Even in August, when locals have fled and many restaurants are shuttered; even when religious pilgrims flood the cobblestone streets for Catholic events; even when Rome is at its most trying, this city — embodying the glory and ruin of more than two millennia — is still magical. It’s  literally a cinematic setting for a trip: In classic films like Roman Holiday, La Dolce Vita and The Talented Mr. Ripley, the Italian capital itself takes a starring role. A lifetime wouldn’t be enough to discover the Eternal City’s secrets, but even just a few days suffice to experience the romance of the place.

While I never need a specific reason to return, a spate of new hotel openings in former palazzos gave me a convenient excuse to spend a week here, eating a sinful amount of spaghetti carbonara in between visits to lesser-known museums.

Rome itself was a great success as always, but this time, the hotels proved to be hit and miss, ranging from dazzling to dismal.

Palazzo Shedir

Our trip started on a high note with a much-anticipated stay at Palazzo Shedir, situated in a 17th-century Borghese palace once occupied by Italian film director Pietro Valsecchi. It’s in an ideal location, about halfway between Piazza del Popolo and Piazza Navona. With just three rooms, the hotel operates almost as a fully staffed private apartment.

We could hardly keep our jaws off the floor as we were welcomed through the grand entrance to the lounge, marveling at the opulent baroque details and playful contemporary touches like shag rugs. The manager showed us to our Chapel Room via a secret doorway hidden in the hallway.

Inside, the 450-square-foot space was small but magnificent, with a high domed ceiling and bas-relief sculptures adorning the gilded walls. A king bed with crisp linens took up most of the accommodation, and a tiny alcove held a writing desk and the room’s sole window. The only other furnishings were an upholstered bench and a TV on a stand that went unused and was mostly just in the way. The bath, with plenty of built-in closet space, was down a short flight of uneven steps. The novelty and character made the stay extraordinary, though next time I’d opt for one of the larger suites with a more convenient layout.

During our August visit, we were the only guests, making the $1,500-per-night rate for our Chapel Room feel like the best deal in town. We had free rein of the property, sipping cocktails in the art-filled parlor and relaxing in the sauna and steam room before dipping into the chilly pool.

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Breakfast is served in the hotel’s pièce de résistance, a mesmerizing dining room covered in mirrors, murals and gilded sconces; a glass table with an inset mirror reflects the frescoed ceiling and classical busts. Eating here felt almost scandalous, like we had broken into a museum to have scrambled eggs.

I loved our short stay at Palazzo Shedir, but note that such a tiny hotel encourages intimacy, whether you want it or not. We got to know the personable hotel manager quite well, for example, since he functions as a doorman and concierge; he also served breakfast, made our cappuccinos and helped us turn on the sauna.

Though there’s space for only six overnight guests, the dining room can seat 40. The palace also functions as an event venue, where chefs can prepare a multicourse feast before you progress to the private nightclub downstairs. We spent much of our time there brainstorming excuses to throw a party. If you host one yourself, don’t forget to send me an invite.

Palazzo Talìa

Set within a former school between the Trevi Fountain and Spanish Steps, the new Palazzo Talìa also has a movie connection. The director of Call Me by Your Name and I Am Love, Luca Guadagnino, whose films are celebrated for their dreamy interiors, conceptualized the striking design of the 26-room hotel. Frescoed ceilings and original architectural details complement the contemporary décor, while a palette of soft pinks and greens flows through the public spaces. I loved the mirrored café-bar off the lobby and the leafy courtyard, home to the restaurant that serves as the palace’s social nexus.

A grand staircase leads to the upper floors, where our high-ceilinged Deluxe room overlooked the lively outdoor restaurant patio. The accommodation had a proper seating area and a dining table, but the bathroom was surprisingly cramped.

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Unfortunately, the property’s appeal ends with its décor. The understaffing of the hotel resulted in a series of baffling scenes. Shortly after arrival, I attempted to order room service, only to be placed on hold by an employee who was flummoxed by the concept; after several minutes, I gave up and went to a salumeria across the street. Returning late one evening, we found the doors unlocked and the lobby unattended. We walked from the bustling street to our room without swiping a key card or seeing a single staff member.

