JessicaRulestheUniverse.com

In Milan, shady art critic James Figueras and Berenice, his mysterious American lover whom he just met yesterday, is invited to the lakeside villa of rich-as-Croesus art collector/gallerist Cassidy and roped into a scheme to steal a painting from reclusive artist Debney, who may have set his own work on fire many years ago. Giuseppe Capotondi’s film of The Burnt Orange Heresy, based on the novel by Charles Willeford (which I now want to read), is supposed to be a thriller, but it’s too languid and stately to raise your pulse.

The movie starts to fizzle out right when the crime is committed, but it raises fascinating questions about Art. Like, wtf is it? What do you really see when you look at art—the art itself, or the artist? How do we value a work when a critic can spin a tale turning paint splotches into a tragic masterpiece? Who really owns a work of art? What does the artist owe the world?

With the elegantly elongated Elizabeth Debicki (who will play Princess Diana in the next season of The Crown), Claes Bang (best name in showbiz, as a rancid version of his character in The Square), Donald Sutherland, and Mick Jagger as the devilish collector (He should always be cast as the devil). The cast is perfect, the Italian locations are gorgeous, the subject is intriguing, the movie is tepid but stress-free viewing. Debicki is always worth watching.