There’s a telling moment in Suspiria’s 2^nd act where the invisible line that connects the film to its predecessor seems to be severed – the iconic sequence wherein Olga is savagely destroyed by Susie’s prowess as a dancer, by way of witchcraft. The sequence boasts of the nightmarish giallo bloodlust of the 1977 original, but tonally, the violence doesn’t have the raw cathartic energy of it. The sequence as a spectacle is coldly executed, calculated the way a dancer or camera moves, and creeps under a person’s skin rather than cutting into it, in terms of the bluntness of its horror. These key differences are what make Suspiria 2018 an entirely different beast from its mother, Suspiria 1977 – and the brilliant changes made to the tale work on both narratively enriching and meta levels.

Luca Guadagnino, the director (who was last known for directing Call Me By Your Name, making his choice to direct this remake a turn), believed that his rendition of Suspiria wasn’t an exact remake, but rather a homage to the original and the feelings seeing it incited in him when he was younger. This explains key differences in the styles and atmospheres of both films – Most notably, Suspiria ’77 was shot, filtered, and edited to be as raw and colorful as possible, with an equally overwhelming metal score, while Suspiria ’18 is devoid of any warm or characteresque color, and scored with a somber, primal electronic sound. the He adds to this reimagining several contextual elements that enrich and frame the original story in a more throught-provoking light: the sociopolitical backdrop of Germany’s division (mirrored in that of the school’s matrons), the idea of past trauma shaping or driving a person or an institution (something Dr. Klemperer’s subplot revolves around), as well as the twist that forces viewers to question the film in its entirety in relation to Susie’s status as a meek ingenue.

Both films follow the skeleton of a young dancer (Suzy/Susie) joining a school of dance (Ballet in the original, Modern/Interpretive in the remake) only to find that the school is run by a coven of witches (hag-like as in fairytales in 1977, and unsettlingly realistic and bureaucratic in 2018). What’s refreshing in this update is that the stitches between witchcraft and dance are sewn tighter and are stronger in relation to advancing the plot. Whereas the original Suspiria used the dance school as a front for the evil underneath, this version makes it clear that, in the context of the central coven, dance is witchcraft, whether the girls performing know it or not (as Patricia, then Olga, then Sara, unfortunately find out), with the acts of choreography they work to perfect connecting them to a greater power, the earth they take their strength from, and their own capabilities as women and witches.

Guadagnino’s thematically rich, non-exploitative look at a coven of witches as a microcosm of sociopolitical divisions and how people look to violent, powerful figures for stability doesn’t sound like the Suspiria anyone under 20 grew up with. But his hijacking of a horror story from recent history and inoculating it with a realistic, social horror within reach is what makes Suspiria (2018) the kind of horror film audiences today look to for a satisfying representation of these similarly chaotic times, in the same manner any of the women victimized by the film looked to the revealed Mother Suspiriorum – for justice, or for rest.

One review of Volver on Letterboxd simply says: “I think men have like… maybe ten lines total in this entire film. I feel refreshed and rejuvenated and ready to give back to the community”. Though intended as a joke, I believe that the line resonates with the main plot thread of the film and where the women in the film go right and wrong in finding their way to building new connections with one another.

Pedro Almodovar is a director whose trademarks have always been well-written female characters, telenovela plotlines taken to an entertaining extreme, and a tonal mix of snappy comedy and somber drama unique to only him. With regards to these elements, Volver might be considered peak Almodovar.

Volver’s female-centric narrative keeps its viewers in a state of disbelief regarding its treatment of men and how the film smoothly crafts a world where women thrive in spite of them. For a film that begins with a murder and a death, the stakes are kept rather personal for the most part, with the murder becoming a subplot that’s treated more like a nuisance than a major development in the story. The treatment of Paco’s death even comes off as unwitting retribution for the phenomenon of “fridging” in mainstream cinema, wherein a woman is killed off to further a man’s plotline by motivating him with grief. Here, the concept is reversed: Over the course of disposing of his body, his wife Raimunda stumbles on opportunities to begin a new, independent life for herself and her daughter. The men in the film, while posing threats in the past (as is the case with Paco and Raimunda’s father), are inconsequential and easy to handle in the present – the women of the film and their complicated relationships with one another dominate the narrative.

