Suspiria, Or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Art Movie.

This week we talk about Suspiria, the old and the new.

For a person who has a bad habit of consuming comfort movies, those easy to digest, brain-on-setting-numb things that entertain but do little more, this was somewhat of a revelation.

Magic happens outside your comfort zone, but comfort happens inside it. And for a thing that usually ends up in you being quite dead inside, comfort is actually pretty nice. Because you know what else happens outside your comfort zone? Everything that is horrible.

And as is want to be the habit of people of advancing years, the yearn for comfort can surpass the desire to experience thrilling things, may they be good or bad.

But Suspiria was a tipping point for me. Which means that I promised myself at least another ten years of exciting, fun, really good or really crummy multicolor cinema before retiring into the cobwebs of comfort cinema for good, where I shall find my demise watching Jack Sparrow Goes West, a bottle of beer in one hand and a cheeseburger in another. See, doesn’t sound that bad, does it? Comfort – because it’s comfortable, as the saying goes.

But, for now, I can already feel my next decade calling for me:


And now for something completely (weird) different:




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