The following day, I tried to make a massage appointment, but the phone just rang and rang. I went downstairs to speak to someone in person, but the spa was abandoned, with towels strewn by the grotto-like pool.

At breakfasts, only a quarter of the tables were set, and no menus or glasses were in evidence — just one overwhelmed waiter who required multiple reminders to serve such basics as coffee and water.

What a shame. With double the staff, Palazzo Talìa could be remarkable.

Palazzo Roma

Alas, the most disappointing part of our trip was yet to come, at the 39-room Palazzo Roma. We arrived in the morning to blaring dance music in the small lobby. A kind concierge offered us refreshments while we waited for housekeeping to put the finishing touches on our room, but the volume level was so obnoxious that we dropped our bags and left.

When we returned later that afternoon, we were shown to our spacious Junior Suite. It had a proper entryway, a generous walk-in closet, a seating area with a comfortable sofa and a wide desk convenient for working. The marble-clad shower was sizable, but otherwise the small, windowless bath felt tight; I would gladly have traded some bedroom square footage for a soaking tub and a bit more elbow room.

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Public spaces did not dazzle. The second-floor bar, lounge and restaurant, though cheerfully decorated, had a faint air of neglect. While some hotel lobbies are like the living rooms of the city, this seems like the sort of space locals avoid entirely. And speaking of neglect, at breakfast one morning, the cappuccinos we ordered simply never arrived.

The worst aspect of Palazzo Roma is its location. The entrance sits on the four-lane Via del Corso, where the narrow sidewalks have become so busy, we were forced to step into traffic to avoid strollers and parasols. With no outdoor space or spa at the hotel, our room was the only real refuge. Yet even that was compromised: We faced Via di Pietra, a pedestrian street linking the Pantheon and the Trevi Fountain, flooded day and night with the racket of vendors hawking tacky souvenirs and drunken tourists stumbling home.

As a self-described five-star hotel — and a member of Leading Hotels of the World — Palazzo Roma delivers an experience far below its promise. Charming rooms cannot compensate for the noise, the location or the indifferent service.

Orient Express La Minerva

On a cobbled square a few steps from the Pantheon, the 93-room Orient Express La Minerva has a much more appealing setting. It was impossible for me not to be overcome with nostalgia when we arrived. Even after a major renovation by the French Accor Group, the 17th-century palace remains a magnificent distillation of everything we’ve ever loved about Rome.

We hadn’t stayed here for ages, however, because this lovely old place had become, well, a bit shabby. A serious refurbishment had been necessary, but I feared that the hotel’s patrician patina might be lost to modernization. What we found instead is one of the most sensitive, sensual and subtle updates we’ve ever seen in a European grand hotel.

Paris-based designer Hugo Toro created a sublime décor that mixes Roman baroque with racy references to the historic Orient Express train, plus a bit of Spanish-influenced art deco by way of Hollywood. Toro’s real genius here is that he understood the tension between the sacred and the profane — the base of Rome’s saucy sense of humor — and translated it into the hotel’s interior.

The charm of the front desk staff came as a relief from the usual overly scripted welcomes. The delightful Austrian woman who greeted us informed us that because the elevator was down, we’d been upgraded to a Suite With Minerva Square Views, facing Bernini’s famous statue of an elephant bearing an obelisk.

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Our vast rectangular room was an enchantment, with a huge sitting area that included a dining table. Linens by Rivolta Carmignani, a Milanese firm founded in 1867, covered the king bed. Bespoke furniture and accessories enhanced the sense of richness: the vast sea-glass-toned velvet sofa with leather-belt detailing, the sideboard that hid the minibar and a record player, and the spacious bath’s oversize soaking tub and red marble vanity with two sinks.

The hotel’s lobby-lounge under a clerestory roof is a wonderful place to relax over a drink and snacks at the end of a day exploring, but the lovely roof terrace with a fine view of St. Peter’s is an even more scenic spot for cocktails. (Skip Gigi Rigolatto, the hotel’s lackluster rooftop restaurant.)

Overall, La Minerva is a tremendously charming property, and the night we spent here was a perfect prelude to our trip on the glamorous La Dolce Vita Orient Express train. Well, almost perfect: The Ottoman-inspired spa had yet to open. I’ve added it to my long list of reasons to return, yet again, to Rome.