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Home , Blood and Black Lace, Claudio Simonetti, Daria Nicolodi, Dario Argento, Deep Red, Horror film score

DREAMS ON THE SCREEN:

AN EXPLORATION OF

DARIO ARGENTO’S GREATEST NIGHTMARES

by

Matthew Bleacher

A thesis submitted to the Faculty of the University of Delaware in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of the Arts in Italian Studies

Summer 2020

© 2020 Matthew Bleacher All Rights Reserved

DREAMS ON THE SCREEN:

AN EXPLORATION OF

DARIO ARGENTO’S GREATEST NIGHTMARES

by

Matthew Bleacher

Approved: ______Giorgio Melloni, Ph.D. Co-Professor in charge of thesis on behalf of the Advisory Committee

Approved: ______Laura Salsini, Ph.D. Co-Professor in charge of thesis on behalf of the Advisory Committee

Approved: ______Meredith K. Ray, Ph.D. Interim Chair of the Department of the Languages, Literatures and Cultures

Approved: ______John Pelesko, Ph.D. Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences

Approved: ______Douglas J. Doren, Ph.D. Interim Vice Provost for Graduate and Professional Education and Dean of the Graduate College

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to start by thanking the entire Italian Department at the University of Delaware and professors Laura Salsini and Giorgio Melloni in particular. Laura

Salsini acted as editor in chief, kept me organized throughout the thesis writing process, and believed in me when I did not. Giorgio Melloni offered invaluable insights into Italian cinema, and I am especially grateful to him for stepping out of his comfort zone to watch and discuss horror films. I would also like to thank Meredith Ray for encouraging me to undertake this endeavor, which has been the highlight of my academic career. Thanks also to my family and friends for their various forms of support. I would like to thank Elizabeth Bleacher for her help with brainstorming and editing, Elizabeth Webb for her constant words of encouragement, and Mallory Lynch for her willingness to watch and discuss any film with me, no matter how strange. Last but certainly not least, I would like to thank Dario Argento for creating such inspiring and entertaining films.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

ABSTRACT ...... vi

Chapter

1 SETTING THE STAGE: DARIO ARGENTO’S ARRIVAL ON THE SCENE ...... 1

2 AND GENDER: VISIONS OF VIOLENCE IN DARIO ARGENTO’S ANIMAL TRILOGY ...... 10

3 EXAMINING SOCIAL DEVIANCE AND OTHERNESS: FACETS OF AGE, GENDER, SEXUALITY IN DARIO ARGENTO’S ...... 27

4 WOMEN AND WITCHES OF POWER: AN EXAMINATION OF THE MATERNAL IN DARIO ARGENTO’S MOTHER TRILOGY ...... 44

5 CURTAIN CALL: DARIO ARGENTO’S CONTINUING IMPACT ON CONTEMPORARY CINEMA ...... 62

BIBLIOGRAPHY ...... 69

v

ABSTRACT

The work of Dario Argento, one of ’s leading film directors, has been misinterpreted for decades by audiences and critics who wrongly associate his work with the exploitative slasher . Reducing his cinematic production to a simplistic category, one that has traditionally garnered scant critical approval, ignores, however, the profound ways Argento has contributed to an understanding of gender roles in

Italy. This text examines how his most popular films, The Animal Trilogy, Deep Red, and Trilogy, reflect the social anxieties regarding gender and sexuality of the1970s and 1980s. By building an level formula to his films,

Argento uses his expressive settings, various camera techniques, and subversive characters to challenge stereotypical views of masculinity and femininity. With these films, Argento not only shaped the landscape of Italian horror by inspiring his contemporaries, but also continues to influence the way directors make their films today.

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Chapter 1

SETTING THE STAGE: DARIO ARGENTO’S ARRIVAL ON THE SCENE

The internationally famous director Dario Argento began his career in one of the most complex, intricate of cinema, the Giallo. A blend of horror and elements forming social commentary, the Giallo is a distinctly Italian genre with deep roots in literature. The term Giallo comes from the yellow covers of the imported murder-mystery novellas of England and America. In 1929, Mondadori, a popular Milanese publishing house, invested heavily in foreign fiction that introduced the aloof, level-headed detective and explored macabre plots with an elevated, if not forced, sort of logic. Suddenly, the world was consumed with the new and exciting “” trope and the morbid and semi-fantastical storytelling of Giallo narratives. The notion of a gritty detective as the driving force of a tale, not merely a convenient part of the adventure, charmed and Giallo stories continued to rise in popularity throughout the 1930s and 1940s. Mussolini stalled the rise of the genre in the 1930s when he banned publication of American crime dramas claiming they glamorized deviant behavior and corrupted the population. But Italian writers found their way around this ban by writing their own stories following the British and American models (Needham, 2001). However, soon after the war, Italians started to move away from the foreign template and began to cultivate distinctly Italian narratives within the Giallo genre. It is this transition into an Italian sensibility that bridges the gap between literature and cinema. While the leap to cinema, with its emphasis on visual, does shift the notion of Giallo and its associated tropes, there are still lingering connections to its literary roots. Above all, both mediums

1 work to represent and “interpretare la tempesta emotiva che il fenomeno ‘paura’ scatena nell’uomo, sia a livello fisico che a livello psichico” (Zecchi, 57). Much in the same way literary Giallo was influenced by events and fads of popular culture, its cinematic counterpart was also affected by the historical context of its production. The 1960s was a time of tension between the industrialized north and more rural south due to the political and economic disruptions that came to define the era.

While Italian cinema enjoyed its golden age, the country shifted and reformed under the stress of constant and oppressive political power grabs and economic restructuring. This perpetual tension lent itself to the birth of the Giallo genre as it is defined and understood in contemporary terms. and other directors of the genre released the first films of their careers during this period, and, as noted by Gabriela Scalesa, “erano, le loro, pellicole importante ad altro proposito da quello di documentare la situazione italiana o la ripresa economica di quegli anni” (Scalesa, 1). While there are a few earlier outliers, most point to Mario Bava’s 1963 film, The Girl Who Knew Too Much, as the first true example of a Giallo film. Three years prior to making The Girl Who Knew Too Much, Bava released a film called Black Sunday. The film was similar to Roger Corman’s Edgar Allan Poe films in plot and use of supernatural elements and was a commercial success. These films, introduced in America at the beginning of the 1960s, brought the stories of Poe to life. While Corman’s films served as a template for Bava’s Gothic horror Black Sunday, Bava would branch off from these supernatural tales to ground the Giallo genre in reality with his film The Girl Who Knew Too Much. Though it lacks some of the aspects that have come to define the genre, like dramatic use of color and lighting, The Girl Who Knew Too Much introduces many elements that are now considered to be cornerstones of the Giallo.

2 Like many subsequent Gialli, The Girl Who Knew Too Much features a foreigner who witnesses a crime and, because she is ignored by the police, must investigate it herself. In a significant departure from the popular of the times that emphasized police procedurals, Bava chose to focus on the murderers and their victims. This change in perspective was something new to audiences, and it introduced an unfamiliar blend of the detective film and more traditional horror. Another critical Giallo trait introduced with The Girl Who Knew Too Much is the use of dramatic zooms and intense close ups to manipulate the audience’s perspective and experience. Bava’s use of zoom is an integral part of the Giallo viewing experience because it keeps the audience unsettled and allows the director to fully control the experience of the audience. Similarly, Bava’s use of close ups creates a forced intimacy between the characters and the audience. This closeness allows for the facial expressions of the actors to project their emotions more immediately to the audience. This intimacy and immediacy requires the audience to participate in the emotional context of the film. This shared emotional experience is simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. Later the same year, Bava released Black Sabbath as a clear continuation of his departure from the mainstream poliziotteschi and films dominating Italy into something far darker and complicated. In a choice that will be familiar to fans of

Argento, Bava focuses on his characters, Rosy and Mary, and their responses to strange and terrible situations rather than the film’s narrative as a driving force. Because Black Sabbath is an that contains several smaller narratives, Bava could expand on the tropes he began exploring in The Girl Who Knew Too Much. In the short “Telephone,” there is a confused series of phone calls that gradually reveal the connection between the characters. While this revelation would be a primary concern in a more traditional film centered on plot, it is a secondary concern for Bava. Instead Bava

3 chooses to ratchet up the audience’s emotions by establishing an immediate tension and fear. The audience knows that Rosy is in danger, but thanks to the obscured identity of the killer and the confusing phone calls, they have no way of knowing when and where the threat will be revealed. For Bava, Rosy’s increasing fear and ultimate hysterics when she manages to kill her tormentor are more interesting than the nuance of a refined plot. This emphasis on character and experience is another step away from the hyper-logical, detail-oriented stories explored in the literary Giallo. Additionally, thanks to the loosening of cinematic censorship, Bava is able to include graphic depictions of violence and sexual themes. It is this freedom that allows Bava to complicate the relationship between Rosy and Mary with a lover’s jealousy and passion. The “deviance” of the relationship is unexpected making Mary’s manipulation of Rosy all the more shocking. To add to the women’s “unacceptability,” they are both prostitutes and connected to

Frank, the menace of the film, through their trade. Since the audience has been preconditioned to view female sexuality in certain terms, the lesbian relationship does not come readily to their minds. Bava is able to add another layer of shock and tension to his film by subverting the audience’s assumptions and expectations. The undermining and challenging of social norms and societal expectations became a hallmark of the Giallo genre.

If The Girl Who Knew Too Much and Black Sabbath are Bava’s first steps into Giallo, (1964) is his grand arrival into the genre. While Blood and Black Lace did not find the commercial success of Black Sunday, the film is still considered one of the definitive films of the genre. Like Black Sabbath, the complicated plot is secondary to Bava’s visual storytelling. Developing a storyline is less about a coherent story, and more about the characters' experiences and how they can be conveyed through dramatic cinema. Even though the film includes many pre-Giallo elements, it is

4 here that Giallo finds its trademark use of exaggerated color. Bava’s highly stylized use of color to help establish tone and narrative is now one of the most recognizable aspects of the genre. Blood and Black Lace’s intense use of color works with the music within the film to create a mood steeped in danger and fear. The excessive use of an unnaturally red blood amplifies the violence of the film. Bava does this not to showcase or glorify gore, but to emphasize the visceral fear associated with death and dying.

Another technique employed by Bava in Blood and Black Lace that became a mainstay of Gialli is the concealment of the killer’s identity through character reduction. When Bava shows his killer, it could be anyone. The audience only sees a masked figure with black gloves, a long coat and a hat. Showing the audience the killer without revealing any aspect of the villain's identity is a masterful manipulation of the audience. It eliminates the comfort of an easily identifiable evil, like a grotesque monster, and instead plants the idea that the murderer could be anyone and the threat could come from anywhere. Bava makes exceptional use of this manipulation by eventually revealing two killers, a man and a woman. This is an etraordinary subversion of the audience's tenuous understanding of the threat. Since the audience expected one killer, the revelation of two is a complete undermining of whatever little control, understanding or safety they thought they possessed.

Following Bava’s films the genre continued to develop, but Giallo did not really find success in Italy until 1970 when Dario Argento released The Bird with Crystal Plumage, the first of three films that would become known as his Animal Trilogy. Born into the cinema industry due to his producer father and photographer mother, Argento worked in film criticism at Paese Sera and as a for directors like before making his own directorial debut. Because of his experience at the paper and within the genres prior to the Giallo like the western all’italiana, Argento has a

5 profound understanding of film theory and he applies it to his own works, creating a much more cerebral approach than the typical for which his films are often confused. Argento would not only draw inspiration from Bava’s films, but also develop a close working relationship with him and his son Lamberto, bringing the same surreal lighting effects and qualities to his films. Though he would become more broadly known for his signature use of highly stylized violence, Argento presents this intense imagery in a way that calls for the audience to examine their preconceived notions of society. Argento entered the mind of a people affected by televised acts of real political violence and spectators conditioned by “crime e le detective story, in cui la trama, pur ricca di episodi e situazioni violente, si dipana verso il trionfo finale della giustizia, con la punizione del colpevole e il ristabilimento della norma violata” (Gili, 176). Finally, Argento and the genre take no care to replace order and comfort the audience like preceding genres of film and literature. In this way, he brings fear to a new level in his films and leaves the viewers to think about what they have just seen on the screen instead of providing any “answers”. With his first trilogy, Argento uses the tropes established by Bava, but brings them to their next logical conclusion by making the viewer question their role in the consumption of violence for entertainment and their understanding of uncomfortable aspects of society like female independence and homosexuality. While using setting to present subversive depictions of gender roles and societal expectations, Argento brought the Giallo genre to its peak with his films the Animal Trilogy and Deep Red in 1975 before moving on to explore ideas in the breakdown of narrative to craft a dreamlike experience in his Three Mothers Trilogy and similar themes of femininity that he began to explore. Femininity plays a central role in Argento’s filmography, and his female characters are afforded a much more progressive depiction than that of his peers of the

6 genre. It is no coincidence that Argento introduces his femme fatale in The Bird with the Crystal Plumage in the same year that divorce was legalized in Italy. This marked a major milestone in Italian female independence, and his feminine characters reflect the growing male anxieties toward this newfound autonomy as women continued to enter into the workforce. Much of these female themes were ignored or overlooked by critics to focus on Argento’s excessive violence.

