InfernoGreat horror movie directors like Dario Argento recognize a basic truth about the genre: rationality is the enemy of terror. Inferno is a horror movie by Argento that has more in common with a dream than reality by a country mile. It is a successor to Argento's previous horror movie classic, Suspiria, in tone and content. It deals with a trio of "mothers" who wield considerable evil power, with "houses" built in Freiburg, Germany (the setting of Suspiria), in Rome, and in New York City, where they hold dominion from the shadows. Inferno, like its predecessor, is a "Grand Guignol" display of the macabre, the grotesque, the occult, and primal fear--in short, a waking nightmare.
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To describe Inferno in terms of its plot would fail to capture the magic of the film, which emphasizes style first and foremost. In fact, much of the plot of the film doesn't make any sense, but that's hardly the point. There is a mystery, namely about "The Three Mothers", first "introduced" in Suspiria by way of Helena Markos, the head of a coven of witches, retconned to be "Mater Suspiriorum". This leaves two other mothers, who are also extremely powerful witches, and whose powers are deliberately enigmatic and vague. They seem capable of everything, such as imbuing those around them with a sinister influence, i.e. mind control. They can turn invisible, they seem to be able to compel animals to frenzy and devour their victims, and may be semi-immortal--all qualities that make for terrifying villains. But most importantly, they operate from the shadows--crucial since the scenes of terror that fill Inferno rely more on the audience's ignorance than knowledge. There is something primal about being confronted with a terror that is unknowable...hands that reach out from the shadows only to kill. The glint of a knife preparing to fall on its screaming victim. Decapitation by all manner of assorted blades, fires that turn the living into ashes and screams. In Inferno, the worst is always waiting to happen...and it usually does.
Dario Argento is far from a subtle director, but in Inferno, it could be said that he might be at his most restrained...or perhaps "poised to strike" might be a better turn of phrase. Dread dominates most of the first half of the film in lieu of bloody murder. We follow a young poetess named Rose Elliott (Irene Miracle), who has been investigating the gothic apartment building she lives in, discovering by way of an old book written in Latin that it is supposed to be a house for "Mater Tenebrarum", the "Mother of Shadows", who is supposedly the "youngest and cruelest" of the witches. She purchased the book from a misanthropic antique dealer--who lives conveniently next door to the building--by the name of Kazanian (Sacha Pitoëff). She translates a few "clues" including something about a "cellar", which compels her to investigate the dark and waterlogged basement to her building. Tension is sharp as a garotte here as she discovers a submerged pool in which, of course, she loses her brooch. Instead of letting it go or looking for some other instrument to aid in retrieving it like any other reasonable person, she goes for a dip into the water herself. She swims around in a completely submerged room, with the words "Mater Tenebrarum" scrawled into the wall...and several floating corpses which seem to lunge at her despite the improbability of this. Understandably, she flees and makes her way to the elevator, and hears whispering--conspirators who seem to be talking about her, although it's a little to hard to tell. And then we're in Rome, where a letter she has written to her brother, Mark (Leigh McCloskey), informing him of The Three Mothers, sits by him unread in class where he studies music theory, seated alongside his classmate and friend, Sara (Eleonora Giorgi). Suddenly, a beautiful yet witchy woman--who is apparently "Mater Lachrymarum" (Ania Pieroni)--stares at him while stroking a feline, and Mark is utterly dazed. He can't seem to focus on anything else and no one seems to see this mystery woman other than him. And then she's gone. A befuddled Mark leaves the letter behind, and Sara takes over as our protagonist, reading the letter in a cab ride. Something written within urges her to visit the demesne of Mater Lachrymarum, and...well, let's just say that women named "Sara" rarely fare well in Argento's movies. The point of this rough synopsis is to underscore that Inferno does what Psycho skillfully did with protagonists; they are never immune to death, and this keeps the sense of pervasive fear a constant. Nothing is guaranteed, nothing is safe from the terror waiting around every corner.
