Guadagnino’s Suspiria: 2.5 Hours of Femininity Unhinged

It seems, to society, that there are few things more simultaneously fascinating and terrifying than a witch. As a woman with unmatched power and strength to protect herself and her sisters, the witch has become a powerful symbol of the mysteries of womanhood and female empowerment, a theme that is entangled at the core of Luca Guadagnino’s 2018 remake of the 1977 Dario Argento cult classic, Suspiria. 

If you haven’t seen the film, and want to, I would not read any further, as this article will contain spoilers!

In both versions of the film, the story follows a naive American dancer, Susie Bannion, as she joins a prestigious dance school/company (depending on what version you are watching), where there are mysterious forces at work- namely, a coven of covert witches working under the watchful eye of matriarch Helena Markos. This general plot framework, along with a memorable soundtrack, is just about where the shared aspects of the two films stop. While both offer a lush, visceral experience to cause absolute dread, the original accomplishes this through a string of gloriously gory kills, frantic music and garish lighting that transforms the dance academy into a nightmarish rave. Guadagnino’s update, however, is the definition of slow burn.

Our hero, Susie (Dakota Johnson), arrives at the dance company as a repressed Mennonite runaway, a virginal beauty with a wicked talent for dance- the perfect formula to fit the archetype of the pure and innocent final girl. While I fully expected our childish Susie, who arrived at the company with a long, wholesome, ginger braid, to be subjected to the horrors that lie within the company, then work to dismantle it with her goodness and charm, this movie delightfully subverts the tropes in exchange for something much more impactful.

As we wind throughout Guadagnino’s generous 2.5 hours of film, we witness a radical transformation in Susie’s identity, as she leaves behind her life as a sweet farm girl and blooms into a fiercely free and indescribably powerful woman. In one scene, she dances maniacally, each move of her body gruesomely crumpling a woman to death in another room of the company. Later, to her director, Madame Blanc (Tilda Swinton), she quietly describes the experience of dancing as “what it feels like to f**k”- but not a man, something more primal and animal.

In the end, it seems like she dutifully accepts her submissive role in the coven as the vessel for the ancient, omnipresent and ailing Mother Markos, who claims to be one of the original three mothers, a trio of powerful witches that represent pain, darkness and sadness. But in a subversive twist in the dizzying, and surreal final act, Susie herself claims the ultimate power, revealing herself to be one of the true mothers, while simultaneously killing any member of the coven that stood with Markos. And when I say surreal, I mean insane- like heads exploding while Dakota Johnson rips her own chest open insane- all to the haunting vocals of Thom Yorke. To put it simply, this film sticks with you, crawls under your skin and insists on staying the night. 

When I returned from my 10:20pm viewing of the film, I crawled into bed and thought endlessly about it- the intoxicating dance scenes, the overwhelming themes of guilt and shame and motherhood, the impeccable costuming and rich setting. It all culminated into a work that tasks us with considering what it all means together. The film ends with a surprisingly tender scene in which the newly-revealed Mother Suspiriorum in the form of Susie visits an ailing, old psychiatrist plagued by the guilt of losing his wife to the holocaust- that the coven had been tormenting throughout the film- to rid him of all of the memories of any woman that had caused him pain, including his missing wife. I couldn’t help but think this scene showed the magical quality of female power- a power that can be vicious but is ultimately, at its core, maternal and empathetic. 

Although the film is long and slow at times, and although I struggled to grasp the meaning of it in the end, it is a story so entirely female that even the one important male character (the old psychiatrist) is played by Tilda Swinton in a crazy amount of prosthetics. And in a media landscape entirely tailored to men and the male perspective, it was refreshing, to say the least.