With the success of Argento’s Animal Trilogy, the Giallo genre experienced a major increase in popularity among other Italian directors. Many of his contemporaries emulated Argento by referencing his work, but his association with the ever expanding Giallo genre would cause his films to become linked with the less cerebral and far more violent slasher films that would replace the Giallo by the late and early 1980s. One such director that found success in the Giallo genre is Sergio Martino. In the year following the release of The Bird with Crystal Plumage, Martino debuted The Case of the Scorpion’s Tail. In a clear reference to Argento’s film, he incorporates an animal into the title as a clue seemingly relevant to unraveling the central mystery. Although he acknowledges and references the work of Argento in his films, Martino contributes his own style and brings to focus different social tensions than his Giallo contemporaries. Scorpion’s Tail follows an accountant that must find and secure the inheritance of a murdered widow and a series of murders linked to the widow’s estate. The plot develops across several different European locations, focusing on travel by airplane. With this film, Martino began the “jet set” Giallo in which the protagonist moves easily from location to location. These films include scenes that highlight the beauty of different local or exotic locations with wide-angle shots and light music. Other scenes show the fear associated with being a foreigner in different locales. This juxtaposition presents a new social anxiety of modernity and of globalization and plays with the same fear of being a

7 stranger in a strange place introduced by Bava and made popular by Argento. Another film in which Martino begins to expand the confines of the genre is Torso (1973). Although the plot unfolds entirely in Italy, the setting changes from the city of to the countryside of Tagliacozzo l’Aquila after a friend of the protagonist becomes linked to a murder investigation. Typical of the genre, the protagonist is an American student, therefore foreign, and her friend’s flashbacks, filmed with the same zoom and supernatural lighting techniques employed by Bava and Argento, become central to the investigation of the murderer. Although it has many elements in common with the Giallo genre, the film can be considered a type of “proto-slasher” due to its focus on gore and sexuality, and with the inclusion of nudity that would become the main attractors for fans of this new genre. Another contemporary director that found inspiration in Argento’s work and imitated his style is . Although Fulci technically began his career in Giallo a year before Argento with (1969), Fulci would draw clear inspiration from Argento’s supernatural works like Deep Red and , playing with how plot can be broken down in favor of offering a visceral viewing experience. Crafting his own trilogy that also operates on dream logic with (1980), The Beyond (1981), and The House by the Cemetery (1981), Fulci uses similar ideas about setting by linking his trilogy thematically while only loosely connecting them in narrative. In the same way Argento’s Three Mothers occupy three major cities to create a sort of empire, the films in Fulci’s trilogy all center on locations with access to the underworld, them The Gates of Hell Trilogy. The trilogy clearly references Argento’s approach to narrative in his supernatural works by creating films that lack cohesive narrative logic and instead orders the scenes in a way to elicit a more visceral viewing experience. Similarly, Fulci references Argento’s hyper-stylized violence but

8 brings them to shockingly new levels with his use of impressive cinematic effects. These similarities can be seen not only in Argento’s filmography of the late 1970s, but also in the works that he began to produce such as George A. Romero’s Dawn of the Dead (1978), ’s Demons (1985), and ’s The Church (1989) which all contain his signature stylistic flourishes. In Fulci’s most famous film, 2 (1979) he very clearly references Dawn of the Dead’s Italian title, Zombi, and his effects reach their most sickening levels. While Argento elevates violence to an art form, directors like Fulci used it solely to shock audiences and push the boundaries of the depictions of gore that could be shown on screen. Directors from Bava to Fulci helped to shape the landscape of Italian horror, but Argento truly perfected the craft while inspiring and horrifying audiences the world over. Although he worked meticulously to add layers of depth to his films to examine contemporary social anxieties, his work would be either accepted at face value or associated with “sleazy slasher” films due to his popularity among his peers who either misconstrued or omitted the significance of the stylized violence they sought to emulate. While this afforded him popularity with his fans, he was often criticized along with his peers for the apparent sexism of his works. In his Animal Trilogy, howeve, Argento would offer innovative yet overlooked perspectives on the Giallo genre and its gender based themes before refining his approach to storytelling later in his career with Deep Red and his Three Mothers Trilogy.

9 Chapter 2

GIALLO AND GENDER: VISIONS OF VIOLENCE IN DARIO ARGENTO’S ANIMAL TRILOGY

Although Dario Argento was hardly the first director to make a Giallo film, his first foray into filmmaking was within this complex genre. Before Italy became known for its violent horror films of the late 1970s and 1980s, the much more subtle Giallo genre reached the peak of its success during the early to mid-1970s. Many directors capitalized on the popularity of the genre, spawning many different varieties and subgenres of Giallo films, but Argento used his background in film and criticism to elevate the genre and build a series of elements that would become the foundation for his own filmography and signature, widely recognized style. In his Animal Trilogy, Argento introduces techniques and aspects to distinguish his style from other directors of the time while making the audience question their role in viewing violent entertainment. He also offers subversive depictions of masculinity in direct contrast to the genres that preceded the Giallo.

Before delving into the specifics of Argento’s techniques and approaches to gender that would set him apart from his contemporaries, it is important to discuss the individual films and the context in which they were released to examine the trilogy as a whole. While the films include no common characters or other typical markers of a trilogy, their thematic links become clear upon further description of each film. The first film in what would become Argento’s Animal Trilogy is The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, released in 1970. Argento initially only set out to write the screenplay for the film when he grew attached to the project and decided to direct it

10 himself with his father Salvatore producing the endeavor. The film includes many of the established beats of the Giallo genre found in Bava’s work and was unofficially based on the novel The Screaming Mimi by Frederic Brown. The plot follows Sam Dalmas, an American writer vacationing in Italy with his girlfriend. During his stay, he becomes entangled in a murder investigation after witnessing the violent attack on a woman by an obscured figure. This continues the theme established by Bava of enhancing the anxieties of the protagonist by making them a foreigner who struggles to prove their own innocence. Sam’s thoughts often replay the scene of the attack, and he struggles to make sense of the memory. This inability to remember or to make sense of a traumatic or violent event becomes a common trope in not only Argento’s body of work, but also within the Giallo films of his contemporaries. The obscured identity of the killer is another common device of the genre, often showing only glimpses of a gloved or masked figure wearing a long coat. These features also hide the gender of the killer, which is ultimately the film’s final twist, another move similar to Bava. While operating within the genre and subtly subverting certain tropes, Argento crafted a film that would contain many of his own signatures, and it was ultimately met with critical acclaim in Italy as well as the United States with critic Guglielmo Biraghi noting that “la regia del debutante Dario Argento ha un piglio aggressive e disinvolto che, aggiunto a una inventiva figurativa assai originale, arriva a infondere al racconto la tensione necessaria, redendolo giustamente terrifico: ciò che farà di certo apprezzare la pellicola ai numerosi amanti del genere thrilling.” (Pallotta, 213). As Argento’s first film grew in popularity across Italy, he released the sequel in the same year. After The Bird with the Crystal Plumage revitalized the Giallo genre, a slew of films with animal references in their titles followed to cash in on the success and profitability of the genre. The next installment in Argento’s trilogy, The Cat o’ Nine

11 Tails, continued this tradition with its reference to an animal that ends up being almost entirely irrelevant to the plot. Here, the titular animal refers to the number of suspects involved in the case. Carlo Giordani, a reporter, works with a blind man, Cookie, and his niece Laurie to unravel a blackmail plot centered on the Terzi Institute, a genetic research laboratory. The film plays with this genetic theme, revealing the killer is led to murder to hide their XYY genes which are indicative of a homicidal nature. This is also one of the few examples of Argento’s Gialli that includes a male killer. While the film largely adheres to the Giallo format, it is often criticized as Argento’s worst film for various reasons. Argento himself considered it his least favorite of his own work for many years, stating it was his most Americanized film. American influence is evident in the car chase sequence and extended, heavily dramatized fist fights, but the film still maintains Argento’s signature style. The original script of the film even included a Hollywood style ending that would have seen Carlo being nursed back to health by his new love interest, but this idea was replaced by the much more effective ambiguous ending. Despite its shortcomings, the film furthers the ideas introduced in Argento’s first film and has since gained more popularity among fans and critics alike. Although it suffered from a rushed production, the film garnered enough success to merit another sequel. In 1971, Argento concluded his trilogy with Four Flies on Grey Velvet. While the film’s plot is far less convoluted than its predecessor, it introduces some of Argento’s more complex themes that would continue throughout the body of his work. The film follows Roberto, a musician, who is blackmailed by a masked figure after being photographed “killing” a stranger in a theater. Roberto hides the incident from his wife Nina while teaming up with a private investigator to unravel the blackmail plot as people around him begin to be murdered. As the film progresses, Roberto has a recurring dream of a public execution, assuming the position of the victim. Moving forward in Argento’s

12 career, dreams and the subjectivity or fallibility of memory become central themes in his films. Returning to the femme fatale trope first employed in The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, it is revealed that Nina has been blackmailing Roberto because he looks like her father who abused her and tried to raise her as a son. Immediately after this reveal, she is killed in one of Argento’s most famous scenes as her car smashes into the back of a truck in slow motion, decapitating her. Like the finale of The Cat o’ Nine Tails in which the killer is pushed through a window down an elevator shaft, the shocking example of defenestration in this film sparked a series of similar style kills found in almost all of Argento’s work. While the three films may lack common characters or other traditional aspects of a trilogy beyond their loosely connected titles, they all share common themes and elements that would combine to form Argento’s signature style. One of the most prominent staples of Argento’s signature style is the importance of setting and location throughout his films and the ways it allows him to present and characterize the various characters in his films. Like many other directors of the Giallo genre, Argento was primarily concerned with the modern city location to reflect the male perspective’s growing anxieties in the face of modernity and changing times. Argento initially intended to film his first feature, The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, in . Unfortunately, the producers were not willing to pay the production cost required to transport the equipment for a director’s debut film to a city without a studio, so his father convinced him to work in . Argento deliberately captured locations that would be unknown to broader audiences instead of instantly recognizable tourist attractions. Reflecting on the necessity to film in Rome he states that, “The result was good. We showed a strange side of Rome. A bizarre city, a bit fabricated which is what you see in all my subsequent films.” (Crystal Nightmare) In this way, the protagonists represent

“every man” type figures that are more relatable because their environment is

13 nondescript, making their experiences universal and not just exclusively Italian. The city itself reflects Sam Dalmas’s emotional state. After being implicated in the crime he witnessed and becoming a suspect, Sam enters into the foggy streets of the city, reflecting his own state of confusion and frustration. While walking home, he is attacked by the killer who is now obscured by the inexplicably dense fog pervading the streets. The foggy streets are a stark contrast to the beginning of the film in which Sam walks with his friend through the bright sunshine, excited at the prospect of being paid so that he may return to the United States. Later in the film, while being chased by a hired killer, Sam runs down narrow, twisted alleys in the dark of night, and overhead shots cause him to be dwarfed by the tall, modern buildings of the city as he searches for his girlfriend. In both The Bird with the Crystal Plumage and Four Flies on Grey Velvet, the protagonist takes time to escape the confusion of the city, retreating to the countryside where they meet guide like figures that aid them on their quests, giving them advice or assisting in their investigations before the protagonist returns to face the issue. These elements of the city combine to reflect the character’s mental state, but Argento uses subtle details within the apartments and living spaces of the protagonists to reflect even more of the character’s traits. Like the titular bird in Argento’s first film, the characters are caged and isolated, and we see these connections through the decorations within their living spaces. Sam’s apartment is depicted in a rundown part of the city, and he and his girlfriend Julia are described as being the last remaining tenants. The bird’s cage is described in a similar way, with the bird being isolated from the rest of the inhabitants of the zoo. Argento enhances the protagonist’s anxieties as a foreigner in Italy by including posters that reference marginalized groups within the United States. A poster with the words “Black

Power” can be seen in several shots as Sam and Julia spend time in their apartment, and

14 an image of a Native American is removed from the wall to make space for the copy of the painting linked to the murder that Sam studies for clues. These subtle background details add to Sam’s characterization furthering his connection to the caged bird and the associated themes of captivity by linking him to historically subjugated, marginalized members of society bringing up themes of colonialism. Another character within the same film that contributes to the isolation theme is the artist Consalvi who has literally caged himself into his own home. With the doors and most windows boarded up, Sam must climb a ladder to enter Consalvi’s home where he finds the artist survives by caging and eating cats. As observed by Frank Burke in his essay, “Intimations (and more) of colonialism”, “the gender issues that are so central to the film are ‘produced’ within its context of (male) alienation, colonization and self-colonisation, opening up the possibility for a strong critique of masculinity.” (Burke). These settings that cage and isolate the male characters point to the larger male anxieties of a patriarchal society whose values were changing. Setting representing a character’s state of mind through the manipulation of background details would become a common technique in the rest of Argento’s work. While the action in The Cat o’ Nine Tails is far less centralized in comparison to The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, one of the major locations, the Terzi Institute, reinforces another key aspect of Argento’s films: an almost comedic exaggeration of science that points to broader misconceptions concerning the subjects of the studies depicted. The first film sees Sam talking with Inspector Morosini and some scientists in a room occupied by a computer that fills the entire space. Wheels spin and lights flash as the computer attempts to determine the identity of the killer based on some clues. Not only is the computer unable to identify the call of the bird on the tape, it is unable to distinguish the sex of the killer who is revealed to be female at the finale. Despite the grand spectacle of the computer, it is ultimately useless. The Terzi Institute, enhances the

15 pseudoscience theme introduced in the first film with its use of incorrect genetics central to the plot of the film. The blackmail scenario begins due to the fact that the Institute has genetic records of all the doctors working at the facility, so someone becomes aware that the killer, Dr. Casoni, expresses the XYY genes that indicate a homicidal nature. Argento admits to having pulled this sensational concept directly from a headline of the time. He did not choose the concept for its scientific accuracy, but instead for its intriguing appeal.

