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On its face "Three Faces" refers to the three faces of this movie's three actresses: one young, one middle-aged and one old. In reality, this is director Jafar Panahi's critique of Iranian cinema; the actresses representing Iranian cinema past, Iranian cinema present, and Iranian cinema future.

Prior to the Iranian Revolution of 1980, cinema in Iran was very popular. The country had a mature film-making industry that churned out products ranging from adventure films with virile male characters to important art films from internationally-recognized directors such as Abbas Kiarostami.

After the Ayatollah took over the country, these films were banned. Some artists managed to flee the country while others stayed and became outcasts like the old actress in this movie. Panahi intentionally never shows us her face, a reminder that Iranians are not permitted to view the films that comprise Iranian cinematic heritage. The old actress lives in a very humble house in a remote part of a very remote village, in the same way that Iranian film history exists, but has been tucked away from view by the mullahs, and stuck into a place unfitting its true stature. There is a very interesting scene in which, from a distance, Panahi sees all three actresses dancing and partying in the house. It is as if he is saying he knows there is a lot of great substance in the historic Iranian films, but he himself cannot enjoy it, given his own present circumstance as an Iranian filmmaker whose films are banned in his own country.

The middle-aged actress (played brilliantly by Behnaz Jafari) represents the current state of Iranian cinema, which is to say it is practically nonexistent. In this movie she is a TV actress who stars in cheap soap operas. Early in the film, Panahi describes her as follows: "in her current state she's not much use to anyone, anyway." Ouch.

Perhaps the most interesting of the three faces is that of the young actress, who represents Panahi's assessment of the future of Iranian cinema, which turns out not to be traditional cinema at all. This actress stars in a smart phone-produced video that might or might not be staged. The filmmakers of the future, he seems to be saying, will be unconstrained by whether a work might be categorized as fiction or non-fiction, but instead focused on important sociological themes that move people to act. Indeed, a look at present day Iranian Youtube videos reveals works that deal with social upheaval. One example: a woman wears her hijab too low on the bus and films away as a religious zealot spits in her face. These are the most important films coming out of Iran today.

Beyond its subtext, this film is very rich in terms of presenting for western viewers a look at a part of the world we rarely get to see. Panahi's portrayal of the people of rural Iran along the Turkish border seems very genuine. He presents them as multifaceted and interesting; we get a good dose of the good, the bad and the ugly in these people. The film is worth seeing for that alone.

Is The Great Beauty a movie that has no cohesion? Yes. Does it contain numerous colorful characters that come and go, leaving us to wonder why so many people should appear and disappear without adding anything to the narrative? Yes. Is it a jumbled mess of scenes that seem to have been spliced together at random, leaving us disappointed and confused? Yes. Is it gorgeous to look at? Yes. Does it provoke in us deep reflections about the heaviest themes of life: spirituality, aging, artistic expression, love? Absolutely. Are there scenes in this movie that will haunt you for a week or more after you have seen it? Yes. Is it worth about two and a half hours of your time? Oh yeah.

This is a movie about an off-the-charts fastidious man with a mother complex by the name of Reynolds Woodcock who is a world class London fashion designer. Woodcock has many of the predictable characteristics of a man with a mother complex: artistic sensibility, narcissism, compulsiveness, irritability, and the inability to maintain long-term relationships with women who never measure up.

Woodcock lives in an apartment within his fashion house. The house is fronted and managed by his sister Cyril, a tough-as-nails British matron who understands her brother fully, and manages him through his many mood swings and failed relationships. As the movie begins, Woodcock has tired of yet another of his many muses and the sister is dispatched to tell the girl the bad news that her man is never going to fall back in love with her.

Before long Woodcock meets Alma, woos her into his world, and the rest of the movie follows this relationship. Will Woodcock tire of Alma as he did all of the women before her? Will she be able to tolerate his off-the-charts obsessive compulsive disorder and unpredictable mood swings? We see scene after scene, and at times we are convinced this relationship is headed for the skids, while in others it is apparent these two have a deep and abiding love for one another.

Make no mistake. This is an unhealthy relationship. He is an obsessive-compulsive control freak, and she is a an extremely insecure nourisher who desperately needs him to need her to take care of him. Given their personality clash, it seems apparent that the relationship will devolve into darkness, and of course it does.

I will say no more out of respect for those who have not yet seen the movie. However, I will say that the final reveal was unbelievable to me. Given all we had learned about Woodcock's character throughout the film, I found it impossible to believe he would willingly compromise himself to the extent that he does in the end, and for me that made the ending a disappointment.

I forgive the ending because the film itself was so artfully made by director Paul Thomas Anderson, and the acting so spot on by all three leads (Daniel Day Lewis, Leslie Manville and Vickie Krieps), that Anderson could have ended the film by showing monkeys flying out of his backside and I still would have liked it.