A Murder Mystery Without the Mystery (or the Point)
Tenebrae is what happens when a celebrated director returns to his roots, only to discover that the soil’s gone sour. Dario Argento, fresh off his supernatural escapades in Suspiria and Inferno, came back to giallo with what was supposed to be a sharp, self-referential thriller. Instead, he delivered a film that plays like a fashion magazine that got possessed by a particularly dull episode of Columbo.
For all its alleged “themes” of dualism, voyeurism, and sexual deviancy, the real dualism here is between the film’s stylish camerawork and its aggressively stupid plot. It’s like watching a chess match where the players keep stabbing the pawns for no reason.
The Setup: Author on Tour, Bodies on the Floor
Anthony Franciosa stars as Peter Neal, a horror novelist who comes to Rome to promote his latest book, only to find that someone’s decided to recreate his fictional murders in real life. This sounds like the setup for a taut, paranoia-fueled thriller. Instead, it’s a setup for Argento to shoot endless scenes of modernist buildings, white walls, and women being sliced up in ways that are both needlessly elaborate and narratively pointless.
Neal’s joined by his agent (John Saxon, wearing the world’s most confident fedora) and his assistant (Daria Nicolodi, clearly wondering if she could have gotten a role in E.T. instead). Also hanging around are two detectives who seem to have wandered in from a completely different film, one ex-fiancée with a bad attitude, and a parade of side characters who exist solely to be murdered stylishly.
The Murders: Death by Set Design
Argento has always been known for his visually striking kill sequences, but here the violence feels like it’s being staged for a furniture catalog. The modernist spaces are so pristine you expect an IKEA product code to appear in the corner. Every murder is choreographed within an inch of its life, but instead of being suspenseful, they’re just… pretty.
Take the scene with the lesbian journalist and her lover. There’s a long, sweeping camera move outside their apartment that’s technically impressive but narratively inert—it’s like Argento said, “What if I killed the pacing before I killed the characters?” When the murders finally happen, they’re bloody, sure, but they have all the emotional impact of a spilled marinara jar.
The Killer Twist (and Twist, and Twist Again)
In theory, a giallo lives and dies by its twist ending. In Tenebrae, the killer reveal is less “mind-blowing” and more “mildly irritating.” First, we’re led to believe TV personality Cristiano Berti is the culprit—he’s weird, sweaty, and has that suspiciously intense look of a man who alphabetizes his murder weapons. Then he’s abruptly hacked to death by someone else.
Enter Plot Twist #2: surprise, it was Peter Neal all along! Why? Because he once killed a girl who humiliated him and, like a bad student loan, the memory just came back to haunt him. Oh, and the book tour murders? Apparently killing in Rome was cheaper than therapy.
But Argento isn’t done. Neal fakes his own suicide with a trick razor (sure), murders the lead detective, and then is accidentally impaled by a metal sculpture when his intended final victim opens a door too hard. It’s like watching a Shakespearean tragedy rewritten by the cast of Three’s Company.
Characters: Cardboard Cutouts in Nice Clothes
The biggest problem with Tenebrae isn’t the absurd plot—it’s that no one in it behaves like a human being. Neal is a blank slate who only becomes interesting in the last 15 minutes, and even then it’s in the “oh, he’s insane” way. Anne, the assistant, has the emotional range of a tax form. The detectives are so useless they might as well have been played by cardboard cutouts in trench coats.
Even the victims, who should at least make us feel something, are written as paper-thin archetypes: the kleptomaniac, the sleazy journalist, the unlucky hotelier’s daughter. Their deaths aren’t shocking because we never knew them; they’re just set dressing for the next camera trick.
Style Over Substance (and Then Some)
Argento and cinematographer Luciano Tovoli clearly spent a lot of time crafting the film’s slick, sterile look. Every frame is meticulously composed, every set carefully dressed to evoke a cold, near-future aesthetic. It’s impressive at first… until you realize the film is more interested in photographing buildings than building tension.
The synth-heavy score from former Goblin members should, in theory, add some energy. Instead, it often clashes with the action, turning tense moments into unintentional dance tracks. At times, you half expect John Travolta to strut through a murder scene.
Pacing: Death by a Thousand Cutaways
For a movie about a serial killer, Tenebrae moves with the urgency of a Sunday afternoon nap. The long stretches between kills are filled with filler conversations, meaningless red herrings, and travelogue shots of Rome’s least interesting neighborhoods. Argento deliberately avoided historical landmarks, but unfortunately, he also avoided anything that looks alive.
The script’s attempts at suspense are undermined by its predictability. Every time a new character is introduced, you can practically set a timer for when they’ll be dead. And because the plot doesn’t care about cause and effect, none of it builds toward anything satisfying.
Themes? Sure, If You Squint
Critics have spent decades unpacking Tenebrae’s supposed themes: sexual repression, voyeurism, metafiction, the cyclical nature of violence. But watching the movie, it’s hard to shake the feeling that these are just academic afterthoughts grafted onto a film that’s mostly about inventing excuses to film attractive women being murdered in creative ways.
Yes, Argento may be “commenting” on criticism of his earlier work, but the commentary amounts to little more than “Fine, I’ll make a movie about people saying my work is sexist, and then I’ll kill them!” It’s less an artistic statement and more a cinematic subtweet.
Final Thoughts: Darkness Without Depth
Tenebrae is like a gourmet meal where the chef spent all day arranging the plate, then forgot to season the food. It’s technically impressive, visually striking, and occasionally so absurd you can’t help but laugh—but it’s also emotionally hollow, narratively incoherent, and padded with enough architectural porn to qualify for a real estate documentary.
If you’re an Argento completist, you might appreciate its polished style and occasional flashes of brilliance. If you’re looking for a gripping murder mystery or a genuinely suspenseful giallo, you’re better off rewatching Deep Red. Or Scooby-Doo.