Obviously later proven false, the film is criticized for its use of these dated concepts, however they are intentionally indicative of the misguided understanding of biology and how it could be a motivator for murder. Ultimately it is ironic that Casoni is driven to kill not because he expresses the XYY genes, but because he feels the need to hide this information. Ultimately, Cookie dismisses the genetic explanation of Casoni’s motivation by saying, “never mind all that”, showing how truly unimportant it was. These locations and misguided uses of science seem to underline and expose the shortcomings of a male centric view of science and the binary, incorrect understanding of sexuality at the time. Modern viewers have to suspend their disbelief to engage in the context of the film to truly accept these debunked, outdated understandings of science and biology. Argento’s films should not be viewed as perpetuating these outdated notions, but should be instead viewed as a reflection of society’s misguided perceptions on subjects like gender and sexuality by the way he presents the science in an exaggerated or absurd fashion. Another location that would introduce a key feature of Argento’s filmography is the theater in Four Flies on Grey Velvet in which the protagonist Roberto is photographed while accidentally “killing” his stalker. Through several elements of the film, Argento equates this setting and the film viewing experience with dreams and makes the viewer question their role in observing the violence on the screen. At the beginning of the film, Roberto confronts his stalker in an abandoned theater where they

16 struggle with a knife, and the masked figure captures on film what appears to the murder of the stalker. Capturing the violent incident is emphasized when Argento shows us the negatives of the film strip that photographed the episode. Unable to examine the body before fleeing, Roberto believes he is responsible for the crime, but chooses to hide it from his wife Nina as he begins to be blackmailed by the photos. Roberto’s guilt is compounded by a repeated dream sequence he experiences throughout the film after hearing about an execution while attending a party. The dream’s link is made even more apparent through the way Argento presents the dream sequence. One of the main features of Roberto’s apartment is a set of large red curtains that become a visual callback to the theater at the beginning of the film. The camera pans through Roberto’s dark apartment and across the red curtains before showing a sleeping Roberto. As Roberto dreams, the execution sequence is first introduced and solidifies the link to film. A faint sound similar to reels of film spinning through a projector can be heard as an overhead shot of a public square comes into focus. Initially too bright to make out what is on screen, the light fills the square creating a visual reference to the strip of film seen earlier in the film. Adding to the meta aspect of the film that dreams introduce, Nina even states “maybe it’s all a bad dream” as the murders continue. These elements combine to comment on the film viewing experience as a whole, equating all cinema to dreams. Due to Argento’s deliberate association between films and dreams, the viewer enters the sleep-like darkness of the theater, and the curtains pull back to reveal another world like a dream. This dream motif would continue and be expanded on throughout Argento’s work, inviting the viewer to think critically about and to analyze the films like one would interpret a dream. While the theater location is used to emphasize the dreamlike nature of film itself, it also points to the viewer’s culpability in viewing violent films. As censorship loosened

17 in the 70s, directors like Martino and Fulci along with Argento pushed the boundaries with the violence that could be portrayed. In his works, Argento uses several techniques in his trilogy to establish a relation between the killer who commits the violence and the spectators who view it. The idea of the gaze is central throughout the trilogy, and the first example is at the beginning of The Bird with the Crystal Plumage. As the opening credits play, the first victim is tracked and followed through the perspective of a handheld camera. Moments later it will become clear that this is the murder’s perspective as black- gloved hands are seen with the photos of the young woman and then handling an assortment of various knives. When Sam first sees the supposed attack on Monica in the art gallery, he becomes trapped between two glass doors that force him to watch helplessly as the violent scene unfolds, also adding to the theme of witnessing violence. In The Cat o’ Nine Tails, similar to how the camera observes Sam’s apartment from the exterior through the killer’s perspective, the camera prowls through the Terzi Institute to establish the blackmail plot as the black-gloved hands retrieve the confidential reports of Dr. Casoni’s XYY genes. The Cat o’ Nine Tails continues to place emphasis on the gaze by showing extreme close ups of an eyeball throughout the film to obscure the identity of the killer instead of relying solely on the typical black-gloved, long-coated figures of the Gialli. While it may seem that he is solely placing blame on the viewer and their desire to see violence in films, Argento is aware of his role in creating the violence consumed by spectators. Argento acknowledges his own culpability in depicting violence in films, and he does so by directly putting himself into his films as the black-gloved hands that commit the violent acts or that hint at the killer’s psychotic nature. Each time the black gloves are featured throughout the trilogy, it is Argento’s own hands taking the pictures of the victims or seductively caressing the knives used to kill the victims. As the director,

18 Argento not only acknowledges the viewer’s voyeuristic nature that links them to the killer with point of view shots from their perspective, but also his own culpability in directing the scenes in which victims are violently killed. In fact, Argento’s stylistic portrayal of violence as spectacle would become the main draw of his filmography. A famous example of Argento’s stylized violence is the train sequence in The Cat o’ Nine Tails. Signs of Argento’s signature style punctuate the action of the sequence in the form of a red, yellow, and blue color scheme that would go on to indicate a violent scene. A bright yellow telephone sign can be seen while several blue posters are prominently displayed throughout the scene. A man in a bright red coat with a matching bag stands central in the crowd of people waiting for the train. Just before the train sequence begins, the man in red passes in front of the camera and does so again immediately after the body is crushed by the passing train. Several critics describe Argento’s violence as having a baroque style, due to their ornate setting and exaggerated colors. This use of stylized violence would be emulated by many directors, and it would become one of the main attractors for Argento’s audience. Argento even includes a subtle joke during the scene to comment on the viewer’s consumption of violent spectacle. The crowd on the platform happen to be paparazzi waiting for an actress to arrive on the train. As the train kills the doctor, cameras immediately begin to flash and the crowd gathers to take pictures of the corpse until a paparazzo can be heard saying, “Hey, we forgot the starlet!” Here, Argento comments on the way in which spectators consume the death and violence often reserved for the sexualized, female victims of Gialli and horror films and how they both become objects of the male-centric gaze. While Argento acknowledges his own culpability along with the viewer’s, he does so without condoning or condemning, and he would go on to shock and entertain his audiences with stylized violence for decades with his films.

19 Another feature common to all three films of the trilogy is the subversive depictions of masculinity presented by the various characters. None of the three male protagonists could truly be considered the heroes of their own stories. In the first film, Sam is a struggling writer and his unsure and anxious state of mind is often reflected by his surroundings. Sam takes on the role of investigator to not only prove his innocence, but also his own capabilities. Ultimately, however, there is little closure for Sam as he finally heads back to the United States with his girlfriend instead of remaining for the explanation of Monica’s psychosis by the psychologist at the end of the film. Again, in The Cat o’ Nine Tails, the handsome protagonist Carlo joins the investigation regarding the blackmail plot at the Terzi institute along with Cookie, the old, blind man who enjoys solving puzzles, to address the police’s inability to solve the crime. In one of Argento’s most ambiguous endings, it is unclear if Carlo even survives the fight with Dr. Casoni, leaving him with no chance for a meaningful conclusion. Roberto from Four Flies on Grey Velvet is the most passive of the three protagonists, never actively playing the role of the investigator in the film. Instead, the events of the film seem to unfold around him. Just as Sam is saved by his girlfriend who alerts the police of his dire situation, Roberto is saved when his friend, the character aptly named God, arrives at the final scene to stop Nina from killing Roberto before she flees.

These vulnerable, weak protagonists are in stark contrast to the hardened heroes of the sword and sandal epics and anti-heroes of many western all’italiana of the mid to late 1960s. The protagonists of Argento’s trilogy all wear the latest fashions of the time and are typically depicted as rather disarming, unthreatening men. They are thematically the opposite of the grizzled, dirty outlaws of the westerns whose states of dress directly reference the character’s manliness, with their weapons and accessories defining them.

Maggie Günsberg notes “Masculinity as sexual spectacle was even greater in the peplum,

20 with its semi-clothed male bodies and huge, exposed muscles, worn like clothing and covering the ‘normal’ body beneath with their sheer excess, artificiality, and unnaturalness. In the the emphasis on clothes may similarly serve to distract from the body […] [and] western heroes sleep in their clothes, ostensibly so as to be ever-ready for action, but in effect also disavowing male nakedness.” (Günsberg, 183) Having previously worked as a screenwriter within the western genre, Argento plays with and subverts these depictions of masculinity by emphasizing the nudity of his male protagonists. Though criticized like many other Giallo directors of sexism and focusing the gaze on female nudity, Argento includes the nude male body more than his contemporaries. This nudity, however, does not emphasize the masculine form like the heroes of the peplum genre. It works to make the protagonists as vulnerable as the typically nude female victims of the genre. Each of the protagonists engage in sex scenes exposing their bare torsos, and Sam and Roberto are often shirtless while in their apartments. While Sam’s vulnerability at home ties in with the caged and isolated themes that permeate The Bird with The Glass Plumage, Roberto finds himself in a more compromising situation in Four Flies on Grey Velvet while shirtless in his apartment when the homosexual private investigator he hires to help with the blackmail case arrives to discuss clues. Each of the protagonists is presented on the surface as the typical Latin

Lover who fits the Italian ideal of the bella figura, but dressing insecure men in this way only subverts this confident, poised image. As noted by Professor of Italian Literature Jacqueline Reich, Argento employs the same technique found in La dolce vita in which “Fellini dresses up Marcello Rubini, as played by Mastroianni, in the latest Italian fashion, but ultimately strips him bare to reveal a man at odds with rather than triumphant over a rapidly changing economic, social, and sexual environment.” (Reich, 25).

21 Other subversive depictions of masculinity occur throughout the trilogy and are represented by various minor characters of authority. Inspector Morosini plays the first in a series of police investigators who fail to solve a crime without the aid of the amateur protagonist. In the final scene, in a clear reference to Hitchcock’s Psycho, the inspector defers the explanation of Monica’s psychosis to the psychiatrist at the TV news station, another sign of law’s inability to assert control and make sense of the situation. If the goal of the poliziotteschi and other crime dramas was to reestablish order and return to normalcy, there is no such authority figure present to make this correction in Argento’s Gialli. A more humorous depiction can be found in Four Flies on Grey Velvet’s mailman character. While far less important than Inspector Morosini, the mailman is featured in several scenes for comedic relief. Being somewhat cross-eyed, he makes several mistakes, and Roberto’s female neighbor becomes increasingly upset as she continues to accidentally receive a male neighbor’s pornography. This constant confusing of genders foreshadows Nina’s hidden gender as the killer, but also her dual nature after having been raised to behave as a man by her own father. The mailman’s costume, complete with a badge adorned cap, creates a visual reference to the classic police officer image. Being used exclusively for comedic relief, this figure contributes to the subversive depictions of male authority figures found throughout the trilogy.

While Argento uses ineffective authority figures to challenge masculine depictions, he does the same with criminal figures. In The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, Sam is chased by an assassin wearing a distinct yellow jacket with blue lettering as he runs for his life through the streets. After evading his pursuer, Sam ends up tracking the assassin and following him as he makes his escape to a meeting of a group of boxers. This gathering offers another example of Argento’s humor, depicting them as scrawny men squabbling over financial issues instead of macho, muscular Italian pugilists.

22 Another criminal who subverts expectations is the character known simply as “pimp”. Before appearing as the cross-eyed postman in Four Flies on Grey Velvet, character actor Gildo Di Marco appeared as the pimp Sam visits about a clue involving one of his prostitutes. Instead of the typical suave hustler or hardened criminal, the pimp character is a stuttering idiot easily distinguished by Di Marco’s distinct features. While only minor roles, these characters fit in with Argento’s theme of presenting characters that subvert the audience’s expectations of depictions of masculinity. Another feature that would become a fixture in much of Argento’s work, and that ties in with his desire to question traditional masculinity, is the use of homosexual characters. Homosexuality, like the femme fatale characters of many Gialli, is viewed as a threat to the heteronormative, patriarchal structure of Italy at the time, so Argento deftly weaves homosexual characters into his plots to play with society’s homophobia. In his first film, homosexuality is admittedly used for mainly comedic relief. Sam meets with an overly flamboyant antique dealer who implies the first victim who worked at the same store was a lesbian. The antique dealer begins a flirtatious conversation with Sam, who is visibly uncomfortable but decides to engage with the dealer’s advances to gain more information and a copy of the painting that would be central to the investigation. While the scene does play for laughs, it is important to note that Sam is the object of ridicule in this situation as he experiences discomfort due to sexual advances made by another man. A similar situation unfolds in The Cat o’ Nine Tails, in which we see Carlo enter a gay club to meet with Professor Braun of the Terzi Institute while following a lead. In this scene, Argento employs subtle camera work to convey the power struggle between the two men as “a cut leaps over the scene’s axis of action, changing the camera angle by 180 degrees and reversing the positions of the two men on screen. One moment has Giordani in control, pursuing a potential suspect, and then a compliment reverses the relationship,

23 putting Braun in the position of aggressor.” (Cooper, 40) Their conversation abruptly ends when Carlo identifies his profession as a reporter, correcting the power struggle, with Braun fearing exposure of his secretive lifestyle. As in the first film with the lesbian victim and gay antique dealer, homosexuality merely becomes another red herring or false lead within the films. Recognizing the pervasive homophobia in society and the film industry, Argento would not only include depictions of homosexuality, but also deliberately chose to work with gay and lesbian actors. In an interview, in response to a comment about the antique dealer, Jean-Pierre Marielle, being played by the homosexual actor Werner Peters, like playing Carlo in Deep Red, Argento states, “homosexuals are part of our everyday life. In my profession, I work with homosexuals. […] I think they logically have a place in my films. They are part of our society, which is made up of heterosexuals and homosexuals.” (Cooper, 153) While the inclusion of homosexuals may be more for humorous reasons in his first two films, homosexuality itself is not the object of ridicule. Instead, homosexuality is used to underline society’s homophobic views and notions of masculinity that the protagonists represent while homosexual men put them in compromising situations, furthering their link to the typically female victims of Giallo films who are depicted as objects of desire.

The most positive and progressive depiction of homosexuality in Argento’s early work appears in Fours Flies on Grey Velvet with the character of the private investigator, Gianni Arrosio. Roberto arrives at Arrosio’s office and almost turns down his services upon realizing he is a homosexual and seeing him cleaning in what appears to be a housewife’s apron. Arrosio is able to assure Roberto of his capabilities and takes the case, despite having never successfully solved one up to this point. From this point on, Arrosio takes a far more active role in the investigation concerning who is blackmailing Roberto.

