean something to them. That’s heart. It can’t be purchased, no matter the budget. It has to happen naturally. Set designers, actors, writers, sound designers, PAs — every person who touches the project has to care. That’s what makes great movies, and it’s why I love movies. If there’s no heart, you get a movie like this one.

House of Gucci tells the story of the rise and fall and rise (again) of the Gucci brand through the relationship of Maurizio and Patrizia Gucci. Kind of. Throughout the course of the staggering 158-minute runtime, the audience sees Maurizio and Patrizia fall in love, become scheming businesspeople, fall apart romantically, and, ultimately, sees the death of Maurizio at the hands of Patritzia.

One would think that the bulk of the movie’s time would be spent with Patritzia because of how Maurizio and Patrizia’s story ends. When the movie begins, she’s the daughter of a trucking company owner, an aspiring socialite who meets Maurizio at a party. Before Patrizia knows Maurizio is a Gucci, she barely gives him the time of day, but her entire mindset changes once she learns his name. She’s extraordinarily nervous when she meets Maurizio’s father, Rodolfo Gucci (Jeremy Irons), and she’s in awe of the Gucci home the first time she sets foot in it. Even though Patrizia doesn’t know a Picasso from a Klimt, she wants more than anything to be part of the world of Gucci. She’s desperate to have that name and clings to it with all she has once she gets it. Rodolfo disowns Maurizio when he says he intends to marry Patrizia because Rodolfo thinks she’s only interested in the wealth, the name, and the status that she stands to gain. Patrizia is the one who pushes Maurizio to connect with his uncle, Aldo Gucci (Al Pacino), so they can really start to be part of the family business.

Despite all of this, despite her need for status and wealth, making the decision to hire hitmen to murder her husband is still quite a leap for Patrizia. The movie is based on true events, so it’s obviously a leap that happened, but director, Ridley Scott, has no interest in showing how she got there. As soon as the glitz and glamor of her marriage begin to show cracks, Patrizia disappears from the script. She’s reduced to short scenes, mostly spent trying to talk to Maurizio, or crying as her make-up runs down her face. This movie begins and ends with a murder that Patrizia puts into motion, so one would think the script would outline the changes that lead to her decision. Unfortunately, it’s vastly more interested in showing off the opulence of the Gucci family.

For all its runtime, House of Gucci cannot tell this story properly. It’s bloated with scenes that add nothing to the account, countless montages set to ’80s songs that don’t really fit. Movies are getting longer without justifying a need for that length, to the ultimate detriment of the movies themselves. Restraint is needed. Oddly, quite a few scenes in House of Gucci felt like they were shortened in favor of flashier scenes that didn’t progress the story. It felt like they were there simply to give actors snippy lines of dialogue that could be clipped off and shown after award nominations.

The performances are all over the place too. Lady Gaga is full-on camp, yet still somehow so rigid. It’s as though the audience could see Gaga thinking about acting instead of fully embodying the character. Could that be because she didn’t want to consult the actual Patrizia Reggiani at all? Maybe. Her performance is at the opposite end of the spectrum from Adam Driver, who brought more grounded humanity to Maurizio. His character is a far cry from the larger-than-life Patrizia that Gaga created. When the couple the film is centered on feels like they aren’t even in the same movie, what do you get?

It’s a shame. I think I would’ve loved a campy version of House of Gucci. In the past few years, there have been quite a few attempts at making off-center historical films. The Big Short, I, Tonya, The Favourite to name a few. It’s an extraordinarily fine line to walk between maintaining historical accuracy and adding a certain flair. The problem with House of Gucci is that it has no idea what line it wants to walk. Gaga’s and Leto’s performances are firmly campy (an intention I don’t think either actor expressly had), while Driver and Pacino try their absolute best to make it serious. Driver is a fascinating actor, and when he was given space in this movie to act in the nuanced way he’s so good at, the movie shines brightly, if only for just a moment.

So much of the lead-up to this awards season will be about the transformations actors were able to make as they truly became their characters. Gaga is already talking about how she simply couldn’t speak in this accent without being a brunette and how she lived as Patrizia for nine months to prepare for her role. Leto’s entire performance is centered on the prosthetics used to turn him into Paolo Gucci, a choice I wholeheartedly disagree with. Quite a bit of time is spent talking about how the lead actors prepared for their roles, but very little is spent discussing whether the preparations actually added to their performances. (It’s hard not to think about Kristen Stewart’s unrecognizable turn as Princess Diana in Spencer, a transformation without prosthetics or extended method acting.)

House of Gucci fails to work on two levels. First, as a historical family drama, and second, as a campy, good time. What’s left is a lumbering movie that’s unable to offer an interesting look into the Gucci dynasty or the journey of Patrizia Reggiani from dutiful wife to accomplice to murder.

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