The timer lightswitch dial in the apartment block is a great idea: the rest of this film...eh, not so much. Without the visual style, oddly cosy nighttime atmosphere, and of course the frights of his previous films, so much of Argento's art of the past -almost 30!- years is crude, tacky and reeks of "exploitation flick".
Dario Argento shamelessly continues to exploit the fact that I am a die-hard fan and will generally watch anything featuring the beautiful Asia. Mother of Tears is surely dreadful, especially compared to the masterpiece Suspira and the always mesmerizing Inferno, but I can't say I found it boring. There's a certain kitsch appeal in how utterly ridiculous and misguided the whole thing is...
Sadly, pretty much a piece of shit. Argento abandons his artful visual sense and obsessive, dream-like qualities for a dumb-as-fuck script and lazy TV aesthetics. However, taken as a tacky, bizarro spectacle, its hilarious and entertaining and its moments of shocking batshit insanity make it worth slugging through all the lame "Da Vinci Code" plotting.
Another woefully disappointing recent effort from former horror maestro Dario Argento. Alternately boring and ridiculous, with a hokey plot, cheap production values, and awkward performances. It relentlessly goes for gore while being completely devoid of any tension or suspense. It's incredibly disheartening to see a talent like Argento be reduced to direct-to-video level garbage like this.
A movie like this could only disappoint, especially given the drop-off in quality in Argento's work as of late. It's not as terrible as some of the movies he's made lately, in fact it's quite watchable. But it doesn't come close to SUSPIRIA or INFERNO.
It's strange that Argento doesn't just give us what we want and make another psychedelic puzzle horror, especially how easily satiated fans would be at this point. Make no mistake, this film is hilarious and the violence is positively grotesque. But on any rational level this is an awful film. So Argento continues his attack on rationality while we ponder our own limits to nepotism.
Remains amusingly inept for a good hour, its one saving grace when considering how utterly stupid and listless Argento's worst can be. His sexual politics have always been questionable, but they were easier to overlook when couched in Technicolor fantasia; here the killings, clumsily shot and artlessly lit, feel confused and hateful. Even Udo Kier looks embarrassed.