24 The film even breaks away from Roberto, following Arrosio’s perspective for several scenes as he discovers the truth behind Nina’s traumatic upbringing. Although he is killed by Nina before he can relay the information to Roberto, Arrosio has arguably the most meaningful character arc throughout the entire trilogy, especially when compared to the protagonist of the same film who largely remains passive throughout the film. Argento offers no closure to any of his male protagonists in his first three films, and they remain static, never growing or maturing from an understanding of their experiences. Sam flees to America without an explanation of Monica’s psychosis. Carlo is last seen stabbed by Dr. Casoni, leaving the ending ambiguous as to whether or not he even survives. Finally, Roberto cowers as he is saved by God simply saying, “She’s crazy” as Nina escapes and dies horrifically, abruptly ending the film without any further resolution. None of these characters experience any sort of growth, unlike Arrosio who finally solves a case despite a lack of confidence from Roberto. This type of depiction of homosexuality was uncommon in popular culture for the time, especially in horror films, where homosexuals were typically depicted as a helpless victim or seen as the villain due to their otherness. Like the psychotic women typical of the Giallo genre, homosexuality was seen as a threat to the family structure. Female independence and homosexuality would be explored in greater depth in Argento’s next film, Deep Red.

With his first three films, Argento established himself not only as a deft director but also a genius of the Giallo genre. Operating within the pre-existing boundaries of the genre created by directors like Bava, Argento adopts the psycho-sexual themes and techniques, elevating them to examine the various anxieties of a male-centric society like Italy. Argento invites the viewer to not only question their role in viewing violent Gialli films, but to also question their role in perpetuating stereotypical views of masculinity by including subversive and homosexual characters. He does so by crafting his films with a

25 dream-like logic that directly references the film going experience itself, inviting interpretation of the symbols and images seen on the screen. While some themes of his films, like the use of absurd science, have been taken at face value and then censured for allegedly perpetuating false notions of gender and sexuality, Argento’s cerebral approach to cinema begs for closer examination and for the audience’s self-reflection.

26 Chapter 3

EXAMINING SOCIAL DEVIANCE AND OTHERNESS: FACETS OF AGE, GENDER, SEXUALITY IN DARIO ARGENTO’S DEEP RED

After the commercial success of his “Animal Trilogy” in the early 70s, Argento took a break from Giallo and worked on several television dramas and a period comedy. However, it did not take long for Argento to return to the genre that made him famous, and in 1975 he released his film Deep Red. The film was enough of a success in Italy to garner international attention and push Argento into the spotlight as a king of and gore. Deep Red is considered by critics to be one of the best examples of the Giallo genre, and it is the culmination of the ideas introduced in his previous trilogy. The film follows a hapless, young, and, of course, foreign musician as he attempts to navigate a series of grisly murders while trying to avoid becoming a victim himself. Like many of its predecessors within the genre, Deep Red is not concerned with turning out a coherent, satisfying narrative. Instead the film takes the opportunity to explore the social constructs surrounding family and gender roles and the links that exist between the two. Argento uses his characters to further break down the traditional understanding of masculinity and femininity, but also to subtly challenge society’s assumptions regarding age and sexuality. Under Argento’s direction, it is not the excessive blood and graphic deaths in this film that most upset the audience, but this distortion and examination, this questioning of cultural assumptions and expectations that makes the audience frightened on a subconscious level.

In Deep Red, Argento takes much of what Bava introduced in The Girl Who Knew Too Much and Blood and Black Lace and further refines it, adding to the elements of his

27 own “Animal Trilogy” that solidified the success of the genre. By combining these tropes and expanding on his own existing work, Argento creates a film that would be considered the summation of the genre. In the film, a young British musician, Marcus, witnesses a brutal murder within an apartment from the empty street below. Despite rushing to the victim’s home, he is unable to apprehend the killer. His pursuit of the killer is the driving force behind the events that unfold after the initial crime, much like the previous male protagonists in his “Animal Trilogy”. While the film fits into the established Giallo formula, it breaks from its predecessors by including a much heavier focus on the characters. Compared to the characters in his previous trilogy, Marc, Gianna, Carlo, and even the killer, Marta are presented with a greater importance than those of previous Giallo films, though ultimately also never achieving a meaningful resolution. These characters, along with the young Olga would illustrate Argento’s themes of agedness and sexuality present in the film, and continuing in the tradition of his previous trilogy, the characters are represented largely through setting. The film’s opening sequence gives confusing glimpses of disturbing child related artifacts, a fractured family, and the unceremonious murder of the father figure, foreshadowing the symbolism and psychology that would be implied throughout the film. While the relationship with Marc and Gianna would humorously expose male anxieties toward female independence, the characters Carlo and Marta would introduce the Jungian archetypes of the devouring mother and stunted child. According to Jung, Carlo is unable to grow into a heterosexual man due to the lack of a fatherly figure and an overabundance of motherly love, and Argento uses archetypal imagery relating to the mother to convey these ideas, presenting homosexuality in a thus unexplored context within his filmography.

28 Without much pretext, the film opens through red curtains being drawn open to a psychic revealing the presence of a killer within the audience of her demonstration of “parapsychology,” a visual callback to the theater and curtains in Four Flies on Grey Velvet that work to give the film its dreamlike quality . The confused pan of the audience that follows is presumably a search for the murderer of the opening credits, but it is impossible to ignore Argento’s attack on the audience within his film and the one consuming it. He continues to make use of perspective by allowing the viewing audience to take charge of the search through the killer’s gaze. This heavy exploitation of limited perspective is used throughout the film to direct the audience and control their emotional response, and is a continuation of the same zoom techniques used within his earlier trilogy. While the use of intense zooms and adopting the killer’s perspective with the camera’s focus is intentionally disorienting, it mimics Argento’ The skill with which

Argento uses perspective to invoke discomfort and fear is a large part of why Deep Red is considered one of the greatest Giallo films of all time. Argento also employs the traditional “gloved killer” archetype and teases only the slightest glimpses of his killer. In what proves to be the masterstroke of the film, Argento reveals that the audience was shown Marta at the initial murder scene, but never processed Marcus’s (or their own) ignorance. This distortion and trickery of the audience’s perception is something that all

Giallo directors hope to achieve, but few manage with the efficiency and skill of Argento. The reveal plays like a punch to the gut that leaves the audience questioning everything they have processed thus far; the line between what can be trusted and what is a lie is completely destroyed. There is no comfort or satisfaction in the film’s ending, even after Marta is killed, there is only vulnerability just like the lack of resolution afforded to the protagonists of Argento’s previous trilogy.

29 This lack of resolution in his films, which directly contradicts the previous genres that strove to address issues and return to normalcy, reflects the general anxieties of the population throughout the 70s in which violence was ever present in the media. While Argento has never stated any explicit political influence or inspiration regarding the creation of the film, he does admit to the general atmosphere within Italy contributing to its success. In 1975, the year of Deep Red’s release, Italy was solidly in the middle of a period that would come to be known as the “.” During this time that stretched from the late 60s to the early 80s, Italy experienced extreme political and social reform. Violence and terrorism seeped into everyday life as a reaction to the deep fissure that was forming within the Italian political realm. As observed by Italian political scientist Pietro Ignazi, “Italian politics in the 1970s revolved around two opposing world- views. These were not related to traditional ideological divisions, but referred rather to divergent understandings of ‘political conflict’…One view perceived political conflict as a physiological element of liberal-democratic societies. The other one perceived conflict as a wound, a trauma which must be overcome in order to achieve a harmonious unity among all parts” (Ignazi, 10). While this unrest was largely rooted in political tensions, it bled into all aspects of Italian culture and society. It seems inconceivable that Argento would not be influenced by the climate in Italy, and, in many ways, Deep Red reveals the reach of Italy’s social unrest by tapping into this lack of harmony. There are no safe spaces within Argento’s films and none of the characters can be trusted. The more the audience learns, the more they are forced to question. Nothing is safe or comfortable and nothing is as it should be. While Argento’s audience may not have readily related to German psychics or possessed dolls, they would have certainly related to the terror and conflict of the film associated to the perversion of the family unit. Much like the

30 characters in the film, Italians were wrestling with the fear of the unknown overtaking the familiar and destroying all notions of safety and comfort. Working to tap into these fears, Argento presents characters with a particular deviance that marks their otherness and obscures the true danger of the film. After hiding the identity (and gender) of the killer until the final moments of the film, Argento excites the audience by revealing the mother of Carlo, Marta, to be the true killer and destructive force within the story. In early scenes, Marta is used to a seemingly comedic effect to inform Marcus of the location of her son in a way that reduces the audience’s suspicions and Marta’s credibility as a dangerous character. Repeatedly referring to Marcus as “the engineer”, presumably mishearing or outright ignoring his corrections, while wistfully showing him pictures of her acting career hung on the walls of her apartment establish Marta as a feeble and innocuous character incapable of threat. While the scene seems to only be characterization for a marginal character, Argento subtly offers clues to the larger themes while drawing attention to the artifice of the film itself. In a meta-cinematic technique, Argento deliberately chooses actress Clara Calamai, one of the famous Italian divas of the late 30s and early 40s. Keen cinema goers of 1975 would have remembered Calamai’s role in Luchino Visconti’s Obsession (1943) as the ill-fortuned femme-fatale, Giovanna, who works with the young Gino to kill her husband and take over his business.

Released during the end of the fascist era of filmmaking, the film includes Neorealist elements, like scenes depicting the harshness of everyday life, which deliberately set it apart from the “” that focused on Italy’s upper class. In killing the character of Giovanna, Visconti cleverly uses Calamai’s body to send his message, heralding the end of the Fascist era of filmmaking for which she was famous and ushering in the new era of . Although a cinema-frequenting audience and

31 critics would readily recognize the meta-cinematic reference to Calamai’s career, the protagonist dismisses and marginalizes Marta due to her age and seeming incompetence. As the flashbacks develop throughout the film, the viewers learn that this dismissal of the female character is central to Argento’s message and the way in which he decides to examine the societal anxieties revolving around feminism in the 70s in Italy. The flashbacks ultimately reveal that Marta’s husband, presumably threatened as the patriarch by her success, had demanded that she quit her career as an actress and be hospitalized in an institution. Liberating herself from this fate, Marta uses a kitchen knife, a symbol of her oppression and a phallic image that disrupts the gender dynamic, to kill her husband. This flashback introduces the Jungian concept of the “loving and terrible mother” that would become central to Argento’s filmography. Jung’s concept of the mother archetype, the universal subconscious symbols that arise from the collective conscious, is positively associated with, “fertility, life-sustenance, comfort and security - in general the qualities of any helpful nurturing agent. […] At the same time, evil characteristics have just as often been ascribed to the ‘mother figure’; some of these images include ravager, devourer, temptress, seductress, and poisoner.” (Iaccino, 4) Marta rejects her husband’s control, killing him and assuming both the nurturing role as mother and authoritative position of the father in Carlo’s life. Applying these archetypes taps into the audience on a subconscious level, playing with the anxieties of not only the Italian society but also universally within the collective subconscious. The house itself that hides the murdered father, beautiful yet old, becomes a representation of Marta’s damaged psyche with its clean exterior hiding a crumbling, dilapidated interior. This perversion of the maternal figure represented externally by setting becomes a theme central to Argento’s works following Deep Red, and as noted by

Elena Past that “while in the 1943 film Calamai became a representative of the typical, in

32 Argento’s film she exemplifies the anomalous, playing against her past glory in a referential game that will again lead her to kill and be killed” (Past, 303). Argento presents the character in an innocuous manner, allowing him to play with the expectations of the audience. Like Marcus, they are unwilling to see Marta as a threat due to her age and gender, which allows her to fade into the background of the plot and into the periphery of the audience’s memory, making her reveal as the killer all the more shocking. Though she was consciously chosen to reference Visconti, “Argento’s reclaiming of Calamai as a new kind of criminal reflects the ideology of his cinema and informs his aesthetic sense,” and he allows for her murder spree to become a “vindication of the actress’s cinematic career, creating a new kind of beauty dependent upon kinetics and color, and not upon the beauty of youth” (Past, 306). Employing the audience’s passive dismissal of Calamai’s elderly Marta in the same way Marcus fails to see her at the scene of the crime, Argento makes age and gender central components to understanding the themes within the film and uses several other characters in a similar way to play with the expectations of the viewers. Decapitating Marta, Argento leaves the audience along with the protagonist to reflect on Calamai’s blood and the events of the movie, ushering in a new era of cinema in which cohesive, logical narration is secondary to striking visuals.

Although Argento explores the effects of agedness on the assumptions of the audience, the film infantilizes several mature characters and includes many childish motifs to enhance the creepiness of its adolescent roles. Argento would expect his audience to be familiar with the concept of the “killer kid” after several examples of demonic or possessed children appeared in works like Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby (1968) and William Friedkin’s The Exorcist (1973), and he allows the audience’s preconceptions of the trope to misguide their understanding of the identity of the assassin

33 as the plot unfolds. Throughout the film, Argento uses humor and other devices to undermine the maturity of adult characters to shift the credibility to adolescent characters like Olga, the caretaker of the old home’s daughter. For example, as stated previously, the repeated mistakes made by Marta regarding Marcus’s profession point to an inability to remember, which directly contrasts with the little girl who holds secrets relevant to solving the mystery which puzzles the adults around her like some kind of child oracle.

