I have a small obsession with Tilda Swinton. This statement requires no further explanation as I do believe her work does all the arguing and justifying necessary on its own. The only thing I could possibly add is to correct my initial statement and admit that my obsession with Tilda Swinton might actually be slightly larger than small. I love Tilda Swinton the way your mom loves Meryl Streep and sometimes think she's more artwork than human. Because of this fascination, I have high expectations of Tilda Swinton. I had eagerly awaited the release of Italian director Luca Guadagnino's art house epic I Am Love. So long and so eagerly that my preconceived notions of what the film should be were reaching up up and further still. What it needed to be, first and foremost was beautiful. After that, it needed to (and please don't start singing that song from Nine) be Italian. By Italian I mean Italian in the most classically cinematic sense of the word. I wanted a bright and technicolor high-def edition of some sort of Fellini, Antonioni, neorealist slow burn with all the high fashion pageantry, luxe romance of images and scenery entailed therein. You know, one of those films you can fall in love with based on the aesthetic progression from frame to frame while excusing slips of plot or loose dialogue. Guess what? I Am Love is that movie. It just took me a little while to realize it.