Owning Terror. The feminine power of Suspiria and Midsommar
Note: Contains spoilers for Suspiria (2018) and Midsommar (2019)
Claiming power and owning terror, Susie and Dani are the names of two influential women of contemporary horror. Their sexuality and gender are gloriously monstrous and, refreshingly, not punishable by death.
The concept of the Monstrous-Feminine, now common vernacular among genre fans, was coined by academic and author Barbara Creed in her seminal book of the same name. The Monstrous-Feminine challenges the idea that women are victims and positions them as monstrous for their gender or biological body, deeming their sexuality as horrific. Since “All human societies have a conception of the monstrous-feminine,” it seeps into our wider culture and, particularly horror films, where fantasies of taming and killing women are extremely popular ways to tell stories. It also serves as a useful framework in examining two contemporary hit horror films that depict women through femininity and the construction of gender, both subverting and challenging the depiction of the monstrous woman, through motherhood/maternal authorities and rituals. Luca Guadagnino’s Suspiria (2018) and Ari Aster’s Midsommar (2019) both have protagonists whose monstrosity is intimately linked with their self actualisation and power. The characters become larger than life, yet are perfectly empathetic. The women are not killed or tamed, but instead use their power to tame and kill others.
Guadagnino’s Suspiria, a remake of Dario Argento’s 1977 giallo film of the same name, is set in West Berlin, following Susie Bannion (Dakota Johnson) as she enrols in a prestigious dance school. During the prologue, we see a distressed woman, played by Chloe Grace Moretz (Patricia), in a therapists’ office. Patricia is visibly frightened at the prospect of her teachers being witches. The male therapist (Tilda Swinton), dismisses Patricia’s concerns writing ‘She feels her constructed mythology is confirmed’ on a notepad. The therapist is the only significant ‘male’ character in the film, and is dismissive of Patricia. But after her disappearance, he investigates the coven, and even tries to enlist the Police - the ultimate symbol of patriarchy and oppression. Swinton also plays dance teacher Madame Blanc, a maternal figure, who is actively encouraging of Susie’s maturation and growth. She affectionately kisses the students as she walks into the rehearsal room, and she always speaks to them in a low, caring voice. She is the embodiment of their matriarch. In casting Swinton as both the paternal therapist and the maternal dance teacher, there is a direct comparison made between motherly authority and fatherly authority - the logical and dismissive therapist versus the emotive and expressive dance teacher. Narratively, the maternal energy triumphs. When Susie ascends into power at the end of the film, she confronts the therapist and wipes his memory. As a mother, Susie has ultimate control over life and death.
Monstrous for the power she wields, Susie reveals herself to be one of the old gods that the coven worships, aptly named Mother Suspiriorum. Susie opens her chest down the middle to channel Mother Suspiriorum, as she symbolically gives birth to her new powers. This chimes with Creed’s notion that ‘The witch’s supernatural powers are linked to the female reproductive system.’ Susie then casts out the ‘false mother’, Helena Markos (also Swinton), and all her disciples, after she maims Madame Blanc. We see here that Susie, in her role as mother, now protects the coven from internal corruption. Through her symbolic motherhood, Susie reclaims power to remake the coven as she sees fit. She is confident and fully in control.
Midsommar’s Dani (Florence Pugh) also claims power in a climactic scene, though not through motherhood. Instead, she finds power through sisterhood. When we first meet Dani, she is positioned as in opposition to the academic men. She is emotional, and, just like Patricia in Suspiria, is dismissed by men. Her boyfriend, Christian (Jack Reynor,) is encouraged to break up with her. Instead of comforting her, he is manipulative, blaming Dani for worrying about her suicidal sister, saying, “She only does this because you let her.” Later, in a scene at a party, Dani’s isolation is visually expressed through the framing, which positions her stature as significantly shorter than the rest of her group. This visual isolation is repeated throughout the film where she is frequently placed in the corners of the frame. This reflects her feelings of powerlessness and invisibility to her male peers. She literally cannot measure up. None of the men express empathy for her situation, and see her as extra baggage. This is acutely apparent in the scene when they take drugs together, before entering the Horga commune. Dani does not want to take drugs, but the men pressure her, intimating that it would be a hassle for them to trip at different times. She succumbs to their pressure, dismissing her own emotions.
Group dynamics with women, however, are shown in positive contrast. After Dani has become the May-Queen, towards the end of the film, she witnesses Christian cheating. The women take her back to their communal bedroom, they let her take off her May-Queen regalia and feel her pain with her. They scream together. She finds a community of women, where she can express her pain, without judgement. This scene is vital to the film, as it could, without the male group dynamic in contrast, appear as monstrous. Again, Creed’s sentiments on the Monstrous Feminine resonate, ‘The idea that women should give physical expression to her anger is represented as an inherently destructive process,’ so Dani’s rage becomes manifest in her action of killing Christian at the end of the film. To sacrifice him as a symbolic demon that, in the Horga’s words, must be “[banished] to the deepest recesses, where you may reflect upon your wickedness.” This shift in power is reflected in a new colour palette of bright yellow, pink and white, evocative of the powerful feminine energy that Dani has now embraced. In the end, she has stepped out of invisibility and into her feminine power, destroying that which caused her so much pain.
