lack-gloved killers; psychosexual stabbings; lashings of neon blood and plot twists built around retrograde understandings of sexuality and mental illness – that’s , baby. Prompted by the BFI’s month-long season on Dario Argento’s films, my reacquaintance with the Italian horror auteur’s work has ushered in a new appreciation of his . Beyond the outrageous camp sensibility of his stylish gore lie threads of destabilised gender and queerness that inform a lot the connective