Even the protagonist, Marcus, is infantilized as he rides to comedic effect, barely able to see over the dashboard, with Gianna in her tiny car as they work to solve the case. Working on this same idea, each killing depicted includes some link or connection to childhood that elevates the dread by subverting the notion of innocence associated with adolescence. The flashback in the title sequence reveals a set of ambiguously gendered adolescent feet as the bloodied knife drops, and “through proximity alone, the child is cast as monstrous: the rest is supposition” (Heller-Nicholas & Martin, 43). As the credits continue, gloved hand prowls over a set of presumably relevant trinkets and toys as the camerawork implies the gaze of the murderer. Helga, the psychic, notes the childish nature of the thoughts of the killer in the crowd before being attacked herself after hearing the lullaby that comes to announce the presence of the killer. Several dolls are used to distract those who come close to discovering the killer’s identity, like the doll hung by a noose found moments before the death of Amanda Righetti, the author of The Modern Ghost and Black Legends of Today, or the doll wearing a black suit that inexplicably approaches Professor Giordani that would become the inspiration for the tricycle riding doll, Billy, in the Saw film series. These elements of the film combine to warp the expectations and experience of the audience and to trick the viewers into believing a child is capable of murder.

34 Although ultimately absolved of the crime, Olga still reveals a sadistic nature that forces the audience to question their assumptions about the capacity of children to commit evil acts. In a moment that seems included for its use of shocking domestic violence against a child, Olga’s father slaps her across the face, only for her to sadistically lick her lip, apparently relishing the pain. Marcus observes the exchange without understanding, but the camera reveals to the spectators that Olga has been torturing lizards, pinning them to the ground with sick satisfaction. In an unfortunate choice in the director’s career, Argento opted to use a real lizard for the shot, enhancing the creepiness and horror of the scene. Dialogue suggests this is not the first time Olga has committed this sort of act, and her recreations of the drawings found within the mansion in which the original murder occurred that depict a stabbing are visually linked to the impaled lizard, suggesting she learned this behavior from exploring the past trauma that is figuratively and literally imprinted onto the walls of the home. The absence of a nurturing, loving mother figure and the presence of the violent, authoritative father tie into Argento’s archetypal depictions of the family unit, but here they are an inverse of Carlo and Marta’s dynamic. While Jung would attribute Carlo’s homosexuality and stunted growth to the presence of an overbearing mother who exceeds her role as caretaker, Olga’s violence and maturity are attributed to her association to the father.

Although she appears only briefly in a few scenes, Olga plays a pivotal role in solving the case. Even the original theatrical trailer for the film, which is mainly a collection of stills of the pool of blood at the end of the film and sequences that show the androgynous killer preparing to kill, takes a considerable amount of time to show Olga sitting knowingly, looking down from her window like a typical Italian mother or widow observing the street from her home. While mature characters like Marta are infantilized by their inability to remember details and their nostalgic musings, Olga holds vital

35 knowledge that eventually points to the identity of the killer, causing Marcus to rely on her for information. Both of these characters, Marta and Olga, are quite different from Cookie and Laurie of The Cat o’ Nine Tails in the way that they are presented in spite of being similar in age respectively. Cookie, despite being blind, proves himself to be a capable investigator while Laurie is depicted solely as sweet and innocent. By underlining the ineptitudes of adult characters and highlighting the abilities and sadistic nature of the child Olga, Argento continues to play with the social anxieties surrounding the family unit. Shifting the focus from age to gender, Argento next explores femininity’s position in the changing societal structure of Italy in the 70s. In Italy’s post-war economy, women continued to enter the workforce, valuing their independence gained from working out of necessity during and after the war. World War II also changed the basic structure of the

Italian family unit, seeing a drastic drop in the national birthrate. With smaller family units to care for, women moved out of the typical housewife role and began developing their own careers like the independent character Gianna. Like many films of the Giallo genre, Deep Red revolves around the struggles of a male protagonist and his inability to acknowledge Gianna as an equal. Typically the female characters and protagonists of the genre lack the agency afforded to male characters and often seem to be moved along and influenced by the events of the plot instead of acting on or having any control over them. One exception to this rule is the role of Gianna, the journalist who assists Marcus in his investigation. Throughout the film, Gianna’s dialogue with Marcus emasculates him in humorous ways. Though she plays a secondary role, it becomes evident quickly that Gianna is the superior investigator. In a scene that perfectly encapsulates their relationship, Gianna challenges Marcus to an arm-wrestling match. After losing, Marcus is unable to accept the outcome, claiming Gianna to be a cheater. Though the scene and

36 many others like it in the film play out for laughs, they point to the broader theme of men’s inability to accept women’s changing role in society and present to the audience the anxieties surrounding these dynamics. By highlighting the otherness of Gianna’s femininity, Argento frames her with his camera in a way that implicates her as another possible femme-fatale, ultimately making her one of the red herrings typical of the genre. The camera lingers on Gianna as she leaves Marcus alone during their investigation of the school with the drawings that ultimately link the killings to Carlo and his mother. The audience, familiar with Argento’s work, expects Gianna to possibly make a dramatic return in similar fashion to the femme-fatale of his first film, The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (1970), revealing herself to be the killer. Instead, Gianna saves an incapacitated Marcus from the burning building, further proving her investigative prowess and abilities over her male counterpart. Though able to work, unlike Marta who had to kill to claim her agency, having a job and a role in society beyond that of a traditional housewife or mother brings Gianna under scrutiny. Where a male character would find praise for his investigative capabilities, Gianna is met with suspicion. While humorous in the context of the film, Marcus and Gianna’s interactions speak to the anxieties and fears experienced by the patriarchy as the status quo was being threatened by women fighting for their independence and entering into the workforce. Gianna is the first of a series of strong female characters that begin to appear and become more central within the Giallo genre after the release of Deep Red, that stand in contrast to the helpless damsels in distress and crazed femme-fatales that populate the early entries of the genre. While the film uses several female characters that deviate from the audience’s expectations through their age or independence, Argento presents the character Carlo to explore the negative views society had placed on homosexuality and examine how trauma is fostered within the home. While homosexuality had been a common feature up

37 to this point in Argento’s work, gay and lesbian characters were relegated to minor roles or were victims, excluding the private investigator in Four Flies on Grey Velvet. In a far more centralized role, Carlo is depicted as a problematic character from the start of the film. Found sitting drunk in the street, Marcus engages Carlo, commenting on his self- destructive behavior, when they overhear screams to which Carlo offers a drunken toast, “to the rape of the virgin.” Carlo’s negative habits and crass language work to enhance his culpability to the audience before explicitly mentioning his sexuality. As observed by professor of film L. Andrew Cooper, Argento offers subtle clues pointing to Carlo’s homosexuality, most notably when Marcus visits Carlo’s apartment shared with his mother where he asks Marta if her son is available in a scene that plays out like a child asking for a playdate with a friend (Cooper, 58). Marta further infantilizes the scenario by referring to Carlo as “my boy” before letting Marcus know that Carlo is with a friend known as Ricci. In the following scene when the cross-dressing Ricci opens the door to greet Marcus, it is Carlo who derogatively refers to himself as a “faggot” after his secret has been revealed. The reveal casts a new light on the way Marta treats her son, suggesting her overbearing nature is the cause for his homosexuality due to the lack of a father figure in his life and too much affection from an oppressive mother. Although Marcus seems unbothered by the revelation of Carlo’s sexuality, it is this deviance that allows Marcus to readily accept Carlo as the killer as the events of the film unfold and the drawings depicting the past trauma are found. As noted in Argento’s earlier films The Bird with the Crystal Plumage and The Cat o’ Nine Tails, “being gay is enough to incite suspicion of murder, and the line between suicidal and homicidal is as thin as the line between homosexual and homicidal” (Cooper, 58). It is the link to past traumatic events that allows Marcus to conclude that Carlo must have been the killer, due to the nature of the

38 drawings he made as child depicting the trauma he witnessed. Although the film presents the flashback out of context by interrupting the title sequence, “the interruption of the credits suggests the force with which the past trauma is reasserting itself in present events. The interruption makes an argument: if the trauma the scene depicts is powerful enough to disrupt the credits, it is certainly powerful enough to motivate murder” (Cooper, 56). Witnessing his mother kill his father in a perversion of the family dynamic,

Carlo is forced to bear the scars of the trauma, encouraged by his mother to forget and suppress the memories which works to further the Neo-Freudian aspects of their relationship. As the events depicted in the flashback become linked to Carlo, the audience, like Marcus, concludes that the combination of his past trauma and homosexuality merge in a lethal manner, making him responsible for the murders throughout the course of the film. When Carlo arrives with a gun to confront Marcus and end his investigation, the audience seemingly has their suspicions confirmed and validated as he is chased into the street by the police where he is hooked to a passing garbage truck. In the most gruesome death of the film, he is dragged in agony through the streets by the dump truck, affirming for the audience that Carlo himself is garbage, before having his head run over by a passing car. Playing with the audience’s fear of otherness, Argento uses Carlo’s sexuality to call to attention the baseless anxieties of society regarding gender and sexuality. The audience, feeling validated moments before by the gruesome death of the supposed killer in grand fashion, now must reexamine their own assumptions when faced with Marcus’s revelation that Carlo could not possibly be the killer. The image of the garbage truck dragging Carlo through the streets now becomes a representation of his self-loathing and self-destructive nature instead of an apt metaphor for the destruction of a villain brought to justice. Carlo’s character presents the struggle of a homosexual to conform to a

39 heteronormative, patriarchal society, and Argento simultaneously introduces and dismisses the notion of psychoanalysis as an explanation for the murders by making it totally irrelevant by the end of the film, leaving the audience to reflect on their assumptions about gender and sexuality. Although Argento introduces several female and homosexual characters to explore the changing gender dynamics of the decade, the film is ultimately filtered through a heterosexual male perspective, and it is this point of view that is central to many films of the Giallo genre. Upon its release, many critics and audience members suspected Argento was hinting at Marcus’s closeted homosexuality, but in an interview known as Rosso Recollections: Dario Argento’s Deep Genius, he clarifies stating that Marcus is “totally not gay at all” adding “he’s a nice person [and] has a certain way about him, sure, sweet, delicate…” (Rosso Recollections). Though Deep Red follows in the footsteps of other Gialli that emasculate their protagonists, it does so in a much more humorous way than Argento’s previous films while still focusing on the heteronormative point of view of its male protagonist. With Marcus, Argento explores various tropes dealing with masculine heroes in order to again subvert the expectations of the audience in regards to gender dynamics and explore the confusion felt by the male population as feminism began to take root in society. In another meta-cinematic choice of actor, Argento chose to fill the role of Marcus, knowing audiences would associate him with his similar role as Thomas in Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blow-up (1966). As Thomas, Hemmings plays a photographer who uses his camera to capture the changing fashions and trends of the 60s and exploits his position to be with women. After photographing a couple in a park and later blowing up the stills, Thomas believes he sees a dead body and becomes involved in an amateur investigation to discover what he thinks he saw. The film ends without any

40 real resolution, never confirming what Thomas actually did capture with his camera, suggesting the subjectivity of film’s ability to capture the entire truth. Thomas’s story in Blow-up mirrors that of Marcus in Deep Red in many ways. For example, like all of Argento’s Giallo protagonists, Marcus is also a kind of artist, working as a jazz pianist in Rome who becomes wrapped up in a murder investigation after witnessing a crime. Like Thomas’s inability to properly discern the details of the photo, Marcus is unable to fully remember the details of the crime scene, fixating on a painting he believes he saw. This inability to see the full picture becomes central to Marcus’s character and symbolizes the confusion men were faced with as they struggled to reaffirm their place in the changing landscape of gender dynamics in the 70s. As observed by Michael Mackenzie in his visual essay Profondo Giallo, in another technique that infantilizes and alienates Marcus, the world crafted by Argento is

“steeped in artificiality, and more often than not the streets are empty and devoid of life, occupied only by the characters whose function is essential to the narrative” (Mackenzie). The empty urban landscapes help to separate Marcus and enhance the fear associated with being a stranger in a strange land facing the modernity of the city. Despite his situation as a foreigner, Marcus seems to move through the plot with a misplaced sense of self-assuredness, and the audience watches as he fails to see the entire picture in several situations, leaving him a step behind the killer at every turn. Presenting himself as a carefree musician, Marcus actually reveals “a recurring trait in Argento’s male protagonists in that they like to pretend to themselves and others that they are more radical and progressive than they actually are” and “in truth his scenes with Gianna reveal that deep down he’s every bit as conservative as the establishment he rails against” (Mackenzie). Marcus’s is most evident in the scene in which he loses his arm-wrestling match with Gianna, unable to process the upsetting of gender dynamics,

41 and refuses to accept her victory. In another scene that disrupts the typical gender politics of Giallo films, Marcus calls Gianna to save him while he’s being attacked in his apartment, which further proves Gianna’s ability over him. In an interview, Argento directly addresses this gender role reversal in an interview stating, “ho voluto far questa cosa nuova; in un certo sensoil sesso fra i due protagonist era quasi ironico, perché c’era un rovesciamento dei ruoli. Non è lui, ma è lei a fargli la corte, assumendo un ruolo tradizionalmente maschile.” (Pallotta and Aloisio, 403) Marta, like the gloved, trench-coat wearing murderers preceding her, moves with ease throughout the film, entering and exiting unnoticed, and ultimately perverting the home space and negating the safety and comfort it typically provides for characters like Helga and Marcus. Like Helga, whose apartment is adorned with decorations that denote her Jewish identity, Marcus’s apartment becomes an external representation of himself, with the camera focusing on his piano and musical sheets that establish his identity as an artist. This invasion and desecration of the home space, which transforms a place of comfort into a den of trauma, threatens Marcus’s masculinity by paralleling him with the initial, female victim of the film and illustrates the shifting gender dynamics which are central to the film. Like many protagonists of the Giallo genre and Thomas from Blow- up, Marcus, along with the audience, finds no resolution in the final moments of the film and is left to contemplate this perversion as he stares at his own reflection in a pool of blood spilled from Marta’s neck. By turning the innocuous mother figure into the killer, Argento subverts the expectations of the audience and other characters alike and fully distorts the notion of the family unit with a nurturing, life-giving mother. Marcus is left hopelessly unable to face the reality of the changing gender dynamics and represents the social anxieties surrounding the issues, and like the rest of the film, he is unable to see the

42 greater picture. This perversion of the home space by a horrific mother figure would be the central theme of Argento’s next trilogy, The Three Mothers Like Marcus, the audience is allowed only a very limited perspective as the film unfolds. In Deep Red, Argento demonstrates that he is not as interested in traditional plot as he is in tapping into the fear of his audience. For Argento, the narrative is secondary to the emotional experience, and in Deep Red he crafts an ordeal that challenges the very beliefs of the audience. Argento keeps tight control of the information that is given to the audience, and he is careful to frame every character as a potential murderer, except the actual murderer. Argento plays with the audience’s understanding of socially constructed notions like gender roles and “character traits” to trick his audience’s understanding of the killer. Marta is old and a mother. Since society views old women as feeble and mothers as maternal, it never occurs to even the most adept audience that Marta is in fact the killer. Instead, Argento lays out red herrings in the “deviants” that occupy the film. Carlo is gay, Gianna is self-sufficient, and Olga is a creepy, malicious child. In the eyes of Argento’s audience, these traits signal otherness and, therefore, the potential to be the ultimate deviant of the film, the killer. Using non-traditional characteristics to define his characters helps Argento cultivate suspense while also allowing him to serve up a murderer in the most unexpected of characters. In the same way that the anonymous killer invades and destroys the other characters safety, so too does Marta annihilate the audience’s sense of safety. When the threat is revealed to come from the person seemingly least equipped to be a killer, the dread of the audience is heightened. How does one defend against a threat that cannot be seen coming? Should the audience live in constant fear from endless potential threats? At the mercy of Argento, the answer is, perhaps, yes. Safety is a myth and socially constructed notions of otherness are useless when it comes to identifying threats.

