Costume designer Giulia Piersanti talks us through the subtle references woven into the clothing of the Helena Markos Dance Company
Where Dario Argento’s crimson-soaked, Goblin-soundtracked Suspiria is as in-your-face as it’s possible to be, when it comes to Luca Guadagnino’s version of the cult 1977 movie, which hit cinemas last weekend, things have been pared-back considerably. Not only has the story been relocated from Munich to 1970s post-Cold War Kreuzberg, but the red hue, which washed ominously over the entirety of the original – to truly disquieting effect – is gone too. In its place is a palette of muted grey, brown, beige, and rust. So far, so Berlin: some things seemingly never change.
The basis of the story – which you likely know by now – remains the same, though. True to the 1977 version, a talented young dancer joins a prestigious dance company, and, ultimately, terror ensues. In this case, Susie Bannon (as played by Dakota Johnson) is the wide-eyed American girl who heads to the German capital in the hopes of joining the Helena Markos Dance Academy. When she arrives and begins her audition, she catches the eye of teacher Madam Blanc (Tilda Swinton), who watches with quiet interest as she moves through the school’s echoing rehearsal hall. Needless to say, Susie is accepted into the Academy’s fold – at which point it becomes apparent the institution is home to a coven of witches, and things get very dark indeed.
While much of the film is tinged with grey, it’s through the costumes that flashes of colour are introduced, and, though it’s not used in the same way that Argento utilised it, the colour red still plays a huge part in the film. From Susie’s vibrant auburn hair and the rich maroon leotard she wears to classes, to the delicate tulips that decorate Madame Blanc’s evening kimono, in Suspiria, the colour is steeped in symbolism – appearing frequently as an unnerving omen of the horror to come.
The woman behind the film’s striking wardrobe was Giulia Piersanti, who previously joined forces with Guadagnino on A Bigger Splash and Call Me By Your Name (and, when she’s not working on movies, also works as a knitwear designer for the likes of Celine and Balenciaga). With vivid memories of its predecessor, like Guadagnino, Piersanti was keen to create something entirely new in this re-imagining of Suspiria – which started with a desire not to make the cast look too ‘witchy’.
“The women that make up the coven were of all ages and backgrounds, and I wanted to keep this idea of these individuals coming together for a common purpose,” Piersanti explains. “Luca cast all these amazing actresses – Ingrid Carven, and Angela Winkler, and of course Tilda – and I really wanted to convey that, even though they go about their day like these normal, slightly kooky ladies, they’re actually plotting to take over, so I wanted there to be humour and irony in the wardrobe choices. Ruth Gordon’s character in Rosemary’s Baby was what I had in mind and set out to achieve in my own way.”
“Madam Blanc’s nightgown features a woman’s form manipulated to become a tulip, while one of Miss Vendergast’s blouses has a multiplicity of women diving off her shoulders and around her neck. Another features printed roses that are actually vaginas” – Giulia Piersanti
Drawing inspiration from old copies of German fashion magazine Sibylle which she found on eBay, Piersanti set out to create a visual narrative that felt tied to Berlin in the 1970s, but also detached from it – and reflected the same muted shades of the setting. “Neither Luca nor I wanted colour to be a prominent element in the costumes, but from the very beginning, I knew I wanted to make my own prints for the films,” she says. “I was really interested in the works of artists I admire, like Louise Bourgeois and Rebecca Horn, who both use the female body as a tool.”
Without prior knowledge of them, it’s likely these prints might have passed you by when watching the film unravel. Blink-and-you’ll-miss-them, each one taps into the subtle exploration of womanhood and feminine power that underpins much of Suspiria. “I used archetypes of the female body in a series of 70s-style graphic prints, which were then used to make blouses and skirts and dresses,” explains Piersanti.
“Madam Blanc’s nightgown features a woman’s form manipulated to become a tulip, while one of Miss Vendergast’s blouses has a multiplicity of women diving off her shoulders and around her neck. Another features printed roses that are actually vaginas.” Elsewhere, Sara (Mia Goth) wears pyjamas bearing tiny flowers created using breasts, and, perhaps most strikingly of all, Susie is seen in a dress seemingly depicting blooming cherry trees. Get closer, though, and Piersanti reveals they are actually made up of hip bones. Additional items were sourced from the Missoni and Halston archives.
Away from the subtly subversive printed garments that make up much of the coven’s day-to-day wear, there is one moment that really stands out in regards to costume – as seen as part of Suspiria’s penultimate climactic scene. Preparing to perform Volk, the supernaturally-charged dance originally choreographed by Madam Blanc, the coven enter the performance space in striking red costumes crafted from rope, in what is one of the most visceral scenes in the film.
“I came across a 1970s work by artists Christo and Jeanne-Claude which features a woman in a wedding dress made of ropes that are tied to a heavy rock behind her like a veil. I liked the way it represented the heavy burden women have to carry,” says Piersanti. Having researched the art of Shibari and taken an in-depth look at photographer Araki’s work, the costume designer and her team bought yards and yards of red bondage rope from a distributor that mostly supplied sex shops. From there, they practised first on mannequins, and then latterly on the cast, who were tied into each look prior to filming.
These looks were, according to Piersanti, not only integral to the aesthetic of the film, but the story itself. “Costumes in dance answer to movement and rhythm, which opens up an entirely new perspective,” she explains. “The energy created by the red knotted garments and the effect of dripping blood created by the weight of them, and the way they move with each sharp movement the dancers made added to the sense of fear and dread of things to come – to me, it’s this subtlety that’s seen throughout the film that makes the dramatic moments all the more terrifying.”
