This desaturation is not a lack of imagination; it is a deliberate act of violence. By stripping away the fairy-tale gloss, Guadagnino forces us to feel the grime. Berlin is divided by a concrete wall, haunted by the whispers of the Baader-Meinhof complex and lingering Nazi shame. The rain never stops. The Markos Dance Academy is not a gothic castle but a brutalist bank building—cold, institutional, and bureaucratic.
The cast of delivers standout performances across the board. Dakota Johnson shines as Susie Bannion, bringing a sense of vulnerability and determination to the role. Jennifer Jason Leigh is equally impressive as Madame Markos, bringing a sense of gravitas and menace to the character.
The film's exploration of power, corruption, and female empowerment is both thought-provoking and terrifying, making it a film that will linger in the minds of viewers long after the credits roll. If you're a fan of horror, or simply looking for a film that will challenge and unsettle you, then is a must-watch. suspiria -2018-
Guadagnino's is a film that assaults the senses. The cinematography by Réda Bensali is breathtaking, with a predominantly dark and muted color palette that adds to the overall sense of foreboding. The camerawork is meticulous, with each frame carefully composed to create a sense of unease and tension.
The head of the academy, a maternal yet terrifying figure who speaks in whispered, magnetic tones. Blanc is the film’s deceptive center—a woman who believes that the coven’s cruelty is a necessary evil for survival. Her relationship with Susanna is charged with erotic tension and mother-daughter rivalry. This desaturation is not a lack of imagination;
The year 1977 is not incidental. As Dr. Klemperer wanders through Checkpoint Charlie, we are reminded that Berlin is a divided city. This geographical fracture serves as a metaphor for the divided self.
Yorke’s score is not there to scare you; it is there to mourn you. Tracks like “Suspirium” (played on a out-of-tune upright piano) evoke a sad, circular waltz. The music feels like a memory of a melody, broken and whispered through a wall. It complements the film’s coldness while adding a layer of profound loneliness. It is the sound of the Berlin winter. Only during the climactic ritual—a blood-soaked, balletic massacre—does Yorke finally unleash a percussive, industrial beat that mimics the old Goblin style, only to swallow it back into silence. The rain never stops
In 1977, Dario Argento painted with blood and neon. His Suspiria was a fairy tale for the eyes—a lurid, irrational nightmare where a thunderstorm turned to maggots and a blind pianist’s guide dog led a girl to her death. It was style as substance.
Under prosthetic makeup weighing nearly 40 pounds, Swinton plays an elderly, grieving psychoanalyst. Klemperer is the film’s moral compass, a Jewish survivor of the Holocaust trying to uncover the truth about the academy while haunted by the ghost of his wife, who disappeared during the war. Casting a woman (Swinton) to play an old man, and the audience’s subsequent recognition of that fact, becomes a meta-commentary on the film’s themes of performance, disguise, and the fluidity of identity.
If you want the candy-colored dream, watch the 1977 film. But if you want to feel the cold wind of history, if you want to see a dance that breaks bones, and if you are willing to sit with three hours of unrelenting dread, the 2018 Suspiria is waiting for you behind the wall. Just don’t expect to leave the way you came in.
In the film’s most harrowing sequence (the “Volk” sequence), a younger dancer named Olga is punished for trying to leave the coven. As Susanna performs a solo in a mirrored studio, her movements are psychosomatically linked to Olga in a locked room across the hall. With every elegant extension of Susanna’s leg, Olga’s joints are twisted in the wrong direction. With every fierce stomp of Susanna’s foot, Olga’s ribs crack.