43 Chapter 4

WOMEN AND WITCHES OF POWER: AN EXAMINATION OF THE MATERNAL IN DARIO ARGENTO’S MOTHER TRILOGY

While Argento’s films lack intentional political commentary by his own admission, it is hard not to consider the social influences behind his choices regarding the depiction of gender in his Mother Trilogy. Like much of the Western world, the modern feminist movement in Italy was in its second wave in 1977 when Suspiria, the first installment of the Mother Trilogy, was released. In post-war Italy, the country’s social and political understanding of long held gender dynamics was beginning to shift, but the change was hard fought and, ultimately, incomplete. Even if it was not his intention to comment on second wave feminism, Argento’s trilogy takes an interesting approach to gender expectations and what roles are possible for female characters. In his Mother Trilogy, Argento crafts a world where women are the central players, and men are subjugated to secondary roles. Choosing to focus on his female characters allows Argento to challenge traditional aspects of femininity in order to cultivate suspense and fear within his audience. Like the horrific Marta in Deep Red who stifles her son and engages in the violence portrayed in the film, Argento continues his examination of the nurturing Great Mother in Jung’s description of the archetypes which arise from the collective consciousness. When characters are reduced to archetypal concepts, there is normally a level of predictability regarding behavior and performance. By building up archetypical notions just to break them, Argento is able to undercut his audience’s expectations and challenge society’s preconceived notions of female roles. This departure from the familiar adds another layer of discomfort and fear to the emotional experience that

44 Argento is attempting to create for his audience by perverting the image of the loving maternal figure. In addition to his unique use of female characters within the trilogy, Argento also fully defined his signature cinematic narrative style, which emphasizes aesthetic over plot, during this time. It is no coincidence that Deep Red and Suspiria are two of Argento’s most well-known and successful films and are also the best examples of his personal approach to cinematic storytelling. While developing his trilogy, an endeavor that spanned his career, Argento created the cinematic language that would grow into his own trademark and make his name synonymous with highly stylized set and color design. Argento’s Mother Trilogy is less about the narrative thread, always ambiguous in his work, and more about cultivating a sensory experience to unsettle and terrify his audience. Throughout the three films, Argento manipulates color, setting, and framing to confuse and mislead his audience into a reality so dreamlike it becomes surreal, while subtly providing enough characterization to move the plot and elicit an emotional connection with the characters, both heroic and villainous. Despite the significant lack of direct characterization, Argento still manages to establish an entire mythos with his use of symbols pertaining to Jungian psychology built on archetypal imagery and to introduce conflict within his crafted, female-centered reality for his characters. As noted by cinema scholar, Susan Hayward, “History and culture inform myth but, equally, myth serves as a way by which history and culture are ‘explained’ as a natural process (for example, good versus evil in war films or Westerns). Myth, then, is part of the ideological process of naturalization. [...] Clause Lévi-Strauss argued that ‘a dilemma or contradiction stands at the heart of every living myth. The impulse to construct the myth arises from the desire to resolve the dilemma’ (quoted in Cook, 1985, 90).” (Hayward, 283). Through the use of unique, striking settings, innovative editing, and the deconstruction of archetypal

45 characterization, Argento presents films that challenge his audience’s expectations of femininity. He does this by crafting his trilogy to reflect the anxieties of a patriarchal society by equating female power to violence and relegating men to subservient roles. The first installation of the Mother Trilogy, Suspiria, announces Argento’s breakaway from the Giallo genre which he came to master and refine with his Animal Trilogy and culminating in Deep Red, and it follows the protagonist Suzy as she unwittingly comes into contact with a coven of witches through a dreamlike series of events. As the title sequence begins, a voiceover offers the only clear form of narration by announcing that, “Suzy Banyon decided to perfect her ballet studies in the most famous school of dance in Europe; she chose the celebrated dance academy of Freiburg. One day, at nine in the morning, she left Kennedy Airport in New York and arrived in Germany at 10:40 P.M. local time.” This is the first clear break from Argento’s previous work in which the ambiguity of the city location would become central to the Giallo genre. Argento indicates immediately that the film will be a different experience than his previous creations by placing great significance on the setting from the very onset of the film. Upon arrival, Suzy takes an ominous ride by taxi, made creepier by the unnatural lighting and intense score by Goblin, through a dark forest in the pouring rain only to be barred from entering the academy. She sees another student, Pat, who offers a cryptic message about irises as she seemingly escapes the academy on foot while Suzy returns to the taxi to find shelter for the evening. Throughout the film, Suzy struggles to remember what she heard Pat say, similar to the protagonists in Argento’s other films who witnessed a crime and fixated on an obscure memory to solve the case. Shifting perspective, the film follows Pat, who is stabbed by an unseen killer with an unnaturally hairy arm. The arm, like in the Gialli before it, remains the only visible aspect of the

46 figure, a clear reference to the black-gloved hands that populate Argento’s previous films. The next day, Suzy arrives at the academy, finally gaining entry, to meet Madame Blanc, Miss Tanner, and three detectives investigating the disappearance of Pat. Suzy informs the investigators, who never appear on screen again, that she has seen her, but she is unable to remember what she was saying. The knife-wielding assassin, the inability to remember a detail about the case, and the three detectives are Giallo elements that are meant to misdirect the audience before Argento makes these specific details irrelevant and delves into the supernatural. As the plot continues to unfold, it becomes more and more dreamlike in its storytelling, adding to the fairytale aspect of the film and elevating its horror to a nightmarish level. In his visual essay What Do You Know About Witches?, Michael Mackenzie notes that, “Suspiria constitutes an evolution of ideas developed in Deep Red taking the earlier film’s hints of the supernatural and foregrounding of stylistic excess of plot to their obvious conclusion” (Mackenzie). The inkling of the supernatural found in the psychic character Helga is made central as Suzy begins to uncover that the academy is a front for a coven of witches. After Suzy comes under the hypnotic-like influence of the witches after being drugged, the plot begins to loosen further, matching her disoriented state as she drifts from scene to scene in a dreamlike daze. At the same time, each murder sequence seeks to illicit a visceral response from the audience instead of adding to a cohesive, easily understood story. After her friend and partner in the investigation of the mysterious events surrounding the school, Sarah, disappears, Suzy is forced to complete the investigation on her own. The now remembered clue spoken by Pat leads Suzy to the very heart of the coven where she overhears the intentions of the witches to kill her, and she comes face to face with Helena Marcos, the matriarch of the academy. Suzy is able to strike Marcos, causing the entire academy to catch fire and

47 collapse around her as she escapes, in the same way that she entered the film, into the pouring rain where she is only able to laugh in joy at her escape. From the very beginning of the film, Argento places emphasis on setting and location with the voiceover exposition specifying the destinations and times of Suzy’s departure and arrival. Up to this point in his career, his Gialli would have been recognized for their ambiguous, modern cities which would have seemed like any other urban location to international audiences unfamiliar with the Italian landmarks within his films. However, Suspiria immediately draws attention to its German setting with its use of notable Nazi monuments and buildings to establish a link with the witches and fascist violence. Though set in Freiburg, Argento uses many landmarks in Munich to subtly craft this connection. The airport in which Suzy arrives was designed by the famous Nazi architect Ernst Sagebiel, and it becomes that last bastion of rationality in the film with its modern structure and glass doors that separate Suzy from the storm raging outside. The impossible architecture and dizzying layout of the dance academy are foreshadowed when Suzy repeatedly tells the taxi driver that the street name is “Escher Strasse,” referencing the artist M.C. Escher whose work is the inspiration that hides the irises central to discovering the coven. The most violent deaths of the film, belonging to Pat and the blind pianist Daniel, are both linked to locations heavily featuring the work of more Nazi architects. Pat, the first victim of the film, is killed in the ornate Art Deco building of the Burgstrasse which was rebuilt after its destruction in 1944 by Albert Speer and Roderich Fick, and Daniel finds himself attacked by his own seeing-eye dog in the Königsplatz square in Munich, with its Neo-Classical architecture and large square that hosted massive Nazi rallies and book burnings. As noted by German Studies scholar, Linda Schulte-Sasse, this link aligns the witches’ viewpoint with the Nazi’s “systematic reign of surveillance and paranoia, a disciplining of the body and social behavior (those

48 punished in Suspiria are the ones with a ‘strong will’), a process of selecting who belongs to the ‘we’ and elimination of who does not” (Schulte-Sasse). These subtle visual clues connect the witches with the violence of the Nazi regime, which sought to subjugate the wills of those considered undesirable. Before the end of the film, in one of the few scenes in daylight, Suzy is found talking to Dr. Mandel, who tries to explain away Suzy’s concerns about the supernatural in front of the futuristic BMW headquarters in Munich.

The modern architecture of the building and explanation of witchcraft leave no place for rationality during the film. Although many exterior shots throughout Munich subtly craft a link between the witches and the Nazis, the dance academy itself, which serves as the primary location of the film, foreshadows the dark intentions of the witches before Suzy even enters. Returning after her failed entry the night before, Suzy approaches the academy the next morning, and she is framed against the front of the academy, the shadows cast above the door menacingly forming the profile of a classic witch, complete with hat and crooked nose. The shadow hints at the subtle nature of the witches as they work their influence over various characters throughout the film. Adding to the fairytale quality of the story, Suzy passes through the Black Forest, referenced on posters in the airport, to reach the academy. Being located in the forest, the academy is literally and metaphorically isolated, separating it from the rational world. Adding to the surreal qualities of the building, the academy contains long halls on which Argento lingers to build tension and dizzying staircases and fixtures that add to the geometric complexity of the interiors. Through various camera and editing techniques, Argento is able to manipulate color and lighting along with sound to create a visceral experience that adds to the horror of the film while implying the sorcery employed by the witches. In the murder scenes especially, “these jarring sounds, jagged shapes, and jolting colors come together in

49 compositions that suggest madness and horror” (Cooper, 86). From the beginning, each scene includes exaggerated hues of colors, and eerie, unnatural lighting owed to the camera effects of . The airport scene begins the steady build of tension that mounts and culminates in the first fifteen minutes of the movie as people pass by in the airport sporting excessively bright clothes and the opening doors allow Goblin’s menacing soundtrack to enter. In the taxi ride, supernaturally bright and strangely colored lights dance across Suzy’s face as the score increases in tempo. As the opening scene reaches its climax, the pounding score accompanies the murders that transform the body and blood of the victims into parts of the overall set. Tovoli uses various combinations of the colors to inform the viewer of the mood or coming danger of scenes. To achieve the desired coloring effects, Argento and Tovoli sent the negatives of the film to Technicolor to be “dio-transferred”, where whole frames could be dyed with hues or the contrast of the primary colors could be increased. These direct adjustments allowed Argento to evoke specific feelings of dread or warn the viewer of potential danger. Scenes bathed in blue or green are often punctuated by some red detail that warns of a coming danger. In addition to color, the score works to affect the audience in the same way. When reflecting on the use of the band Goblin’s music for the soundtrack, Argento recalls wanting intense music “because I wanted the music to almost be like the voice of the actors... the actors screaming and the music… it’s like an infernal atmosphere” (Argento et al, 2007). Traveling to Greece before filming, Argento remembers drawing inspiration from the traditional Greek instrument known as the “bouzouki”, describing the sounds it makes as, “very profound, penetrating, almost unreal” (Argento et al, 2007). The strings of this instrument are joined by otherworldly wails on the soundtrack that work to confuse the viewer. For example, as Pat runs through the Black Forest, it is impossible to

50 distinguish whether the wails on the soundtrack come from Pat herself or are simply a part of the background music. In another scene that combines these visual and auditory elements, Suzy finds herself under the suggestion of the witches. After defying Madame Blanc by declaring she has found a room outside of the academy in which she’ll be staying, Suzy finds herself in a red hallway with one of the witches’ servants and Madame Blanc’s young nephew. Framed by the intense red visually notifying the danger of the two figures, the soundtrack plays the theme and the word “witch” can be heard as a flash of light from the servant’s glass talisman momentarily blinds Suzy. The sadistic Miss Tanner then causes Suzy to collapse as she is made to dance in the following scene to the diegetic waltz music that begins to play. Afterwards, the witches seize the opportunity to force Suzy into a residency at the academy where they can control every aspect of her life, down to her diet. Argento’s use of suggestion and editing to imply the powers of the witches adds to the overall mystery of the film, without over explaining the nature of the magic used by the witches. Scenes like Daniel’s death in the Königsplatz which are shown from multiple shifting perspectives and overhead shots that suggest the omnipresent evil of the witches leave the viewer with a sense that danger can come from anywhere within the film.

