Darlings, Venice’s legendary Lido is serving up the most delectable drama cocktail this season — and honey, it’s not just the Aperol Spritz talking. The festival’s latest offerings have thrown together HBO Max’s Italian sensation ‘Portobello’ with Jim Jarmusch’s ‘Father Mother Sister Brother’ in a fascinating pas de deux of prestige and controversy.
Let’s dish about Jarmusch first, shall we? The auteur’s triumphant return to Venice after what feels like eons (two decades, but who’s counting?) brought us the divine Cate Blanchett in all her luminous glory. Picture this: The Sala Grande erupting in a five-minute standing ovation that had La Blanchett practically floating on air — and honestly, wouldn’t you?
The film itself? A sumptuous family drama spanning three continents, with a cast that reads like a dream dinner party guest list: Adam Driver (still riding high from that Oscar buzz), the eternally enchanting Vicky Krieps, and — be still my beating heart — Charlotte Rampling. In a moment that could’ve been plucked straight from Hollywood’s golden age, Jarmusch went full gentleman, bestowing kisses on his leading ladies’ hands. Mayim Bialik and Indya Moore rounded out this embarrassment of riches, darling.
But because we can’t have nice things without a dash of drama (it’s 2025, after all), there’s the sticky situation with Mubi. The co-producer’s connection to Sequoia Capital has sparked more fires than a Real Housewives reunion, thanks to the venture firm’s Israeli defense-tech investments. Jarmusch, bless his straight-shooting soul, didn’t sugar-coat it: “I was disappointed and disconcerted,” he admitted, before dropping this gem — “all corporate money is dirty.” Well, honey, ain’t that the truth?
Meanwhile, on the Italian front… grab your popcorn, because this one’s juicier than a summer tomato. HBO Max’s first Italian original, ‘Portobello,’ serves up a riches-to-rags story that would make even the most jaded Hollywood exec’s jaw drop. The series chronicles the spectacular fall of Enzo Tortora — think Italy’s answer to Johnny Carson, if Carson had suddenly found himself in a Kafka novel.
Get this: It’s 1982, and Tortora’s commanding an audience of 28 million viewers (not too shabby) with a show featuring… wait for it… people trying to get words out of a parrot. But faster than you can say “career suicide,” one jailed mafioso’s testimony sends our host’s life into a tailspin that makes Lindsay Lohan’s troubles look like a minor PR hiccup.
The whole spectacle — both premieres, that is — perfectly captures Venice’s particular magic. One minute you’re contemplating the complexities of cross-continental family bonds, the next you’re deep in a stranger-than-fiction tale of justice gone sideways. And threading through it all? The Apartment Pictures, a Fremantle company that’s clearly mastered the art of being everywhere that matters.
As Venice continues to unfold (like a couture gown that’s worth more than my apartment), these premieres remind us that in the entertainment world, art, commerce, and controversy are eternal dance partners. And honestly? We wouldn’t have it any other way.
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