Did none of these reviewers read Susan Sontag's "Notes on Camp" in college?  Remember camp, you guys?  The tragically hilarious or the hilariously tragic?  If the reviews of "House of Versace" tell us anything, it is that professional TV critics have limited interest in any of that.

New York Times critic Jon Caramica had this to say about Lifetime's biopic of Donatella Versace starring Gina Gershon, which debuted this weekend:

[House of Versace is] a mass-market knockoff of a luxury brand, not even as chillingly melodramatic as the typical Lifetime movie, dragged down by comically huge jumps in narrative and downright dismal dialogue.

He also went on to call the movie "terrible," a "demolition derby," and "a redemption story with the air of a funeral."  While Caramica makes a nod to the inherent campiness of the story, he stands by his claim that the movie fails even on that level.

Gawker's resident gay culture expert Rich Juzwiak disagrees, and pairs his retort with a delicious supercut of Lady Gershon snorting what seems like endless amounts of cocaine:

If nothing else, House of Versace is a solid entry in the spiraling-women subgenre of camp. ... Gershon snorts, boozes, throws shoes, and breaks her champagne glass on a chandelier—that's her wake-up call, the luxe version of the straw that broke the camel's back.

LA Times critic Robert Lloyd falls somewhere in the middle:

House of Versace suffers from the usual elisions, expositions and economies of TV biopics. And yet it is not the train wreck it might have been — it attempts, at least, to take things seriously — or indeed, should have been. But it does rise, which is to say lower, itself to the occasion often enough.

As far as I'm concerned, anyone not claiming that Gina Gershon is horribly perfect (or perfectly horrible) will be promptly ignored.