Despite this rundown of events, Inferno really isn't about the mystery proper, but the mood that a mystery evokes instead, and the confusion and discomfort that comes from our innate fear of the unknown. Inferno, like so many of Argento's films, is a visually driven one. Consider the set design, like Rose's apartment. It is filled with antique furniture, but contains some truly unusual pieces, like a clock whose face is a diamond, and the oddly out of place sketch of the building on the wall; a clue, perhaps? And also consider how so many lampposts give of an eerie pink glow--it's definitely not authentic to New York City, but it does infuse the film with a dreamy atmosphere. Inferno is positively rich with colors and, more importantly here, with shadows. I couldn't even begin to wrap my head around an Argento movie filmed in black and white because of how intense the colors are and what they signify. Perhaps the most obvious one to start with is--undoubtedly Argento's favorite--the color red. There are obvious implications of violence and danger with its presence, but it is so pervasive and relentless that it influences our subconscious in scenes that would otherwise seem innocuous. Rather than seem like overkill, it is designed to deprive the audience of any release of tension; it is constantly ratcheting up in the back of our minds. The other dominant color in Inferno seems at first to be just for contrast, but that's also part of the illusion: blue, or "midnight blue" to be specific. This has its own share of relevance in the film, with its deep, shadowy color as a stand-in for shadows, befitting this dark tale of Mater Tenebrarum. And also consider the lunar eclipse which comes up near the end of the film, which may suggest that the Mother of Shadows is at her full power; the dominant blues in Inferno support this. And is it mere coincidence that fire can be either red or blue, like a gas flame? Makes sense for a movie called "Inferno". But more than that, these deep blues suggest dark corners and the unknown, and the frequent juxtaposition of it with the vibrant reds is tiring to our eyes. Hypnotists and cult leaders have always known that an exhausted audience is far more pliable to their spells. Could it be that this color is also meant to be a design aesthetic of the mothers themselves, so as to render their prey more easy to destroy?
The characters in Argento's movies always seem a little off, as though they were also operating within the logic of a dream; but whose dream? My favorite of these oddball characterizations is Kazanian, who seems like a stand-in for Bela Lugosi with his slicked-back black hair and arrogant sneer. And in one of the most telling of casting decisions, the caretaker of the New York apartment building is Carol, played by none other than Alida Valli (although incomprehensibly dubbed by Carolyn De Fonseca), who played the stern Miss Tanner in Suspiria. Although Alida Valli isn't playing the same person, her characters occupy similar roles between both films. Argento does this again in the finale to his "Three Mothers Trilogy", The Mother of Tears, with Udo Kier (who played Dr. Frank Mandel in Suspiria) and Daria Nicolodi, his wife and frequent collaborator, who plays Elise De Longvalle Adler in this film. (And to add yet another layer of synchronicity, De Fonseca dubbed the character of Olga in Suspiria, too.) But rather than merely working with a familiar stable of actors, this represents how each of Argento's tales of terror seems to play out in a similar way across times and places. There will always be a "Miss Tanner", and there will always be a "Sara/Sarah", and so on; there's no escaping fate. Inferno features a couple of moments where both of the Elliotts descend into a kind of "underworld" against their better judgment. In Mark's case, he crosses paths with an elderly man (Feodor Chaliapin, Jr.) who he met in an elevator when he arrived at Rose's apartment, who was being pushed along in his wheelchair by a nurse (Veronica Lazar). Heads up: spoilers inbound! The old man turns out to be someone named Dr. Varelli, who was apparently the architect of the houses belonging to the three mothers, and his "nurse" is none other than Mater Tenebrarum...and both of them were hiding in plain sight all along. Their supernatural servant/master dynamic no doubt influenced the secret villain of a favorite video game of mine, "Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne", in which none other than Lucifer is depicted in a similar fashion. Similarly, the protagonist in that game is forced to descend ever further through the underworld--like Mark and Rose--encountering this duo at each interval between. Yet Mark's encounter with these enigmatic, occult individuals is more akin to a journey into death itself. Mater Tenebrarum identifies her and her sisters as such directly, and claims to be grooming Mark for something...but what? When all is said and done, all that remains is one more mystery destined to resonate with the viewer long after the conflagration of credits comes to an end.