Volver’s great accomplishment is pulling this off without romanticizing the idea of “female relationships”. The relationships between all the women, at least intiially, are fraught with judgment of, and tension with one another. Raimunda and Paula have a typical nagging mother-rebellious daughter dynamic, All the adult women treat Soledad with contempt due to her status as a divorced woman living in the shadow of her imperious sister, and Agustina is desperate for the emotional support of the rest – their only connection being the shared demise of their parents’. Irene’s titular act of returning to the rest of her family, while out of left field, becomes the choice changes all these dynamics for the better. The movie is centered on this untangling of dramatic knots, despite also featuring a murder, subsequent coverup, illegal business practices, and a dark backstory involving incest and arson.

Volver might as well be called the first great modern female-centric film. It follows a 20^th century tradition of well-crafted films about, and for, women such as Terms of Endearment, 3 Women, and 9 to 5. Volver even seems to take plot points directly from these films. However, Volver is original in its kitchen sink approach to women in conflict – these women could be your mother, sister, daughter, etc., and they may hate one another, but despite this, a uniquely female sense of camaraderie is palpable.

Are celebrities people who truly earn their accolades, status, and our respect? Or are they mostly hollow mythical figures elevated by a less-than-artistic need to seek drama from a public figure? This is one of the questions that Clouds of Sils Maria asks through its central character, Maria Enders, and those around her seem to be a measure of what the answer to that question is, in relation to Maria, her work, and her status as veteran actress and aging woman.

Each woman the film focuses on is indicative of her generation in a professional setting. Maria, of Gen X, is accomplished in her own right, having built a career during a less postmodern, traditional era through breaking through with a modern, efficient style of working, specifically in the area of acting – she manages to balance both a career as a serious theatrical actress, as well as a successful Hollywood actress working in the mainstream (what she must refer to as a well-paying side gig). Valentine, on the other hand, like most millennials, seems to find herself stuck in a job that doesn’t force her to change any aspect of her distinct and youthfully cynical personality in her pursuit of accomplishing her work as an assistant efficiently and tactfully, but seems to demand more of her at a personal cost than any other job might – and she begins to resent the tasks she’s chosen to accomplish more and more with each day that passes. Jo-Ann Ellis, meanwhile, representative of the burgeoning Gen Z, incorporates her personality, image, and youthful potential as a professional tool, which works to her advantage, despite the chaos and judgment that invites.

While Maria represents a Yes to the 1st question at the beginning of this essay, and Jo-Ann seems to be a Yes to the 2^nd, both women display depths that contradict the answers to those respective questions. While Maria is a refined, classically trained, and methodical actress, she is also complicit in creating a dichotomy between artistically sound, “real” actors, and image-based cash cow mainstream actors. Jo-Ann, on the other hand, questions that dichotomy on the basis of her actions. Yes, she is a young woman whose beauty, scandals, and provocative personality are tenets of her celebrity persona, but she proves herself to be an intelligent, cultured, and tactical artist underneath the façade as well.

The film follows Maria Enders at the end of one era of her career, and the beginning of another. Her relationships with Valentine and Jo-Ann mark the former and the latter, respectively, and both force her to come to terms with her views on the craft and business of acting, her status as an older woman in the face of younger generations coming into their own, and what will become of her once she figures out how she’s changed in relation to these things. As for the answer to the question that began this essay, and how the film answers it – Actors like Maria or Jo-Ann either care too much, or not at all about these questions, but what matters in the face of either answer is a need to be relevant, as artists or as living myths.

