A totally acceptable slice of surreal Argento horror, but it's obviously inferior to Suspiria on just about every level possible. The use of reds and blues is the worst; so effective in the former film's winding, disorienting halls, Argento and his cinematographer here seemed content to slather them all over the place with no rhyme or reason. They're attention-grabbing, all right...but to what end? Surely they aren't bringing any sort of emphasis to that mundane conversation in the antique store. Similarly, the music is a flimsy patch on Goblin's unique score for Suspiria, sounding far more aged and repetitive. Poorly cued and difficult to take seriously, it almost never adds to what's happening on screen. The acting and presentation of exposition are typical for Argento, which is a gentle way of saying "bad," and we leave Inferno with a sense of overwhelming futility. In the end, very little is accomplished, and the hero almost completely fails in his ultimate goal. The great thing about his films in this era, though, is that none of this really matters much. What we bear witness to is so bizarre and unmatched, in their time or any other, that it simply imprints itself onto your brain. It's frightening in spasms, ridiculous otherwise, and almost guaranteed to be an entertaining use of your hour and a half. This film's blissful fusion of the beautiful and the inept isn't going to be defended as a masterpiece, and it definitely doesn't have the creative energy or insane aesthetic risk-taking that Suspiria did, but it's worth watching for any horror fan.