In the Hand of Dante

Coming off as stuffy and pretentious as its characters, In the Hand of Dante doesn’t offer much of an emotional entry point for anyone other than erudite scholars with a working knowledge of late medieval poetry.

This ambitious yet awkward epic from director Julian Schnabel (The Diving Bell and the Butterfly) is sort of a meta thematic reimagining of Dante Aligheri’s Divine Comedy that stumbles in taking itself much too seriously.

Contrasting quiet introspection with outbursts of shocking violence, the film details a life of regret and despair, marked by crime and tragedy — both as a perpetrator and victim.

In 21st century New York, Nick (Oscar Isaac) emerges from a hardscrabble upbringing into a life of crime, being recruited by a mobster (John Malkovich) and paired alongside a ruthless hitman (Gerard Butler).

Their latest mission involves stealing a handwritten manuscript of Divine Comedy from Italy, but not until authenticating it first using carbon-dating technology.

An author himself, Nick finds the poem influential in his own work, which leads to fantasies set 700 years earlier, in which Isaac plays Dante, struggling with a crisis of faith and a turbulent relationship with his future wife (Gal Gadot) while pondering the meaning of life.

Among the, um, eclectic casting choices in its deep and talented ensemble is Butler in a second role as the Pope, Martin Scorsese as a babbling biblical scholar with a bushy beard that would put Gandalf to shame, and Jason Momoa as a shadowy criminal figure with a man-bun and nondescript accent.

The nonlinear, episodic screenplay by Schnabel and his wife, Louise Kugelberg — adapted from a Nick Tosches novel — is a muddled probe of art, religion, morality, masculinity, obsession, identity, and greed.

There are some highlights, including an early sequence during which his uncle (Al Pacino) rationalizes to a young Nick why confessing to fatally stabbing a fellow teenager in a back-alley fight would be sinful.

The filmmaker incorporates some stylish visual flourishes throughout, toggling between color (flashbacks) and black-and-white (present day), and blending intimate closeups with sweeping landscapes and vistas. Isaac keeps us invested with a fully committed dual performances that thoughtfully navigates Nick’s surreal journey to redemption.

However, as most of the literary interludes grind the already uneven narrative momentum to a head-scratching halt, In the Hand of Dante becomes more tedious than profound.

Rated R, 153 minutes.