The Best Part of “Moss & Freud” Is When It’s Over. James Lucas's debut directorial feature is as frivolous as Fendi fringe, offering nothing more than a toothsome, predictable film about intergenerational bonding and an exploitative relationship between artist and muse.

While Moss (Ellie Bamber) embodies an irresistibly reckless decadence, her performance lacks the impetuous charisma of the South London-reared model she portrays. Derek Jacobi as Lucian Freud is a Great Man who sees “truth” in young women, but his proposition feels more like exploitation than artistry.

The film’s final act showcases Freud's explosive rage at Moss for being late, a moment that underscores the extractive tendencies of both the fashion and fine art worlds. However, Lucas resists such complexity, preferring trite revelations to real insight. The epigraph from Freud—“A moment of complete happiness never occurs in the creation of a work of art”—is tragically accurate here.

Despite its flaws, Moss & Freud offers a fleeting glimpse into an era when models and artists were more than just subjects and canvases. It’s best enjoyed for what it is—a glitzy buddy film that celebrates excess and privilege.