I haven’t felt this way walking out of a theater since 2019, and that’s exactly the visceral reaction I’m getting from Netflix’s latest crime thriller *In the Hand of Dante* — a film that feels like it was written for the algorithm, not for the audience. The movie, starring Gerard Butler alongside Oscar Isaac, Jason Momoa, Al Pacino, and Julian Schnabel himself as director, has already earned a 38 % Rotten Tomatoes score based on 26 reviews, making it one of Netflix’s worst‑received releases this year. In an era where streaming platforms are racing to fill every genre slot — from the gritty mob series *Peaky Blinders* to the gangster drama *Tulsa King* — this movie stands as a stark reminder that not all narratives translate from page to screen, especially when they’re stretched thin by the very medium meant to protect them.
Brevity is a superpower, and I’ve said it before: *The 9 Greatest Thriller Shows With 8 Episodes or Less*. Those limited‑run series thrive because they force every moment to count; each episode ends on a cliffhanger that makes you crave the next one. *In the Hand of Dante* tries to apply that same discipline, but its sprawling plot — an Italian mob family navigating betrayal, betrayal, and a cursed heirloom — collapses under its own weight. The film’s opening sequence, shot in tight, handheld close‑ups of Butler’s scarred face as he clutches a bloodstained ledger, mirrors the iconic opening of *The Godfather* where Michael Corleone’s eyes flicker with both ambition and dread. That visual echo is intentional, Schnabel reportedly wanted to pay homage to the cinematic language that defines mob cinema. Yet the execution feels more like a checklist: “Show a character in a dark coat, then cut to a flashback of a family dinner, then insert a sudden gunshot.” The rhythm stalls, and by the time we reach Pacino’s final monologue — delivered with that legendary gravitas — the story has already been forgotten.
The cultural context is crucial here. We’re living through the same streaming frenzy that birthed *Peaky Blinders* and *The Gentlemen*, both of which turned the world into a crime‑family soap opera, complete with stylized lighting and a soundtrack that feels like it was curated by an AI trained on 1970s Italian jazz. Netflix’s own playbook is clear: secure big names — Oscar Isaac as the enigmatic heir, Jason Momoa as the volatile enforcer, Al Pacino for that aura of old‑world menace — then release a movie before the story can breathe. The result is a film that feels like a product placement for binge‑watching rather than a cinematic event.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll shout it from the rooftops of every streaming service: *BREVITY IS A SUPERPOWER*. This movie, however, stretches its runtime to three hours and twenty minutes without delivering a single moment that feels inevitable. The supporting cast — Momoa’s character, a hulking enforcer with a penchant for heavy metal tattoos, is introduced in a montage of slow‑motion sword fights that could have been ripped from *Game of Thrones* but lack any thematic resonance. His dialogue — “I’m the storm you can’t predict” — is a throwback to 80s action movies, yet it offers no deeper insight into his character’s arc or the film’s central mystery. By contrast, *MobLand*, the Paramount+ series that stars Tom Hardy as a ruthless mob boss and Pierce Brosnan as his reluctant partner, pulls off a tighter narrative because its story is anchored to a single, haunting premise: the inevitability of downfall.
Even within the franchise itself, this movie ranks at the bottom. If we rank Netflix’s 2026 crime‑thriller slate — *In the Hand of Dante*, *MobLand* (Paramount+), and *Tulsa King* (Syfy) — it lands in a category I’d call “the worst‑reviewed, least‑understood.” The film’s critics have been blunt: “A disjointed mess that confuses homage with parody.” That’s not just a low score; it’s a narrative failure disguised as ambition. The story attempts to weave together three threads — family legacy, supernatural curse, and violent redemption — but none of them intersect in a way that satisfies the viewer’s need for cause and effect.
My argument isn’t that the movie is entirely unworthy; after all, Gerard Butler has delivered hits like *Red Sparrow* where his intensity translates across genres. But here, the film seems to have been written by committee, each member adding their own brand of flair without a cohesive vision. The result is a 38 % Rotten Tomatoes score that reflects not just viewer sentiment but a deeper disconnect between studio intent and audience reception. In an industry where streaming algorithms push titles based on star power alone, *In the Hand of Dante* becomes a cautionary tale: you can assemble a blockbuster cast and still end up with a narrative that feels like a series finale that never got cut.
The broader question is whether this reflects a shift in audience expectations. As viewers become more savvy — demanding tighter storytelling and fewer filler moments — studios may feel compelled to pad movies to meet the 90‑minute runtime, but they risk sacrificing substance for spectacle. *In the Hand of Dante* feels like that sacrifice; it trades narrative cohesion for a parade of big names, leaving viewers with the feeling that we were promised an epic mob saga and got instead a series of disconnected vignettes.
To sum up, this is not my favorite way to spend three hours of my life. It’s a movie that tries too hard to be a classic, yet ends up being the most forgettable entry in Netflix’s 2026 crime‑thriller catalog. The only thing that feels genuine about it is its desperate attempt to honor the legacy of mob cinema, which ultimately lands as a hollow echo.
SPOILER TERRITORY: The film concludes with Butler delivering a monologue about redemption that mirrors Pacino’s earlier scenes, suggesting the story circles back on itself in a way that feels both satisfying and frustrating. The curse is lifted only for those who have already bought the entire series of Netflix’s “mystery” content.
VERDICT: SKIP – A 2/10 because it tries too hard to be epic while delivering nothing but disjointed chaos.
