House of Versace

...that it shows how the mind of a deluded, dumb narcissist works. Every second of this ludicrous "movie" screamed "Donatella was here and controlled everything from the script to the acting and most of all made sure that everything was about HER". The result of this obvious intervention is a complete and utter failure. A script that would've been written better by a mentally impaired child, horrendous acting, homely "models" who couldn't walk or pose, badly, badly recreated clothes and, worst of all, the amateurish direction of Sara Sugarman.

"House of Versace" is a two-hour masturbation of a stupid and narcissistic woman who has hired (and controlled - badly) a team to make a film about HER (nothing to do with Versace or reality at all). It is a sordid fantasy of a self-absorbed débile, in which she is this perfect creature even in her faults and where everyone exists as an extension of herself, performing the function of adoring her, admiring her and forgiving her when she needs it. Sounds ridiculous? That's because it was. My words fail me to express how ridiculously bad it all was. Cliché after cliché. I give it the lowest rating I can.