Setting and editing also work to characterize and add depth where typical exposition and dialogue become secondary to the visceral experience, created by the seemingly unrelated events on the screen, that compel the characters through the plot. Suzy, a clear departure from the male protagonists of Argento’s Gialli, is a strong-willed female lead. Though lacking agency throughout most of the film, she is able to reclaim control by the end when she actively disposes of the food and drink that has kept her subdued by the witches, no longer moving listlessly through the plot in a dreamlike

51 manner, but taking an active role in destroying the coven and seemingly waking up from her nightmare. While female characters like Madame Blanc, Miss Tanner, and Helena Marcos hold the power and are central to the plot, the rest of the dancers are infantilized and made to look like children as they squabble over money or taunt each other over their names. In addition to their behavior, the setting also works to create a diminutive effect on the actresses with doorknobs at head height, that force them to reach up like children to grab them, and shooting from low angles or high angles that capture the small size of each person against the massive sets and interiors. Originally, Argento intended to cast children as the students of the academy to make the three matriarchal figures of the films seem like wicked step-mothers. While this lingering idea can be seen in the set design, the relationship is also made clear in the script when Suzy declares, “I can’t stand to live in a boarding school like a ten-year-old.” Infantilizing the dancers adds to the horror of the film by showing that they are at the mercy of their maternal oppressors. The witches, who sacrifice young women like Suzy, point to the archetypal imagery of the shadow mother who devours her children instead of nurturing them. Few male characters appear, and when they do, it is often to highlight the power of the witches over them. The three detectives at the beginning of the film hint at some kind of rational explanation that may be found by the end of the story, however they are never seen again, leaving no room for an official investigation or explanation of the events behind the murders like in a Giallo. The remaining male characters of Suspiria found in the dance academy are all marked by some kind of ailment or handicap, clearly marking their female counterparts as superior. Their ailments also work to show the hidden nature of the witches and how they discretely influence society. The handyman in the film is a mute, making him the perfect servant for the witches as he is unable to communicate that which he sees despite being complicit in their supernatural affairs. The

52 other male character allowed into the academy is the blind pianist Daniel, unable to see what kind of dark dealings occur below the surface of the academy. The only males with any authority are Dr. Mandel and his colleague who explain the global aspirations of the witches to Suzy. They do so in front of the striking architecture of the BMW building that come to represent the rational world away from the dance academy where everything is distorted into a nightmare. Ultimately, the academy itself is linked to Helena Marcos, and we see this connection as the building catches fire and collapses as Suzy strikes her down. Argento perverts the image of the mother with Marcos through the setting around her, making her a mother who takes life instead of giving it, continuing the trope of horrific mother figures he begins to explore in Deep Red. In 1980, Argento released the second installment of his Mothers Trilogy, . Though similar in style and mood to Suspiria, Inferno furthers the breakdown of plot and becomes one of Argento’s most difficult films to follow. Despite the disjointedness of the narrative, Argento finally adds the Three Mother mythos into the trilogy by referencing “Ladies of Sorrow” found in ’s Suspiria de Profundis (1845), seeking to give some backstory to the events that unfold in Suspiria. In a voiceover during the opening credits similar to that of Suspiria, the narrator describes the book from which Rose, the only character present, reads. The book explains that an alchemist by the name of Varelli was commissioned by the Three Mothers, ancient and powerful witches set on world domination, to build homes for each that would contain their evil magic and become centers from which they could spread their influence. Each witch established herself in a different location to maximize this dispersal of evil: Mother Suspiriorum in Freiburg, Mother Tenebrarum in New York, and Mother Lacrymarum in Rome. Rose, believing the apartment she lives in to be one of these houses, sends a letter to her brother

Mark explaining her concerns before she follows a clue in the book that tells her the

53 identity of the Mother to which the house belongs will be found in the basement. Finding a hole in the ground filled with water, she enters and swims to the submerged depths of the basement before being frightened by a floating corpse. Meanwhile, while an unseen force stalks Rose, the focus shifts to her brother Mark, a music student in Rome. Before reading the letter from his sister, Mark is distracted by the seemingly supernatural gaze of another student, and he leaves the letter where it is read by his friend Sarah. Terrified by the contents of the letter, Sarah goes to a library to find a copy of the same book that Rose had read in New York. However, Sarah is spotted with the book by a monstrous figure that pursues her, killing her and her friend Carlo. After recovering pieces of the letter, Mark returns to New York to find his sister and begin his own infernal journey into the depths of the witch’s house, occupied by its strange inhabitants like the wheelchair bound Mr. Arnold, his beautiful, young nurse and others.

If setting Suspiria in Freiburg intentionally establishes a link to the witches and the Nazi party, then setting the second location of the witches’ homes in New York City aligns the witches with a greedy, capitalist view that is in keeping with their desire for world dominance. While still exploring themes of witchcraft and the supernatural, Argento explains that he “did not want to enter into the world of witches as in Suspiria, but the world of alchemy, the magic science, the meanings of designs of buildings”

(Argento and Bava, 2000). We learn through the voiceover in the beginning that Varelli, the alchemist is responsible for crafting the homes of the witches, giving them their places of power. The link between mother and home is furthered in Inferno in the same way Suspiria connects the dance academy with Mater Suspiriorum. The impossible layout of the home distorts the experience of the viewer by defying all explanation. For example, it would be impossible for the foundation of such a building to be built over a fully submerged ballroom, but the underwater sequence adds to the overall dreamlike

54 experience of the film. Narratively, it makes no sense for the character Rose to be swimming in this place, but this event contributes to the surreal aspect of the film, giving it its nightmarish quality and furthering Argento’s concern for experience over comprehension of a scene. As noted by Maitland McDonagh in his book Broken Minds / Broken Mirrors, “the image of water – particularly bodies of water: oceans, pools, lakes – is consistently associated with the first of Jung’s major archetypes, that of the Great

Mother who embodies the conflicting aspects of feminine principle, simultaneously nurturing and devouring” (McDonagh, 146). The opening scene with the submerged room becomes a symbol of the maternal archetype that Argento references in his trilogy. Water, like Argento’s mother figure, is often viewed as both life-giving and dangerous. This body of water under the apartment links this “home” to the Mother Tenabrarum figure who resides there. Rose’s brother Mark also encounters architectural impossibilities within the building. After pulling up floorboards in his sister’s room, Mark discovers a whole in the ground through which he begins his infernal descent. Descending downward through a series of doors and hallways, Mark arrives upon a door that opens up to a large, cave-like room with stony, grotto-like walls. With the house being linked to Mother Tenebrarum, these impossibilities hint at the twisted, unnatural evil that she represents.

Rose’s underwater scene and Mark’s descent into the depths of the house highlight the use of unnatural lighting and other editing techniques in Inferno that gave Suspiria its same dreamlike quality. Working with his friend and long term source of inspiration, Argento and an uncredited Mario Bava achieved the similar lighting effects to that of Luciano Tovoli’s work on Suspiria that bathe each scene in eerie blue, red, and purple lights. In addition to creating the lighting effects, Bava was responsible for directing the underwater sequences in which Rose explores the submerged ballroom.

55 Lamberto Bava points out that the death of Kazanian, the man who sold Rose Varelli’s book, which is set in New York City, “was actually shot in Italy, [and] he used the real buildings of New York to superimpose on those scenes” and added that “it was kind of surrealistic the way Dario Argento like[d] it” (Argento and Bava, 2000). Though the film is visually darker than Suspiria, the unnatural lighting and colors work to attack the viewer’s senses visually in the same way as its predecessor, and the soundtrack by Keith

Emmerson adds to the intensity with its alarming synthesizers and voices that chant out about the Three Mothers. These elements combine again in the climax of the film as Mark makes his escape, like Suzy, out of the burning building while intense colors swirl past him and the soundtrack pounds. While Inferno is sparsely populated by characters when compared to Suspiria, it works to expose the same gender dynamics that are central to it. Rose, presented as a potential protagonist, seems like a braver, more intrepid version of Suzy as she expresses clear courage when entering the aquatic lair hidden within the basement of the Mother Tenebrarum’s home. But, although she seems a strong character, Argento kills Rose off before the close of the first act in a move similar to Hitchcock in Psycho. By killing the apparent protagonist, the film becomes ever harder to comprehend as the plot follows several different perspectives before settling on that of Mark. Though a male character,

Mark never finds or achieves the same level of agency afforded to Suzy by the end of the film. In an interview for Blue Underground called “Art and Alchemy”, Leigh McCloskey, the actor who portrayed Mark, remembers being “in a haze” while filming and was “never quite sure of his motivation” (McCloskey, 2011). McCloskey’s experience on set mirrors that of Mark in the film, moving from one point to another without clear motivation, never fully comprehending his character’s reasons for doing something. Expressing a similar concern on set, Irene Miracle, who played Rose,

56 remembers feeling “extremely frustrated because I felt like I didn’t have a lot of direction” and admitting that “I don’t quite understand the film when I watch it today” (Miracle, 2011). This feeling of confusion crosses over to screen, complicating the plot as the character’s motivation or logic becomes more and more obscure. While it may seem like a male character has defeated the evil in this installment of the trilogy, Mark plays a primarily passive role in “defeating” Mother Tenebrarum. Mark needs only to escape from the building to enjoy his victory, unlike Suzy who plays an active role in the destruction of the evil within Suspiria. Although Mother Tenebrarum lacks a proper coven of followers like Mater Suspiriorum, the film is populated with weak and ineffective male characters that contribute to The Mother of Darkness’s representation. Kazanian, for example, runs the antique shop from which Rose purchases the book containing the secrets of the Mothers.

He is a decrepit, hunched old man, and it becomes clear as the plot unfolds that he lives under the influence of the matriarch of the house. Kazanian is murdered in an extended sequence that adds to the overall chaos of the film. After trapping several cats in a bag, which have come to be linked to the house and its magic, in an attempt to drown them in a river, Kazanian himself falls into the water and is attacked by rats that crawl all over him biting his flesh. A nearby hot-dog vendor hears his cry and seemingly rushes to his aid, only to hack Kazanian to pieces with a butcher knife. The scene is similar in theme to Daniel’s dismissal from the dance academy in Suspiria, showing the control the witches exert over the male characters. Another feeble male character is that of Varelli, the alchemist, who is revealed to be the wheel-chair bound Mr. Arnold. Kept in the house alive for decades, Varelli reveals in the opening voiceover of the film that he unwittingly crafted the three homes for the

Three Mothers, allowing them to spread their influence over the world. The way Argento

57 weaves a story with seemingly unrelated events, creating an incoherent plot focused on experience over narrative, he becomes like the alchemists he references who could make entirely new elements from unrelated ingredients. As the director, Argento assembles the various sights, sounds and experiences and combines them in a way that constitutes the dreamlike experience that we see on the screen. The unrelated events, connected more by theme than narrative function, reflect the way in which the events of a dream may seem unrelated until further analyzed. Finally, in 2008, many years after Argento’s personal Golden Age of cinema spanning from 1970-86, he released the conclusion to the trilogy with Mother of Tears. While Suspiria and Inferno are similar in tone, plot, and execution, Argento abandons the subtle elements that contribute to the overall sense of dread of his previous for a style much more explicit and mainstream. The plot follows Sarah Mandy, an American student of art restoration in Rome, after her boyfriend Michael receives an urn containing the remains of Mother Lachrymarum, The Mother of Tears who ruled over Rome. Though it may seem convoluted, the plot has a more linear and logical flow as opposed to the dreamlike sequencing of Suspiria and Inferno. Where the previous installments focused on breaking down the traditional narrative form, Mother of Tears works to reconstruct it, filling in the details the other films omitted.

Though the action of the film is less centralized than its predecessors, the Roman location gives importance to setting while continuing the trilogy’s themes of the witches’ imperialism. Argento’s Gialli, while often either set or shot in Rome, depict ambiguous, modern cities that could be any city to an international audience, but in Mother of Tears, he chooses settings familiar to tourists, drawing attention to the city’s ancient history. Many scenes occur in the streets or in public places to show the reach of Mother

Lachrymarum’s influence. The streets flood with witches from all over the world seeking

58 to gain favor with their matriarch working to bring about a new age of witchcraft by overthrowing Rome, and the violence typically reserved for characters relevant to the plot spills over to background characters who participate in senseless acts of violence, seemingly under some type of spell. While the witches of Suspiria and Inferno terrorized individuals, the widespread violence shows the reach of Mother Lachrymarum’s powers and, most notably, her effect on the mothers of the film. Immediately after her resurrection, after completing some type of ritual, a cut to a bridge reveals a woman reaching into her baby-stroller and throwing her own baby into a river before coming to her senses. Later, as Sarah tries to get information from the priest who discovered the urn, he is violently murdered by his assistant after she kills her own child. While still maintaining Argento’s signature style, it is clear Mother of Tears is set apart from its previous installments through the use of color, new editing techniques, and changes in musical style. Mother of Tears has a much more drab, mundane color scheme and uses more natural lighting instead of bathing each scene with distinctive hues and striking shades of color. While not as exaggerated, the primary colors of Suspiria and Inferno are subtly present and referenced in set pieces and backgrounds. For example, the priest, looks upon a table with a blue, yellow, and red color scheme referencing Suspiria’s use of the primary colors. While the film is explicit in its storytelling for added emphasis, it also becomes explicit in how it expresses the use of magic by the witches. There is no room for subtlety or suggestion in this film where Argento focuses on bringing everything, from its excessive violence to its explicit effects, to the extreme with his mixture of practical and CGI effects. Computer generated demons jump from walls where only whispers and camera angles suggested demonic presence in the previous films. Known for experimenting with the latest technologies, Argento fully embraced the use of CGI, which gives a new, modern look to Mother of Tears at the time of its release.

