Suspiria’s Weird Cousin Who Moved to New York
Inferno is the cinematic equivalent of getting an invitation to a glamorous rooftop party, only to arrive and find out it’s being held in a condemned building with no working elevator. Sure, Dario Argento’s 1977 Suspiria was a surreal, candy-colored fever dream that felt dangerous and intoxicating. Inferno, its so-called thematic sequel, feels more like that dream you have after eating questionable shrimp — gorgeous at moments, but mostly incoherent, uncomfortable, and vaguely damp.
The Plot: And By ‘Plot’ We Mean… Colors and Murders
The story allegedly follows a poet named Rose (Irene Miracle) who lives in a New York apartment building that just so happens to be one of three lairs for ancient witches. She writes to her brother Mark (Leigh McCloskey) in Rome, saying, “Hey, I think my building might be run by the Mother of Darkness.” Mark says, “Neat, I’ll come visit,” then spends half the movie distracted by a mysterious woman in class who looks like she’s auditioning for the role of “Sinister Exchange Student” in an unproduced Saved by the Bell Halloween special.
What follows is a loose collection of surreal death scenes strung together like fairy lights — pretty to look at, but don’t expect them to actually illuminate anything. You get waterlogged ballrooms, guillotine windows, homicidal felines, and a hot dog vendor with the moral compass of a Bond villain. It’s as if Argento handed the script to the cinematographer, then wandered off to buy more colored gels and forgot to come back.
Death by Design (and Poor Decision-Making)
If Inferno teaches us anything, it’s that everyone in Argento’s universe has the self-preservation instincts of a soap opera character who’s just been told “Don’t go in there.” People leap into flooded basements to grab their keys. Antique dealers murder cats in public parks. Butchers’ knives and chandeliers are apparently lying in wait, just hoping for the opportunity to kill someone.
The murders are elaborate, sure, but they feel disconnected from the plot — like Argento shot a bunch of unrelated death vignettes and said, “We’ll figure out the story later.” Spoiler: he didn’t.
Mater Tenebrarum: The Witch With No Patience for Coherence
Our big bad here is Mater Tenebrarum, the Mother of Darkness, who finally shows up in the last reel. By the time she reveals herself — cackling, monologuing, and turning into Death itself — you’ve either fallen asleep or are too hypnotized by the lighting to care. She burns up in the climactic fire, which is poetic justice for anyone who sat through the rest of this heatless slow burn.
Argento’s Visuals: Stunning, but Like Walking Through a Gallery Drunk
Let’s give credit where it’s due: the film looks incredible. Deep reds, cobalt blues, and glowing greens bathe every frame like an overzealous nightclub lighting rig. It’s beautiful, but it’s also exhausting — like Argento thought, “If the story doesn’t make sense, I’ll just keep throwing color at them until they stop asking questions.” And it almost works, right up until you realize you’ve been staring at a magenta hallway for three minutes and can’t remember why anyone’s in the building in the first place.
The Performances: People Trying Their Best to Survive the Script
Irene Miracle spends most of her screen time either wide-eyed or underwater. Leigh McCloskey plays Mark like he’s just wandered onto set from a soap opera and isn’t entirely sure why there are witches here. Daria Nicolodi, a frequent Argento collaborator, at least injects some life into her role before being devoured by a horde of angry cats — which, to be fair, is one of the more memorable moments in the film.
The rest of the cast oscillates between “stiff exposition delivery” and “screaming in an expressionistic set piece,” which is perfectly fine if you’re here for the style over substance… and you’d better be.
Cats, Rats, and Hot Dog Vendors (Oh My)
No review of Inferno would be complete without mentioning the sequence where an antique dealer drowns a sack of cats, only to be eaten alive by rats, and then stabbed to death by a hot dog vendor who arrives just in time. It’s like Argento handed this scene to an improv troupe and told them, “Do whatever you want, just make sure it ends in murder.” It’s grotesque, absurd, and possibly the closest the movie gets to genuine horror — because at least you don’t see it coming.
Soundtrack by Goblin (Mostly)
Keith Emerson steps in for Goblin this time, and while his score has its moments, it feels more like a prog-rock concept album that got lost in a haunted house. It’s dramatic, bombastic, and occasionally completely at odds with the onscreen action, which, to be fair, might actually be the perfect match for the film’s energy.
Final Verdict: Pretty, Pointless, and Peculiarly Watchable
Inferno is a film that’s gorgeous to look at but exhausting to follow. It’s like watching an incredibly talented painter create a mural while blindfolded — the colors are amazing, but you can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a sunset or a crime scene. Argento fans will defend its dream logic and visual splendor, and they’re not wrong about the aesthetics. But if you came for narrative clarity or sustained tension, you’re in the wrong cursed New York apartment building.
It’s the horror movie equivalent of a strange, beautiful nightmare you forget the moment you wake up — except this one lasts 107 minutes, and you paid for the privilege of watching it.
