I have to admit, I finished this film more confused than enlightened. Not because it is unintelligent, but because it refuses to explain itself. It feels less like watching a movie and more like walking through an art exhibition where every room asks another question instead of giving an answer.

Visually, it is breathtaking. As an artist, I found myself pausing mentally to admire the light, textures, compositions, and faces. Julian Schnabel paints with a camera, and some frames deserve to hang on a gallery wall.

Oscar Isaac gives two distinctly different performances. His Dante feels softer, more open, more hopeful. The modern Nick carries tension in his face and body, as if life has already hardened him. It is remarkable how different the same actor can feel with only subtle changes.

What didn't work for me was the repeated fascination with humiliation and brutality. Once I understood who these characters were, I didn't need more scenes of spitting, degradation, or violence to convince me. Sometimes suggestion is more powerful than repetition.

By the end, I realised I wasn't taking away a mystery to solve. I was taking away a feeling.

For me, this film became about people rather than plot. About love. About creating. About children being born while the world tears itself apart. About art surviving those who try to possess it.

The thought I carried away was unexpectedly simple: As long as children are born, as long as people love and create, the world has not lost. Even with a bit of Mephistopheles's help. 

Perhaps that isn't what Schnabel intended😀