Heavy Trip’s protagonists are impossibly soft and adorable. For all the odes to Satan they sing and accompany with the raw, threatening sound of pure Nordic Metal, the band is as laughable and foolhardy as their band name, Impaled Rektum implies. However, the film takes on a journey that changes them into the men they want to be, men lauded and vilified for their power as artists, which until the film begins, was trapped as potential in a small town known best for its flowers and livestock – the perfect origin story for a band as hard as theirs. The catch? Their journey is one that makes them twice as soft and deluded. But it’s also one that makes themt wice as lovable as they already are.

Not much can be said about Heavy Trip’s artistic qualities as an entry in the highbrow, intelligentia-controlled canon of European cinema. The film is an approximation of the mockumentary-like Rock n Roll road film subgenre that’s flourished in the mainstream of filmmaking since the time of This is Spinal Tap, a trend continuing into films as recent as Popstar: Never Stop Stopping. However, like another film seen in this class that initially looked like a wrong turn, Good Bye, Lenin!, Heavy trip actually proves European Cinema’s ability to fit into the mainstream without tarnishing the name of European Cinema as we know it.

By taking the adventurous formula of films like Get Him To The Greek and combining it with a look into a group of grim but impossible-not-to-love outcasts as seen in What We Do In The Shadows, and placing this blend into the context of petty, overly-polite Finland, Heavy Trip is able to transcend its status as a slapstick comedy intended to be consumed and discarded by mainstream audiences. The film is a look into a subgenre that is, as presented in the film, smacked with the juvenile labels of freakish or weird and presenting how this manifests in a tongue-in-cheek traditional European setting. If forgettable, Heavy trip is at least lovable for as long as you can stand listening to its upbeat, outlandish sound and story.

Raw can be described as “Rules of Attraction, except that the Attraction is Cannibalism”. The film contains hallmarks of all the college “horror” stories before it: It’s a tale of corruption, hazing, and submission to a brand new, soul-crushing norm that highlights how sexuality, hedonism, the need to belong to an exclusive group, and how your given circumstances can work against you are all used to unnerving effect in the campus context. But alongside this all-too-real tradition of coming-of-age films, Raw adds an element of true, outlandish horror: A female-centric cannibalism.

I name the affliction of cannibalism that the characters face in Raw as female-centric due to the affliction’s ties with the main characters’ relationships to their own femininity, as well as how their acting upon it serves as a response to the treatment of women in realistic experiences they go through. Raw is described as a feminist horror story, and the film succeeds in earning that moniker by plot alone.

Raw juxtaposes Justine’s descent into cannibalism with her ascent into modern womanhood, as prescribed by those around her, the most influential instigator of Justine’s decline being her sister Alexia. Alexia serves as both a beacon and a model for Justine to strive to be. Alexia is a headstrong, edgy survivor who knows how to have a good time and clever enough to get what she wants out of people. But from the start, Justine and her circumstances make it impossible for her to fit in on all accounts without (literally) ripping out a chunk of herself. And so she almost does, but her strongest differentiator from Alexia – her self-control – is what saves her from declining to the state of animalistic indulgence her model of cannibalistic behavior does at the film’s conclusion.

The film furthers its central metaphor by framing the plot around the hazing of Justine and her peers to fit into a heirarchy of unflinching, resourceful veterinarians-to-be. The unertaking of how a social imperative to become a supposedly practical & empathetic caretaker is implemented by way of trauma is a process familiar to med students and women alike. The cannibalistic metaphor also highlights how expressions of feminist behavior are often regarded by those opposed to it as “incisive” – constantly biting into parts of society that are unjust in order to highlight the injustice that calls for a change.

As its protagonist discovers she must at the end of the film, Raw similarly finds its own way of coping with the ambiguity and unjustified dichotomy at its core – and does so by reassuring its audience that while this demonstration of violence is over, resolution remains open and in what each viewer can imagine. One can only hope that Justine is able to break a cycle on the basis of the character and resolve she displays throughout the film, but as she can see from what her mother, sister, father, and the systems they’ve chosen to be part of can tell her, a woman can only make it so far in a man-eat-man world.