Recommended for: Fans of a phantasmagoric horror film replete with dream-like logic and imagery (make that nightmarish), making it a true inheritor to the mantle of Suspiria. The music by Keith Emerson also both adds a new dimension to this "sequel", while hearkening back to the iconic score to Suspiria by Goblin. Although I have to say this, the handling of animals in Inferno, especially cats--and in one instance, a still living mouse--gives me serious doubts as to the moral integrity of Argento or his assistant director and animal wrangler, Lamberto Bava. In one scene, cats are literally thrown at Elise, and in another, Kazanian picks up one by its scruff and carts the clearly freaked out feline around. Not cool, Argento, not cool. It's enough to turn off any movie viewer, and that's the film's most serious failing.
Dario Argento is far from a subtle director, but in Inferno, it could be said that he might be at his most restrained...or perhaps "poised to strike" might be a better turn of phrase. Dread dominates most of the first half of the film in lieu of bloody murder. We follow a young poetess named Rose Elliott (Irene Miracle), who has been investigating the gothic apartment building she lives in, discovering by way of an old book written in Latin that it is supposed to be a house for "Mater Tenebrarum", the "Mother of Shadows", who is supposedly the "youngest and cruelest" of the witches. She purchased the book from a misanthropic antique dealer--who lives conveniently next door to the building--by the name of Kazanian (Sacha Pitoëff). She translates a few "clues" including something about a "cellar", which compels her to investigate the dark and waterlogged basement to her building. Tension is sharp as a garotte here as she discovers a submerged pool in which, of course, she loses her brooch. Instead of letting it go or looking for some other instrument to aid in retrieving it like any other reasonable person, she goes for a dip into the water herself. She swims around in a completely submerged room, with the words "Mater Tenebrarum" scrawled into the wall...and several floating corpses which seem to lunge at her despite the improbability of this. Understandably, she flees and makes her way to the elevator, and hears whispering--conspirators who seem to be talking about her, although it's a little to hard to tell. And then we're in Rome, where a letter she has written to her brother, Mark (Leigh McCloskey), informing him of The Three Mothers, sits by him unread in class where he studies music theory, seated alongside his classmate and friend, Sara (Eleonora Giorgi). Suddenly, a beautiful yet witchy woman--who is apparently "Mater Lachrymarum" (Ania Pieroni)--stares at him while stroking a feline, and Mark is utterly dazed. He can't seem to focus on anything else and no one seems to see this mystery woman other than him. And then she's gone. A befuddled Mark leaves the letter behind, and Sara takes over as our protagonist, reading the letter in a cab ride. Something written within urges her to visit the demesne of Mater Lachrymarum, and...well, let's just say that women named "Sara" rarely fare well in Argento's movies. The point of this rough synopsis is to underscore that Inferno does what Psycho skillfully did with protagonists; they are never immune to death, and this keeps the sense of pervasive fear a constant. Nothing is guaranteed, nothing is safe from the terror waiting around every corner.
