Suspiria
You could watch pretty much any of Dario Argento's horror movies and arrive at the conclusion the man is crazy. Suspiria (screening at Anthology Film Archives this weekend), though, might be the most fun. An eye-popping triumph of spectacle over logic, the film is the Italian cult director's best-known work. Ostensibly, Suspiria tells the tale of an American girl (Jessica Harper) at a witch-infested ballet school in Germany; what it really does is bring Argento's perverted personal vision to life–or, just as often, gory death–with some of the most stylish filmmaking you've ever seen.
Like his violence, Argento's techniques can be shamelessly gratuitious. Yes, ambiguous point-of-view shots are disturbingly effective–and partly thanks to Argento, now a horror-film cliché–though it's unclear as to whether we need a close-up of a character's wine glass tipping toward the camera as she takes a drink. This is a typical set-up in Argento Land, where the only thing that's minimal is the plot.
The shadows in Suspiria are neon-colored, the deluge of sensation more important than traditional suspense or the creeping discomfort you get watching, say, a finely-tuned Polanski. Why else would the tensest scenes be drowned out by demonic prog rock? (The memorable score is by Goblin, who became Argento's musical collaborators after 1975's Deep Red.)
The overpowering music doesn't express fear felt by the characters, or help us sympathize with them; it's more a reflection of the diabolical mind behind it all. It's the unevenness of Argento's films is what makes them scary. You never know what he'll do next: he'll cut a scene or the soundtrack at a random moment, and just when you think you're removed from the action, a gruesome shock cut brings you right back into it. (Two of the most terrifying examples of this are in Suspiria, during the now-legendary opening murder scene. [Not for the faint of heart.])
Nearly all of Suspiria takes place in a labyrinthine old mansion in the Black Forest. The Escher-inspired sets are Art Nouveau meets Alice in Wonderland, and only slightly less baroque than the sequence that ends with a ballet dancer meeting her end in a room used to store razor wire.
Although Suspiria marks Argento's shift of preference towards female heroes, the killings are queasily sexual. (The treatment to which he's subjected his daughter, Asia, in later films is another discussion entirely.) Argento's direction of dialogue-driven scenes is comically indifferent, with a botched line by Hollywood veteran Joan Bennett, as the airy headmistress, somehow making its way into the final cut.
To see Suspiria in all its choppy, ruby-red glory, you need to catch it on the big screen. The film was printed using the outdated (think Wizard of Oz) three-strip Technicolor process, and 35-mm prints are as rare as the film is subtle. But by means of some sourcing witchcraft, Anthology Film Archives got its hands on one for this weekend.
Suspiria is screening September 12th and 13th at Anthology Film Archives. Anthology Film Archives is located at 32 Second Avenue in New York.
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