“There is no reason why a kid from a family of gangsters couldn’t be the reincarnation of Dante Alighieri,” reads Julian Schnabel’s director’s statement on his new film, In the Hand of Dante. Such boastful aplomb is indicative of the final result, an Out of Competition entry where everything is possible. If Renaissance genius Dante Alighieri can forsake his Beatrice for another woman, then Gerard Butler can surely portray a Renaissance Pope and Gal Gadot can appear as Botticelli’s Venus while still resembling a cardboard cutout amidst a frantic production largely financed by Cartier. Plot-wise, In the Hand of Dante parallels two timelines with distinct aesthetics––the 1300s are in color, the early 2000s in black-and-white––and an equal amount of disinterest in what those worlds share (notwithstanding actors playing different characters in each).
At the centre of it all is Nick (Oscar Isaac), the personification of writer, journalist, and biographer Nick Tosches, whose eponymous novel lends the frenzied plot of colliding timelines. Circling around him are his new secretary Guiletta (Gal Gadot), the vulgar and highly efficient hitman Louis (Gerard Butler), and the shady Joe Black (John Malkovich) whose informants have secured access to Dante’s original manuscript of The Divine Comedy, which had been deemed non-existent until now. Though Nick’s expertise on Renaissance literature comes across as little more than a hobby and tool of self-aggrandizement, it’s more than enough for Joe Black to entrust him with the manuscript’s authentication. He seems like a reliable chap (even if you’ve already seen him confess to murdering another kid at the age of ten).
The film begins with a title card lending some context as to who Dante Alighieri is and who Tosches is, all the while failing to set up any link for those of us who haven’t read the book. There’s nothing wrong with asking the viewer to play catch-up, but Schnabel and his co-writer Louise Kugelberg are, for at least the first act, a tad too demanding. Setting up the complex time-jumps in a manner that is even remotely logical would be a mark of genuine care for newcomers in the audience; in that regard (and a few others) In the Hand of Dante goes full Megalopolis on its literary references, versed wisdom, and tacky aesthetic choices to drown you in its whimsy before you can say “Alighieri.”
Many of the theatricalities for dialogue, gestures, and costumes are reserved for the 14th century, where one can marvel at Martin Scorsese’s elvish beard and demeanor while he mentors the struggling Dante (Isaac) through his writer’s block. Their exchanges, like Nick’s monologues about penmanship in the modern day timeline, could be immensely off-putting and pretentious if they weren’t performed by such stellar actors; it’s remarkably easy to let yourself be lulled by Oscar Isaac’s cadence as he recites Dante in the original Italian, honoring every inflection of the verse and its rhythmic unity. A big chunk of that appeal is absent in the “present day” time, where Isaac’s face has been chiseled by Nick’s stubbornness. The actor exhibits a commendable effort to widen the emotional scope bequeathed to his character––to the point that, occasionally, Nick Tosches gives way to the sleek William Tell from The Card Counter. Schnabel’s film, unlike Paul Schrader’s, makes a mockery of the crime-thriller genre to the very end, but it does so in a manner so deranged one cannot help applauding the final scene that, coincidentally or not, takes place in Venice.
Like the illusion of a dream, In the Hand of Dante works best right before you snap out of it––its beauty is at times convulsive in landscapes, skies, and Oscar Isaac’s face miraculously captured (by DoP Roman Vasyanov) from a slightly higher angle. Well knowing that it stands between Inferno and Paradise, In the Hand of Dante wears its revisionist streak like a beauty-pageant sash in the absence of a crown.
In the Hand of Dante premiered at the 2025 Venice Film Festival.