Primal aggression lets out a shrieking howl as the bodies are contorted into pulps. Faustian bargaining for domination. Matriarchal, maniacal banshees in the dancers' flesh. We prowl closer to the Witches’ Den, muddy browns and murky grays of Berlin's muted winter. Oozing fluids with leaking tears, urine and blood trickle before pouring out from every pore, transuding in a volcanic eruption of a climax. In spite of being over-stuffed with complicated themes and hysteric brutality on display - protruding bones, mangled skin, incongruous “Six-Act” shapes - but ultimately, the outcome is grotesquely breathtaking like a delirious fantasy of crimson tints. Power upheavals led by the Mother(s), Suspiria casts a hellish aura whereas souls have been given away to madness, while dance means death. Luca Guadagnino concocted such a heady spin that is unforgiving (not to say poetical) yet overpoweringly pulsing with a beating heart, carnal desire and harmonic destruction. Suspiriora, Mother Suspiriorum, I’m sorry but for now, my soul has finally given in to darkness.