A film that's merely good spitting in the face of an all-time great. Guadagnino's pale and desaturated grey palette wants to evoke something cold, moody, desolate.... but most of the movie just ends up looking like a quickly-produced adaptation of a bestselling airport novel. When it lets loose (in the dream sequences, as well as the blood-soaked climax) it's a lot of fun, but most of the time it just seems to insult Argento by stripping away his iconic style in an attempt to outdo him. This movie can't scratch what Argento did, mostly because it lacks his love for bloody, psychosexual, surreal imagery. Maggots rained from the ceiling in the original film. Here, the strangest things we see are all painfully, brutally literal. Take Susie's inadvertent attack on Olga. It's disgusting, but the former's movements directly and physically correspond to what happens to the latter, so it loses the horror that may have come with more abstraction. That's the case with the entire film. Had it been more free-form, I would've liked it a lot more.