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Steeped in red and wrapped in woo-woo mystery, "Suspiria" is a fable of demonic possession. In terms of storytelling, her bad and bad problem is about a seemingly naive young American dancer, Susie (Dakota Johnson), whose tenure in a wholly female school in Germany is getting more and more strange. The other less interesting possession concerns the Italian director Luca Guadagnino, who was inspired by a mistake by Dario Argento in the 1970s to make it a fantasy swollen with feminine power violently consumed. This is the old show of fear of the vagina dentata, this time planted with artistic pretensions.
With its showy color, slanted angles and baroque violence, the first "Suspiria" is still able to destabilize your balance, which suits a film that turns psychosis into a visual style. (Among his most memorable elements, there is an incredibly frightening soundtrack, which turns the tinkling of the music box into an exasperating chorus.) Argento's vulgar expressionism had to appeal to Guadagnino. Sensualist film, Guadagnino ("Call me by your name") creates stories filled with volcanic emotions, beautiful people and beautiful scenery that – of color, light and technique – imbue a sumptuous tactility that you almost seek, like to caress. .
This time he seems more interested in getting you back while saying something. We do not know exactly what it means in the midst of all the chicions of carefully choreographed bleeding and boning, apart from some beautiful and seductive women from an erotic, but also mysterious and lethal point of view. (It's a story that women know by heart and is dustier than even Argento's.) Plus: Tilda Swinton can do – and wear anything – anything, including a long curtain of hair and a prosthetic penis. Especially, the new "Suspiria" is an exercise of the Grindhouse genre, an apparent departure for a director whose work is generally, sometimes to his detriment, calibrated for artistic consumption.
Written by David Kajganich, the new "Suspiria" follows the general sweep of the first, opening on a cloudy and stormy note. It was 1977 (year of the Argento film's release) and Patricia (Chloë Grace Moretz), an American woman studying at the Helena Markos Dance Company in West Berlin, had a real collapse. Fleeing to her therapist, Dr. Josef Klemperer (Swinton, wrapped in latex and old world clothes), Patricia babble menacingly as she jumps into the model's office and conscientiously gratifies her notes. She seems helpless, shaken and quickly disappears from the scene, even after leaving a bag and a notebook full of enigmatic thoughts.
The notebook becomes Dr. Klemperer's path in history; Susie starts ours when she gets to school; finally these paths converge. Susie landed at school uninvited, but dazzled one of her matrons, the choreographer, Madame Blanc (also Swinton), and was invited into the bizarre and fraternal ranks of the institution. Soon, Susie laughs in the corridors of the school, glances in her dark recesses and dances, shakes, twists under the strict supervision of Madame Blanc. Before you know it, an employee slit her throat, a student danced until she broke her bones, and some matrons sneer, brandishing a shiny, shiny fake in front of a man's vital tenderness. .
So, you know, the usual, but with ostentatious chapter jumps and narrative padding, including dead-end references to German politics of the 1970s (tear signals, riots and Baader-Meinhof mentions) and, more blatantly, the Holocaust. These allusions yield nothing and end up as frivolous and absurd offers to explain the German context. The school faces the Berlin Wall, as Guadagnino constantly reminds us, with no particular end. Similar to references to Germany's violent politics in the 1970s and Susie Mennonite-type markings (which are flashbacks like a puzzle), the wall is strictly ornamental, an emblem of meaning. by association (hoped).
As you would expect, almost everything and everyone looks casual, as can be expected from Guadagnino. It's really nice to watch Patricia poking around in the clutter of Dr. Klemperer's artist-run offices, then take a break to take a carefully placed Jung volume. It's even more fun to see Susie navigate inside the school house, with her secret mirrors and her boxes design in boxes. Distribution has its own pleasures, in particular Swinton (in her role as Madame Blanc) and Johnson, an interpreter whose slightly panting voice and discreet charisma, almost without influence, can quickly become worrying, threatening. (She would make a haunting girl from Manson.)
While the first hour of "Suspiria" continues in the second and beyond (the film lasts 152 minutes), it becomes more and more distended and even more hollow. Unlike Argento, who seemed content to tell a miserably updated fairy tale in about 90 minutes, Guadagnino continues to search for meaning, which perhaps explains why he is constantly adding more things, more chaos, more of dances. (The choreography is by Damien Jalet.) By the time the dancers get together to romp in a show dubbed Volk – "the people," a loaded idea in German history, the movie has so slipped that even his final movie big bloody show, with his cuts of deli meats and Busby Berkeley moves, I can not save him.
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