59 Argento also changed the style of music, bringing it in line with other contemporary horror soundtracks. Bringing of Goblin onto the project, the soundtrack references Suspiria and Inferno by using “themes from the previous films’ scores with a much more conventional horror-film score that uses choral motifs to highlight the grandly religious, apocalyptic terror” (Cooper, 113). Although these elements present a distinctly new film separate from the first two of the trilogy, they also combine to create a film that is distinctly Argento. While the film is aesthetically its own, it shares the same gender subverting themes found in Suspiria and Inferno. Powerful female characters populate the film while weak male characters are subjugated or victimized. Father Johannes, while a vital source of information, is dependent on an assistant and medicine to function on a daily basis. Sarah’s boyfriend is another weak character, who is ultimately captured by the coven and used against her. Similar to the inverted gender-dynamics found in Deep Red’s main investigative duo, Michael is an assistant to Sarah’s more active role in the investigation of the urn and why a demonic cult was searching for its contents. Similarly, the detective Enzo Marchi fills the same role when joining Sarah’s investigation. More interestingly however is Argento’s treatment of mothers throughout the film and the trilogy as a whole. As mentioned before, several mother figures in the film violently kill their own children. Argento’s focus on the horrific mother figures and his depiction of “the ultimate bad mother, the Mother of Tears (a “wicked stepmother,” as Varelli says in his book The Three Mothers, quoted in Inferno), becomes a cipher for bad motherhood, for women failing to live up to their God-given roles as nurturing givers of life” (Cooper, 115). In comparison, the film offers several positive examples of mothers. For example, the ghost of Sarah’s mother, played by the actress ’s own mother and Argento’s ex- lover , returns as the disembodied voice that repeatedly saves Sarah

60 throughout the story, informing her of her own powers as a white witch. Also, when Sarah is in danger without a safe place to stay, her mother’s friend Marta and her lesbian lover provide a haven for Sarah showing that “the lesbians’ difference from the reproductive mothers who throw their babies off bridges and hack them up with meat cleavers defines good motherhood not as giving birth but as truly nurturing and caring for the young” (Cooper, 116). These portrayals contrast with the Mother of Tears who deals out violence and death, subverting the expectations of motherhood. Having the lesbian couple be one of the most positive portrayals of femininity is similar to Argento’s previous subversive use of homosexuality in his Giallo films in which he challenged male stereotypes. Through his masterful manipulation of setting and location coupled with innovative editing techniques, Argento creates a world in which the female characters claim and maintain the power over their weak, ineffective male counterparts. In this way, Argento is simply continuing and expanding upon his horrific maternal figure introduced with the homicidal mother Marta in Deep Red. While Deep Red inverts gender roles and plays with the expectations preconceived by the audience, his Mothers Trilogy takes it to its conclusion, giving the female characters power. While often criticized for sexist or misogynistic depictions of violence toward women, in reality, Argento offers a positive view of femininity with his strong female characters like Suzy and Sarah who are superior to their male counterparts. These characters serve to contrast the wicked mothers, Mater Suspiriorum, Mater Tenebrarum, and Mater Lachrymarum, who themselves engage in a patriarchal, imperialistic violence. By subverting the expectations of his audience, Argento offers a trilogy that encapsulates his style as a director, with its impressive set pieces, groundbreaking techniques, and pounding soundtracks, solidifying his status as true “Master of Horror.

61 Chapter 5

CURTAIN CALL: DARIO ARGENTO’S CONTINUING IMPACT ON CONTEMPORARY CINEMA

From the beginning of his career, Argento has inspired not only his audiences with the subversive nature of his films, but also his fellow directors who have mimicked and paid tribute to Argento’s work with their own. Along with directors like Mario Bava Sergio Martino, Lucio Fulci, and Lamberto Bava, Argento forever changed the way movies are made by pushing the boundaries of what could be presented on the screen. With his signature sound tracks and stylized violence combining to create visceral, immersive experiences, Argento’s films continue to inspire directors of various distinction and genres, solidifying himself as a true master of his craft. One noted director who owes much of his career to Argento’s work, especially in the presentation of violence is none other than . Tarantino has built a career on crafting visual spectacle by referencing his favorite directors and their work, and he pays homage to Argento in several ways. In his film Death Proof (2007), Kurt

Russel’s character Stuntman Mike hides in his car, taking pictures of a group of women who he later kills. The film takes the perspective of the camera in the same way Argento tracks his first victim in The Bird with the Glass Plumage, placing emphasis on the viewer’s voyeuristic role in watching the violent film. The film, like all of Tarantino’s work, is known for its use of stylized violence similar to Argento’s, and the finale sees the female heroes violently kill their oppressor Mike in a subversive ending that affords the dominance typically associated to male characters to this group of women instead.

62 Tarantino’s film Kill Bill (2003) also makes several visual references to Argento’s work. In the climax of the film, when Uma Thurman’s character The Bride confronts her rival, she holds a woman hostage before slicing her arm off with a single stroke of her sword, causing the woman to writhe in pain, spraying vibrant, red blood everywhere. While the fight scene obviously references the Japanese martial arts films on which the story and scenarios are based, this particular violence sequence pays homage to

Argento’s late Giallo entry, Tenebre (1982), in which a woman’s arm is severed and she appears to paint the white wall of her apartment with the bright blood that sprays from the wound as she dies. Later, in the same scene, as The Bride battles her rival’s henchman, she is strangled by a weapon attached to a long chain. A close up of Thurman’s tortured face makes a reference to the zoom that captures Marta’s face as she is strangled and decapitated by her own necklace in Deep Red. Although Tarantino has a reputation for crafting entirely unique cinema experiences, his films are filled with an abundance of visual references to directors like Dario Argento. While directors like Tarantino make brief references within the greater context of the film, some would go on to create entire films that would draw from Argento’s filmography as a whole. One such example of an homage to Argento’s work is the film Kolobos (1999) directed by Daniel Liatowitsch and David Todd Ocvirk. As the title track begins to play the soundtrack is eerily reminiscent of the lullaby style music found in Deep Red and Suspiria. The composer William Kidd admits to drawing inspiration from Goblin for the film, and he added voices in the background of the tracks to mimic the wailing heard in Suspiria’s theme music. The film follows a group of young people who live together in a mansion, filming the entire experience for a show, when they begin to be murdered by an un-identified killer. The theme, while reflective of the world’s interest in reality television in the late 1990s up to the present, lends itself perfectly to Argento’s

63 themes of voyeurism and consuming violence as entertainment. The directors reference the black-gloved killers of the Giallo genre by having the hands of the unidentified figure set up the cameras that will capture the deaths of the guests throughout the film. Like the Gialli that conceal the identity and gender of a crazed killer, the unidentified figure is revealed to be an entity named Faceless that influences the main character, Kyra. This character gives the film its ambiguous ending, never really confirming whether the

Faceless character truly exists within the context of the film or is only a figment of the protagonist’s imagination. After the murders begin and the guests start to fall victim to traps laid throughout the house, the lighting in the house shifts to match the eerie, unnatural lighting found in Suspiria and Inferno. In fact, the first death sequence directly references one of Argento’s most famous kills: the death of Pat at the beginning of Suspiria. Before being hanged, Pat is stalked and stabbed by the killer. Close ups show Pat’s chest being cut open, revealing her still beating heart as the killer repeatedly plunges a knife into the prosthetic heart. Similarly, in Kolobos, a close up reveals the first victim’s stomach being sliced apart after a trap unexpectedly cuts her, giving the scene the same shock value with its violence and abruptness, as her intestines writhe in her stomach like the pulsating heart in Pat’s chest. While not entirely exploring themes with the same depth as Argento, the film is an homage to his style and early work. While directors like Tarantino, Liatowitsch, and Ocvirk visually reference the stylized violence found throughout Argento’s entire oeuvre, several others find inspiration in his supernatural Three Mothers Trilogy. In recent years, several directors have made films with witches as the central characters to explore similar themes as Argento regarding female independence and sexuality. Obviously, ’s

Suspiria (2018), a reimagining of Argento’s classic master piece, offers a much more

64 progressive version of female independence than that afforded to the women of Argento’s source material. Wisely, Guadagnino avoids directly remaking the film frame by frame, and instead injects his own style while referencing Argento’s and choosing to expand upon the plot and Suzy’s character development. While Argento’s Suzy would escape the danger of the dance academy, paving the way for the “” trope of the horror films of the 1980s, Guadagnino’s Suzy engages directly with the forces that govern the witches, ultimately taking over as their new leader. The film takes on a red filter in reference to the original, similar to how Argento bathed entire scenes in blue and green light, as Suzy assumes her role as matron and kills the witches who did not believe in her power in a violent reminder of the original film. Guadagnino’s film follows Robert Egger’s period piece, The Witch (2015), which engages in similar themes of female agency. After being blamed for the disappearance of her infant brother and accused of witchcraft by her Puritan family, Thomasin, a fifteen-year-old girl, eventually agrees to join the witches. In the same way that the werewolf archetype has come to represent anxieties of man’s inner, uncontrollable self and fears of puberty and change surrounding the male body, witchcraft in film has come to represent the anxieties around female independence by equating female power and autonomy with cruelty. While females are still largely underrepresented in comparison to men in film, the horror genre has long afforded females a degree of agency in the heroic final females that populate films like Suspiria (1977) and onward. Directors like Guadagnino and Eggers continue in Argento’s tradition, offering these subversive depictions of femininity which not only defeat the evil facing them, but also conquer and embrace the violence that affords them a more masculine, powerful position in society. The most recent film to pay homage to Argento’s style and themes from his supernatural works of the 1970s is Peter Strickland’s In Fabric (2018). The film was

65 premiered to the festival circuit a few short weeks after Guadagnino’s Suspiria, and met with critical acclaim. The plot follows a haunted red dress that claims several victims with its allure. Several visual cues instantly call to mind Argento’s signature style. The quality of the film intentionally mimics the grainy quality of the Gialli of the 1970s while using the same vibrant color schemes and unnatural lighting effects indicative of the genre. Strickland creates another visual reference with the red curtains scattered throughout several key settings in the film. For example, when Sheila, the main perspective for the first half of the film, leaves her apartment, she exits through a door flanked by red curtains. When she gets to the department store that advertised the red dress she sees on TV, the dressing room and sales counter also include bright red curtains. These scenes reference the way Argento calls attention to the viewing experience by equating the red curtained theater the viewer enters to a dream space. The connection is furthered when we hear various characters recount dreams that are depicted on the screen. The dream logic is furthered by the surreal depictions of the events of the plot. As in Argento’s Suspiria and Inferno, Strickland creates a nightmarish experience for his characters through suggestive camera work and editing. As Sheila buys the dress, she seems to become frozen in place. Sheila and the viewer have no way of truly knowing how much time elapses during the exchange, similar to the dreamlike dazes Suzy experiences throughout Suspiria. Eventually the audience learns that the dress is able to repeatedly haunt its victims because the proprietors of the department store are witches who use their powers of suggestion to hypnotize their customers. Several times throughout the film, the narrative flow is interrupted by TV ads for the department store with hypnotic tones and imagery. In the same way that Argento’s horror pointed to greater social concepts, the film criticizes in an often humorous way the pervasive

66 consumerism culture of today’s society. In the final scene, the department store catches fire as the crazed customers begin to loot the store, creating an absurd image of our consumer culture while simultaneously referencing the finales of the Mother Trilogies in which the central location of the coven invariably caught fire. Although the film invites the audience to think critically about consumer culture, the film also offers further examination of gender ideas that began in the Giallo genre as well. Like in Deep Red’s Marta and Carlo, Sheila lives with her adult son Vincent. While he is not a homosexual like Carlo, the film explores a similar neo-Freudian examination of their relationship as mother and son with the absence of the father. Sheila is divorced and begins dating after feeling emboldened by the red dress. Vincent expresses his disapproval of his mother’s new relationship, despite accepting that his father has since moved on from his mother and found a new lover. Complicating matters, the haunted dress keeps moving itself into Vincent’s room where Sheila is seen watching her son have sex with his girlfriend, Gwen. A power struggle develops between mother and girlfriend, with the former being dwarfed by actress ’s stature who asserts her dominance over Vincent and Sheila’s home. After Sheila, Vincent, and Gwen’s story abruptly ends, Strickland reverses the gender roles by having the dress claim a male victim, Reg, for the second half of the film after he is forced to wear the dress at his own bachelor party while being shamed by his future father in-law. After his experience, Reg begins to feel the same hypnotic allure of the department store, becoming transfixed on a pair of stockings. Though seemingly empowered by the experience and a desire to explore his sexuality, he meets an untimely end before his story can be further explored. The images and themes in Argento’s films have left an indelible mark on the minds of film critics and audiences. Films like Kolobos and In Fabric both attest to

67 Argento’s influence over cinema and the way it is made. Although his work may be criticized as excessively violent or seemingly sexist, he deliberately makes violence an art form to make the audience question their role in its consumption. He also explores themes in masculinity, femininity, and homosexuality to analyze the public’s role in perpetuating sexist or binary views on gender. Many directors recognize Argento’s work for the art that it is instead of just exploitation like his contemporaries who wanted to shock audiences rather than offering complex themes or motifs. By creating ambiguous ending for his films, Argento crafted a filmography that begs reexamination and multiple viewings to capture the often hidden or subversive themes of his films by leaving the audience to ponder the events they have just witnessed long after the credits roll and the curtains close.

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