Dear Shaded Viewers,
Gucci’s The Tiger by Spike Jonze isn’t just the splashiest debut of Milan Fashion Week—it’s the canon shot, the electric reset Demna promised. The 30-minute fever dream thrusts audiences straight into the twisted heart of an imagined Gucci dynasty, where a matriarch’s glittering birthday spirals into a psychedelic reckoning. Demi Moore, a force in sequins and secrets, anchors an ensemble cast (Edward Norton, Elliot Page, Keke Palmer) as family drama, dark comedy, and fashion satire swirl together. Every frame is lacquered in Demna’s era-defining signatures: logo-drenched irony, lavish silhouettes, and just enough discomfort to keep the runway feeling wild and carnivorous.
Cinematically, Jonze and Halina Reijn turn the Gucci mansion into both stage and jungle—a tableau vivant of status and chaos, with couture as both armour and costume. The dialogue snaps between Oscar-worthy venom and pure camp, and the costuming channels decades of Gucci history, from Tom Ford’s sex appeal to Frida Giannini’s florals, all cut through with Demna’s raw, performative irreverence. As the family’s pristine veneer is shredded by mishap—and a prowling metaphorical tiger—the film becomes a meta-commentary on the rituals of luxury and the ferocity of fashion legacy.
The Tiger isn’t a movie about clothes; it’s a savage and sumptuous portrait of the fashion industry itself—hungry, self-aware, and utterly unmissable.
Later,
Diane
