The environments I found myself in as a child would often establish a strong sense of atmosphere. When visiting my grandparents in the countryside, I would feel totally suffocated by the tall ceilings of their federation home. A trip to the bathroom at night required a long walk through the main hallway, something I would brave while engrossed in the fear that a supernatural creature may lurk in the shadows. The unique palettes of the bedrooms inflected their own energy—an interesting pairing of 1970s wallpapers with cornices that far outclass them.

A similar mismatching of eras exists in the film, as “The Whale House” (Haus zum Walfisch) of Freiburg is presented as a facade for the sets of the ballet academy. While this historic building is overtly gothic, the rooms presented as belonging to its interior are grounded in a distinctly 1970s interpretation of Art Nouveau. The feature is a wild blending of high culture and kitsch, profane and sacred, all with a puerile sensibility that is unbecoming for our main characters, having reached the age of maturity. Experiencing such a mixture disarms any sense of disbelief, in the same way a fever dream paves the way for the emanation of latent fears.

Suspiria is special to me because I relive a mysterious childhood experience on each viewing—one of garish beauty. An entrancing thread of bright unnatural tones, intertwined with soft, shadowy mystique.

I recommend watching the 2018 Blu-ray from Synapse Films, as this version was meticulously remastered in collaboration with the original cinematographer, Luciano Tovoli.