I didn't think the French could make a bad movie, but I was, clearly, very wrong. As has been said before, this film essentially uses its title character as a point of departure; its portrayal of her life and person have little or nothing to do with the real Artemisia Gentileschi.

The script is awful -- pretentious, stilted, and vapid -- and its rewriting of the facts is unusually offensive even in a genre that all too often makes its living by distorting, rather than retelling, history. Along with some fairly decent set design, Valentina Cervi's physical charms are the primary asset of this movie, and it's obvious from the beginning that the filmmakers were aware of this too; they waste no time in contriving various "erotic" sequences which have far more to do with titillation than with plot or character development. Unfortunately, the appeal of seeing a pretty young girl in a state of feigned sexual arousal cannot, and does not, sustain this movie. The acting is unremarkable, and the score is all too generic despite an interesting chord or two. The cinematography is OK, and there are some pretty colors, but there are also some pretty ridiculous sequences using distorted-lens effects more appropriate for a 1960s freakout movie than a costume drama. In any event, the script leaves the camera dwelling all too often on Artemisia's body, and all too seldom on her paintings.

All told, a near-complete failure. It's not intelligent or tasteful enough to be a serious film, and it's too slow and pretentious to work as soft-core pornography. So the French can fail, after all!

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