WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD
Suspiria (1977) is a very divisive film. Some love it; others believe it to be one of the most overrated films of all time. Centred around a dance school and yet featuring almost no actual dancing, the story follows Suzy Bannion— from her arrival at a prestigious academy, to her eventual exit: running for her life and overcome with hysterical laughter. But what happens in the slick 90 minutes between these two events that causes such difference of opinion? Is Suspiria really Dario Argento’s masterpiece, or is just a bygone product of its era— scary in the 70s, but just another giallo of many to us now?
In terms of the visual experience, the answer is no. Suspiria is a feast for the eyes from start to finish. There’s meaning in everything you look at. Particularly, the colour red. One could fill an entire novel analysing every time a rouge tone appeared on the screen during this film; but I’ll try not to. In the most obvious colour theory, red means danger. Suzy is in danger her entire time at Tanz academy. Therefore it makes sense for red to dominate the colour palette. But each appearance is purposeful. It reveals a message from the director. (Or alternatively, Argento just really likes the colour red).
In this blog post, I’ll limit myself to examining just four times we saw red. But who knows, maybe one day I’ll write that book. When Suzy first arrives in Germany, she gets in a taxi and attempts to communicate her desired destination. Whilst she is unsuccessful in doing so to for the driver of the taxi, we the audience understand her perfectly (mostly thanks to the English subtitles on my part). And as she relays this information, the light that Suzy is basked in turns red. A warning; a premonition. Turn back. Something wicked awaits. Obviously, Suzy is oblivious to colours her face is washed in. Dramatic irony is in full force; at home we understand the danger that Suzy is in, whereas she is blissfully ignorant. Then when she arrives at the academy, her white ensemble sticks out like a sore thumb against the aggressive redness of the building around her. An obvious visual metaphor: the never ending red represents hell, whilst Suzy in white is the angel sent from heaven. In the end, it is she who brings about the demise of the witches coven. Right from the start, Argento is telling us that she is our final girl. Not that there aren’t efforts to change this. Each night, Suzy is made to drink a glass of red wine with her supper. To ‘strengthen her blood’. It later becomes clear that she is simply being drugged— but the symbolism of red wine rather than any other kind suggests this from the start. As I stated earlier, red means danger. Someone wants rid of Suzy, and they don’t try to hide it. Finally, it seems that the colour red is symbolic of a sealed fate. When Daniel walks past a traffic light on his final night alive, it is red. It slowly changes to green just before it is chopped out of view, but we’ll get onto that in a minute. A red light is also obviously a symbol for the end of something; the end of the road for Daniel, if you will. Suspiria is seeped in danger from the start, and that danger is red-toned.
Two other colours make a major appearance in the film. Blue seems to be an emblem of power; dark blue walls when an important character is introduced, the blue suit of Madame Blanc, and the blue lights that bathe the scenes near the end— as Suzy reclaims her power and destroys the coven. Green, as previously mentioned, is emblematic of the sealing of ones fate. This motif has been used before; most famously with the green light in The Great Gatsby. Pat stares into the green eyes before her early death; or the traffic light behind Daniel turns green; or moments before her demise, Sara is bathed in a lurid neon green. More visual clues, preparing the audience for a gruesome scene (at least by 70s standards, although even squeamish old me was able to get through these ones) with just enough time for them to close their eyes or look away. Everything is deliberate.
Including, one might assume, the costuming of Suzy herself. Of course, I’ve no idea if this was actually considered, but I noticed something and I’m determined to make my point! At the beginning, Suzy wears only very light clothes, and mostly white. Crudely, this symbolises her innocence before uncovering anything about the institution. She is unaware and blundering, making silly mistakes and struggling to fit in. Then, once they begin drugging her, she still wears light clothes, but they are darker than before. Pinks, beiges, light browns. A change has occurred, although lighthearted Suzy still exists. Her light brown costume stays with us until the end, but in the light of the final scenes, it appears much darker. Suzy has been changed, hardened, by her experiences. As she runs away from the building in the final moment, we know that it is not the same Suzy who arrived.
Not that this is something particularly revealed via characterisation. Obviously, the characters in Suspiria were simply vessels for the story—they could have been anyone at all. There is very little differentiation between the girls of the school, and then the staff are all similar to one another as well. The girls are bitchy and childish (due to the insane reason that this film was originally intended to be about prepubescent girls, but Argento and his co-writer changed nothing once this was revealed as impossible). The staff are all aloof and strangely possessive. However, this almost makes them easier to watch. They are distinctly divided by this; the girls are good, the staff are evil. You don’t need to get too bogged down in details of who each individual is and instead can just root for Suzy as she attempts to understand the darkness that surrounds her.
This darkness is mainly what divides audiences. It is, to put it kindly, nonsensical. The storyline makes no sense: a string of loosely connected grisly murders, some ham fisted foreshadowing (I.e. an object shouting ‘witch’ at Suzy as she walks past), both of which culminate in an ending that somehow still manages to come out of nowhere, and receive little satisfying explanation or conclusion. The actual murderer is never revealed, nor do we discover how Pat magically teleported from a bedroom to that glass room, or why there was all that barbed wire in the first place. But this film was clearly meant to be more a visual work of art than a literary one.
And even then, Argento employs some literary technique: pathetic fallacy. It’s raining when Suzy arrives, a premonition of what’s to come, and it rains during her final showdown with the witches. There’s a few of these cyclical moments within the film. For example, someone calls Suzy and Sara snakes as an insult, later Frank describes the witches as serpents.
But the major ways Argento builds tension in the film, is through the camerawork, and the soundtrack. Wide and tracking shots dominate the cinematography; creating a never ending sense that someone is watching. In addition, it places watchers far enough away to feel dreamily detached from all that is going on. We are invited to watch, but not to get too immersed. You are very aware of it’s being a story as it unfolds before you.
Except, the soundtrack. It consumes you. Repeating roughly the same three Goblin songs throughout, the film draws you into specific moments, telling you what to expect with whichever tune is chosen. Suspiria starts and ends with the same eerie music-box tune. Thereby making the entire film into one. Suzy is our ever-spinning dancer, trapped in the ornate box that is the Tanz academy. It isn’t until she burns it to the ground that she is able to escape. Never ending breathing noises also dominate the audio experience. This creates an intense, gasping nervousness. The audience can never be sure of anyone’s safety, constantly on edge and out of breath. Silence intersperses occasionally, adding extra eeriness to moments— like when Suzy faints; the first suggestion that something is wrong. The silence is completely contrasted by the cacophony of noises that appear sometimes. Just prior to Daniels death, an insane buildup of voices, the music box tune, drums, and a dog barking overwhelm the senses, knocking you flat on the floor with Daniel. It is claustrophobic, uncomfortable; it works.
Overall, whilst it is far from perfect, Suspiria knows how to manipulate its audience. Character, dialogue, and plot take a backseat, but aesthetic, sound, and atmosphere soar within this film. Although the journey makes little sense, it still manages to be a gorgeous, yet horrifying ride. A genuine work of art— and most can acknowledge that, even if they detest the film.
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