Name: Nuovo Olimpo
Genre: Romance, Drama
Released: 2023-11-01T00:00:00+00:00
Cast: Damiano Gavino, Andrea Di Luigi, Luisa Ranieri, Greta Scarano, Aurora Giovinazzo

The final scene of Nuovo Olimpo lingers on Damiano Gavino’s face as he operates on the man he once loved, his hands steady but his eyes betraying a storm of unspoken emotions. Ferzan Özpetek’s latest romance-drama is a film of quiet desperation, where love lingers like the scent of old film reels in an abandoned theater.

Özpetek, one of Italy’s most prolific directors of queer themes, sets his story against the backdrop of 1970s Rome, a city simmering with political unrest and burgeoning queer life. The Nuovo Olimpo theater, a cruising spot for gay men, becomes the heart of this tale, its crumbling grandeur reflecting the fragile hope of Pietro (Andrea Di Luigi) and Enea (Gavino). Shot entirely in Rome, the film’s locations—from the theater’s dimly lit interior to the bustling streets outside—are more than just backdrops; they are silent witnesses to the lovers’ journey. Özpetek’s use of natural light and soft focus creates a dreamy atmosphere, as if the city itself is holding its breath for these two lovers.

The first act zips along with an urgency that feels authentic—Pietro’s hesitation, Enea’s exuberance, their stolen moments in Alice’s apartment (Aurora Giovinazzo lends warmth to the role) are tenderly rendered. Di Luigi and Gavino have a palpable chemistry, particularly in their intimate scenes, where their performances feel raw and unguarded. The political context—Italy’s “Years of Lead”—adds weight to their separation, making it feel like more than just bad luck. Özpetek doesn’t shy away from the historical backdrop, using it to amplify the stakes of Pietro and Enea’s love story.

Yet Nuovo Olimpo stumbles when it tries to cram 45 years of longing into a two-hour runtime. The film rushes through its first act, leaving Pietro and Enea’s initial connection underdeveloped. Worse, the middle section sprawls, jumping decades without letting the audience catch their breath. Özpetek piles on missed connections—trains, hospitals, press conferences—but each near-encounter feels less like fate and more like narrative laziness. The film’s pacing turns what should be a poignant meditation on love and time into a slog.

The performances falter under the weight of this uneven structure. Di Luigi, in particular, struggles to convey Pietro’s emotional depth in the film’s later stages. His portrayal of Pietro feels inconsistent—hesitant and shy in the first act, but overly passive in the subsequent decades. Gavino fares better, bringing a quiet intensity to Enea that makes his character feel more fleshed out. However, even he can’t salvage the anticlimactic ending, where Pietro operates on Enea but they never speak. It’s a choice that feels cowardly—Özpetek shies away from giving these characters the confrontation they deserve.

What Nuovo Olimpo lacks in narrative discipline, it makes up for in thematic ambition. Özpetek explores love as both a force of nature and an unhealed wound, threading themes of grief, forgiveness, and reconciliation through the story. The film’s queer perspective feels authentic, avoiding the tragedy-porn tropes that have plagued many LGBTQ+ narratives. Özpetek’s consistent delving into queer themes makes Nuovo Olimpo a notable addition to his filmography, even if it doesn’t reach the heights of his best work.

The film also touches on the power dynamics within relationships and the desire to transcend personal limitations—a theme that resonates with Özpetek’s other works. The missed connections between Pietro and Enea serve as a metaphor for the broader human experience—how we often fail to seize the moments that could change our lives forever. However, these themes are sometimes buried under the film’s meandering narrative.

Comparing Nuovo Olimpo to Özpetek’s other films, it lacks the emotional punch of Mine Vaganti or the raw intensity of Le Fate Ignoranti. While it shares their exploration of queer love and identity, it falls short in terms of narrative cohesion and character development. The film is a far cry from the year’s essential work—it doesn’t have the thematic depth of Past Lives or the visual flair of The Killer.

In the end, Nuovo Olimpo is a film that feels both too long and too short—a collection of beautiful moments that never coalesce into something truly transcendent. It’s pretty to look at, but its characters, especially Pietro, often feel like sketches rather than fully realized people. The film’s strongest moments are its visuals—the Rome locations, the dreamy cinematography—and its emotional beats, like Enea’s quiet breakdown after hearing Pietro’s voice on an old answering machine.

Nuovo Olimpo is a film for those who appreciate Özpetek’s signature style and thematic explorations. It’s a slow burn that may resonate with viewers who enjoy meditative romances and are willing to overlook its narrative shortcomings.