At Cannes, a preemptive acquisition for US distribution typically signals immense confidence. To many, it was no surprise that Anora emerged Tuesday as one of the festival’s breakout hits, given that Neon bought it in postproduction late last year. Or look at Mubi, which officially took on US rights to The Substance mere days before that film rocked the Croisette. So on Tuesday night, all eyes were on Parthenope. A24—one of the market’s great tastemakers—had acquired Paolo Sorrentino’s next Naples-set epic shortly before the festival began, indicating that this project might become a similar sensation. Just consider the studio’s own track record, with its recent Cannes bows including critical darlings The Zone of Interest, Showing Up, and Aftersun.

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Unfortunately, Parthenope has since been labeled one of the competition lineup’s more underwhelming titles. (The majority of reviews aggregated so far on Rotten Tomatoes are negative, and it’s in the very bottom-tier of films on Screen’s benchmark jury grid.) Opinions could certainly move in another direction before all is said and done, but I wouldn’t count on it.

The film showcases BAFTA winner Sorrentino (The Great Beauty, The Hand of God) at his most indulgent. There are some breathtaking visuals and a perfectly pitched soundscape, but also an overwrought script that gets in his way and that fetishizes his heroine. The very muted applause at Tuesday’s press screening at the Bazin theater—about as dramatic a contrast as one could get to the initial, ecstatic response to Anora—further indicates that this one will not go down as a festival favorite.

Parthenope stars Celeste Dalla Porta (making her film debut) in the titular role, a rare beauty born in the sea—true to the Parthenope myth’s origins—who navigates the tumult of an emotionally volatile family, the endless attention of boys and men, and the rigorous expectations of academia. (She studies anthropology.) She weathers tragedy, lost loves, and professional setbacks, all captured by Sorrentino against the singular beauty of Naples. “Her view becomes more critical when a more disenchanted phase of her life begins,” Sorrentino said at a press conference on Wednesday. “She is a free and spontaneous woman, who does not judge—exactly like the city.”

Porta connected to the character’s arc, tapping into her own coming of age, which she applies to the sweeping narrative. “Before we started shooting the film I was still in a youthful, carefree phase of my life. [Being an actor] was still something of a dream,” she said. “Making the film, it was as if I had to let go of the little girl in me.”

Porta is compelling as a woman absorbing what life throws at her, one scene at a time. But she only has so much to work with. The film pays great attention to the way she’s viewed by those on the outside, especially men; they’re attracted to her, fighting over her, as emphasizes by lyrical, dreamlike camera work. But by and large, critics did not buy the aesthetic approach. The Guardian even argued that Sorrentino, who has long favored languid, lush examinations of Italian beauty, is now verging into self-parody.

The film also stars Gary Oldman in a small but memorable turn as the alcoholic author whose work appeals to a young Parthenope. Eventually, to her astonishment, they meet in the flesh. “There was chaos, pain, and a lot of drama in my life when I was younger—it’s no secret that I used to drink and I just celebrated 20 years of sobriety,” Oldman said at the press conference. “Coming into this role, there are things that I instinctively understood. When Paolo said, ‘I want you to play the sad, melancholy, drunken poet,’ I went: ‘I know what that is.’”

Sorrentino hopes that audiences walk away from the film with a complex understanding of his own hometown, a place that continues to hold profound power over him as an artist and filmmaker. (His last film, The Hand of God, was also set in Naples and structured around a character’s abrupt death, but received more favorable reviews.) “It’s a beautiful place for a certain stage of life, but it might become less determinant and less important when you grow up,” he says. “Many Neapolitan people—and I am among them—constantly go back to it and escape to it.”