This feminine energy is also expressed in both films through rituals and spells, creating a powerful space for both Susie and Dani to step into power. In Suspiria, the dances are spells. This is openly acknowledged throughout the film by the characters, but also through its visual tone. In contrast to Argento’s Suspiria, which uses a bright but saturated colour palette, Guadagnino’s Suspiria predominantly uses winterish greys and greens. The only exception to this is when the characters are dancing: when Susie auditions to be in the school, she is put under a spotlight, basking in cream and red. The cream and red are highly suggestive of her white body - the creamy colour of her white skin and the red of her blood. Thus entracing the audience into watching spells being cast, through the dancers’ movements throughout the film. The body is celebrated throughout the film, and yet we also see that the body is a site for abject horror.
This idea is expressed by Creed when she notes that “the function of the monstrous … [is to] bring about an encounter between the symbolic order and that which threatens its stability.” In Guadagnino’s Suspiria, the order is one of matriarchal expression and celebration of the body, and yet the body is punished for disobeying. The body therefore is a border between the rational order on the outside and irrational chaos on the inside. This is vital in understanding the importance of short-lived dancer, Olga (Elena Fokina). Olga rebels against Madame Blanc and is punished for it. Imprisoned in a mirrored dance room, she is doomed to witness her own destruction. Susie dances a ritual spell without realising her own power. The film crosscuts between the dance and Olga’s punishment, as she writhes and contorts her body, as if each hand gesture by Susie is a punch for Olga. The viewer is aware that Susie is unknowingly casting a spell on Olga, punishing her rebellion by destroying her body. Her body becomes a manifestation of creation and destruction, while erasing the border between inside and outside. Olga’s insides are visible on the outside - her jaw juts out, she dribbles and she pisses herself. Through an incantation, her body becomes unrecognisable and monstrous. Equally, the climax of the film revolves around a ritual sacrifice. The viewer does not know why the sacrifice is important, but it is intimated that the ritual is necessary and all must participate. After she becomes Mother Suspiriorum and decimates the corrupted witches, Susie encourages the dancers to “keep dancing”, gyrating and twirling around their dead/sacrificed peers. Celebration and destruction are linked through the use of rituals and spells. The rational and irrational combine to create a truly horrifying scene.
Similarly, in Midsommar, the Horga commune uses many rituals that allow Dani to take power in her femininity. As the Horga are Swedish, and their dialogue is not always subtitled, many of their explanations will be unknown to a presumed English speaking audience, and to the main group of Americans within the film, as the film intends to align us with Dani’s perspective. The pivotal scene of the May Queen dance is purely from Dani’s perspective - she is the only female in the group and, as such, is given space to participate. The women of the Horga welcome her into their dance, dressing her in ceremonial robes, similar to the clothes they wear. She is even able to, miraculously, speak fluent Swedish during the dance; instead of being scared, she is elated and feels so connected to them that she can communicate in their language, verbally and physically. The white ceremonial robes and the dance itself are symbolic of femininity in the Horga community; white so often a symbol of purity, youth and womanhood. As Dani becomes the May Queen, she is dressed in flowers, another symbol of femininity.
This is shown in stark contrast to the way that Christian participates in the rituals. Throughout the film, he is a detached observer and refers to the death rituals as ‘shocking’. He doesn’t seem to care all that much about the Horga and their community life, until the ritual where he has sex with Maja (Isabelle Grill). In this scene, he is surrounded by older, naked Horga women who moan and gyrate in time with his thrusts. Early on in the scene, Maja is visibly in distress. A woman leaps out of the group and holds her hand. We presume this woman to be her mother/maternal, owing to her affection and connection to Maja, and then the film cuts to Christian’s face; his confused expression signalling the bafflement of the main male character at the realisation that he is not the centre of attention here. While Dani is swept along into fully embracing the feminine sisterhood, expressed in her becoming the May Queen, Christian is reduced to his phallic function in the ritual. Beyond that, he is useless and to be discarded, bringing Creed’s notion that, “When male bodies become grotesque, they tend to take on characteristics associated with female bodies.” Christian’s objectification and fragility is reminiscent of Dani’s objectification at the beginning of the film. The gender roles have been reversed: Dani is powerful while Christian is literally voiceless and disabled. At the end of the film, he has been stripped of his voice and sits in a wheelchair. Christian has been stripped of his privilege, he is now powerless. He has no choice in where he goes or what he does. He is wheeled and lifted into the bear suit and cannot even scream. It is truly horrifying.
Through the use of feminine symbols and the examination of gender, both Suspiria and Midsommar create a space where the female protagonists are able to transcend the portrayal of women in the genre. Unlike she-monster classics of the genre such as Carrie (1976) or even something more heavily weighted in psychoanalysis as The Brood (1979), where the Monstrous-Feminine is punishable by narrative death, Susie and Dani are able to claim power without sacrificing their lives. There are elements of violence and gore in both, but Suspiria and Midsommar, ultimately, actively empower their female protagonists. Both films challenge and subvert typical horror expectations of the Monstrous-Feminine in order to create a new narrative ending of feminine power, still explored through the horror of gender.
Sojourner McKenzie is a writer and editor. She graduated from London College of Communication with an MA in Screenwriting, so she's currently unemployed. She's on the internet everywhere @tinyblondesojo.
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