Oh, Dario

For many of us who champion horror films past and present as much for their aesthetic qualities as their (often iffy) storytelling, Italian filmmaker Dario Argento may not be God, but he’s pretty darn close.

Certainly his last decent contribution to the genre may have been a decade ago at least, but if one is going to rest on one’s laurels, you could do a lot worse than giving the world Suspiria and Inferno, and then simply calling it a day.

Yes, they are absolute pants when it comes to plot, but as testaments to what can be done with the medium, they have few rivals. The Mona Lisa doesn’t exactly communicate a tale of wonder, either, but people have been content to stare at it for centuries. Personally I’d rather watch Suspiria.

All of which is a long way at getting to the point of this posting: Mother of Tears (here we pause for a great shuffling of feet, clearing of throats, and someone muttering “Here we go”). I haven’t yet had the opportunity to check out Argento’s closing chapter in his “Three Mothers” trilogy, but I’ve heard enough trouncing of the film to understand what lies ahead of me.

Yes, absolutely, he should’ve known better than to produce this film. How could an Argento, even in his prime (he isn’t), create a work of cinema that could fulfill the expectations set by the first two entries? How could anybody?

I urge horror fans to dial up the latest episode — #68 — of the Mondo Movie podcast for a lengthy — and at times hilarious — review of this film. Hosts Ben and Dan have been dissecting genre flicks for more than two years now, and they offer that rare thrill: movie reviews by fans — yet not love-it-all fanboys — of this deeply misunderstood medium.


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