Suspiria (2018)

I know I have a bias against sequels, remakes, and reboots, but this one, in retrospect—or "homage," the term fatally preferred by director Luca Guadagnino (Call Me By Your Name, I Am Love)—was just always doomed to fail in comparison with Dario Argento's spectacular 1977 original. As I rediscovered, going a lap to prep for the homage, Argento's arguable masterpiece is close to a perfect movie in its way. In fact, the single best thing about Guadagnino's remake for me turned out to be exactly the trip back to the Argento (and am now further inspired to entertain trying to squeeze in an Argento retrospective). Guadagnino's new version is 40 minutes longer and doesn't even try to compete on the two greatest strengths of the original, the vivid color palette and the soundtrack by Goblin. That was probably wise but the result is too often dreary and slow, another reminder of why perhaps this project should never have been taken on in the first place. Its attempt to draw the Black Swan vibe into the orbit of Suspiria—not a bad idea—is completely torpedoed by also leaning so hard into an incoherent subplot involving the Baader-Meinhof era of European terrorism. The new Suspiria is merely operatic as opposed to Argento's operatic strained through prog-rock. If you like Coppola's Dracula or The Silence of the Lambs (especially if you go for the sequel), then you're probably way ahead of me and have already seen the 2018 Suspiria (I'm still doing a little pandemic catchup myself these days). A taste for Guadagnino's sumptuous swirling style would also be helpful—I'm not sure it does much for me. I think I liked Call Me By Your Name more in spite of it. There's also the matter of Tilda Swinton taking multiple roles, which makes me think there's a good Bernie Sanders meme somewhere in here, viz., "I am once again appearing in a movie in multiple roles." Swinton is good, of course, but more and more she's starting to feel gimmicky, maybe overexposed, single-handedly signifying Art (indie movie style). I understand the 2018 Suspiria is one of those movies people are somewhat polarized on, either loving or hating it. Sadly, I'm closer to the latter. "Suspiria" is Latin for "sighing," which is what I found myself heaving in disappointment within the first hour of this long tiresome exercise.

Call Me by Your Name (2017)

I'm sure it speaks to my semi-isolated US-centric view of things that I spent most of Call Me by Your Name waiting for something bad to happen. Spoiler alert I'm happy to say nothing does—mostly only good things, though it can be a little painful getting to some of them. I might have known, because it's a coming-of-age movie, which are generally more tender affairs, and because the screenplay was written by James Ivory, the long-time collaborator with Ismail Merchant, who together created a genteel upholstered cinema empire in the '80s and '90s (A Room With a View, Howards End, The Remains of the Day, etc.). Director Luca Guadigno was responsible for 2009's I Am Love, a sumptuous Tilda Swinton vehicle that honestly left me underwhelmed—a beautiful but empty vessel. Guadigno also directed A Bigger Splash in 2015, which I don't know. Those two are the first parts of a trilogy that this movie finishes. Call Me by Your Name is not nearly as stylized as I recall I Am Love being, but it's equally fixated on the ways of the sensuous heart. Set in the summer of 1983 in northern Italy, the story involves Oliver (Armie Hammer, who played the Winklevoss twins in The Social Network), a young graduate student who is coming to work for six weeks with a distinguished professor of Greek and Roman cultures. Oliver stays with the professor and his family in their villa. Oliver and the family's 17-year-old son Elio (Timothee Chalamet) find they have an instant rapport. It's not without some personality friction, but eventually things get hot between them. I wouldn't say Call Me by Your Name is a fantasy for how accepting everyone in their orbit is of their relationship—it remains clandestine, but Elio gets real and unconditional support from his family and even a quasi-girlfriend. So it's pretty close to a fantasy (at least from my US-centric view). But it certainly feels good to see people treating each other so well. Hammer and Chalamet have a lot to do with making this movie work. The chemistry feels authentic, the intimacy awkward and wonderful by turns, the dilemma posed by what they are doing intimidating. There are no bad people in this movie, which I'm sure is only one reason it got a 10-minute standing ovation at the New York Film Festival last year. The note it ends on, the final image, made me want to stand on my chair clapping for a few minutes too. Well done.