Despite this rundown of events, Inferno really isn't about the mystery proper, but the mood that a mystery evokes instead, and the confusion and discomfort that comes from our innate fear of the unknown. Inferno, like so many of Argento's films, is a visually driven one. Consider the set design, like Rose's apartment. It is filled with antique furniture, but contains some truly unusual pieces, like a clock whose face is a diamond, and the oddly out of place sketch of the building on the wall; a clue, perhaps? And also consider how so many lampposts give of an eerie pink glow--it's definitely not authentic to New York City, but it does infuse the film with a dreamy atmosphere. Inferno is positively rich with colors and, more importantly here, with shadows. I couldn't even begin to wrap my head around an Argento movie filmed in black and white because of how intense the colors are and what they signify. Perhaps the most obvious one to start with is--undoubtedly Argento's favorite--the color red. There are obvious implications of violence and danger with its presence, but it is so pervasive and relentless that it influences our subconscious in scenes that would otherwise seem innocuous. Rather than seem like overkill, it is designed to deprive the audience of any release of tension; it is constantly ratcheting up in the back of our minds. The other dominant color in Inferno seems at first to be just for contrast, but that's also part of the illusion: blue, or "midnight blue" to be specific. This has its own share of relevance in the film, with its deep, shadowy color as a stand-in for shadows, befitting this dark tale of Mater Tenebrarum. And also consider the lunar eclipse which comes up near the end of the film, which may suggest that the Mother of Shadows is at her full power; the dominant blues in Inferno support this. And is it mere coincidence that fire can be either red or blue, like a gas flame? Makes sense for a movie called "Inferno". But more than that, these deep blues suggest dark corners and the unknown, and the frequent juxtaposition of it with the vibrant reds is tiring to our eyes. Hypnotists and cult leaders have always known that an exhausted audience is far more pliable to their spells. Could it be that this color is also meant to be a design aesthetic of the mothers themselves, so as to render their prey more easy to destroy?
The characters in Argento's movies always seem a little off, as though they were also operating within the logic of a dream; but whose dream? My favorite of these oddball characterizations is Kazanian, who seems like a stand-in for Bela Lugosi with his slicked-back black hair and arrogant sneer. And in one of the most telling of casting decisions, the caretaker of the New York apartment building is Carol, played by none other than Alida Valli (although incomprehensibly dubbed by Carolyn De Fonseca), who played the stern Miss Tanner in Suspiria. Although Alida Valli isn't playing the same person, her characters occupy similar roles between both films. Argento does this again in the finale to his "Three Mothers Trilogy", The Mother of Tears, with Udo Kier (who played Dr. Frank Mandel in Suspiria) and Daria Nicolodi, his wife and frequent collaborator, who plays Elise De Longvalle Adler in this film. (And to add yet another layer of synchronicity, De Fonseca dubbed the character of Olga in Suspiria, too.) But rather than merely working with a familiar stable of actors, this represents how each of Argento's tales of terror seems to play out in a similar way across times and places. There will always be a "Miss Tanner", and there will always be a "Sara/Sarah", and so on; there's no escaping fate. Inferno features a couple of moments where both of the Elliotts descend into a kind of "underworld" against their better judgment. In Mark's case, he crosses paths with an elderly man (Feodor Chaliapin, Jr.) who he met in an elevator when he arrived at Rose's apartment, who was being pushed along in his wheelchair by a nurse (Veronica Lazar). Heads up: spoilers inbound! The old man turns out to be someone named Dr. Varelli, who was apparently the architect of the houses belonging to the three mothers, and his "nurse" is none other than Mater Tenebrarum...and both of them were hiding in plain sight all along. Their supernatural servant/master dynamic no doubt influenced the secret villain of a favorite video game of mine, "Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne", in which none other than Lucifer is depicted in a similar fashion. Similarly, the protagonist in that game is forced to descend ever further through the underworld--like Mark and Rose--encountering this duo at each interval between. Yet Mark's encounter with these enigmatic, occult individuals is more akin to a journey into death itself. Mater Tenebrarum identifies her and her sisters as such directly, and claims to be grooming Mark for something...but what? When all is said and done, all that remains is one more mystery destined to resonate with the viewer long after the conflagration of credits comes to an end.
Recommended for: Fans of a phantasmagoric horror film replete with dream-like logic and imagery (make that nightmarish), making it a true inheritor to the mantle of Suspiria. The music by Keith Emerson also both adds a new dimension to this "sequel", while hearkening back to the iconic score to Suspiria by Goblin. Although I have to say this, the handling of animals in Inferno, especially cats--and in one instance, a still living mouse--gives me serious doubts as to the moral integrity of Argento or his assistant director and animal wrangler, Lamberto Bava. In one scene, cats are literally thrown at Elise, and in another, Kazanian picks up one by its scruff and carts the clearly freaked out feline around. Not cool, Argento, not cool. It's enough to turn off any movie viewer, and that's the film's most serious failing.