Opiniões dos críticos

There’s no magisterial camerawork to link [the film's] characters in their godawful space, nor is there any narrative throughline to provide tension, coherence, or interest. Instead, each scene is an enclosed vignette, where every character proffers proof of their cretinous nature, only to jolt over to the next room before, God forbid, anything interesting happens.

The Palace [is] a film so dire that the filmmaker can no longer be defended because of his genius... That the man who brought us The Pianist and Chinatown could come to this is genuinely upsetting.

Not unlike Polanksi’s greatest misfire, the head scratching What? (1972)... The Palace hits more off-key notes than anything, like a rough outline of jokes needing to be reworked. Bizarre and eventually exhausting... The Palace doesn’t quite exceed the price of its reservations.

[The Palace is] so conspicuously bad, and so wilfully anti-cinematic — there’s not a single shot that looks like it was filmed with intent or meaning — that it only makes sense as an act of vengeance on behalf of a veteran director lashing out at a mainstream industry from which he has been essentially ostracised.

None of [The Palace] is funny; bits of it are more horrifying than the Polish filmmaker’s actual horror films.

For better or worse, The Palace just isn’t good: a film that wears its bad taste like a mink coat while offering little in terms of fun, less still in terms of style... This thing sits like a curdled cocktail: three-parts Östlund, one-part Grand Budapest Hotel (Desplat, take a bow).

Polanski’s 23rd feature is surely the worst of his career: a soul-throttlingly cr-p hotel farce... The humour certainly feels at least 23 years past its sell-by date, though less in the sense of “you can’t tell these jokes any more” than “why would you want to?”.

A ghastly, flaccid hotel farce that starts with a conversation about armageddon and ends with a dog having sex with a penguin... It’s clear that Polanski is revolted by the world and the people he shows us here. But tellingly, his film is not a satire; it’s more like the giggling wallflower at the worst party in town.

[The Palace] is the worst thing [Polanski's] ever made... a grotesque and forgettable film... There’s no such subtext in The Palace, which as a comedy is never funny, although it tries very hard to be.

The most terrible, joyless farce since the heyday of the ’70s British sex comedy... It beggars belief, but, at the age of 90, Polanski may have actually cancelled himself with a film that will probably never see the light of day in any English-speaking countries.

[The Palace] might have been improved by a stronger sense of comic timing but, even still, the humour has the old, musty, scent of the old age home... it would be a very hard blow indeed if this were to be the film Polanski is remembered for.

When his comedy isn’t rooted in drama, Polanski becomes the directorial equivalent of someone trying to get laughs with a whoopee cushion... Nothing in the movie is funny... Even at 90, he wants to be the “bad boy.” In “The Palace,” though, he’s just a bad filmmaker.