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John and Laura Baxter are living in Venice when they meet a pair of elderly sisters, one of whom claims to be psychic. She insists that she sees the spirit of the Baxters' daughter, who recently drowned. Laura is intrigued, but John resists the idea. He, however, seems to have his own psychic flashes, seeing their daughter walk the streets in her red cloak, as well as Laura and the sisters on a funeral gondola...I had big expectations watching this film since it's hold as cult classic but, by the end, I was bewildered by what I had just watched. Don't look now is often described as a psychological thriller but, to me, it looks a like a patchwork. Most of the scenes are utterly pointless and add nothing to the story and also there's a lot of things that don't add up. The film relies on symbolism, injecting the color red in several scenes as well as other small details, but there isn't really a connection between all this elements so it ends up being just weird and confusing. Most of the time I found myself looking for a hidden meaning but the film doesn't have one. The camera work is truly awful with constant zooms that make the film very unpleasant to watch. And then there's the ear-splitting sound effects, oh my, they certainly got my attention but for the wrong reasons. Aside the beautiful Julie Christie, the acting was average with Donald Sutherland looking very unconvincing. I should stress that not an awful lot happens in this film. It's a film based on suggestion and imagery. In the end I thought it was extremely dull, pointless and put simply, a bad film. Maybe the film has aged poorly, or, I'm one of those persons who didn't "get it", but either way, this was a terrible experience.

3/10

Don't Look Now was clearly ahead of its time. In 1973, psychological movies such as this were either rare, or basic. Don't Look Now attempts to go where a lot of movies had never been, which was a realm where many things never truly make sense and yet behind it all is a coherent purpose.

First of it is *not* a candidate for greatest horror film ever, though the Times would have you believe otherwise. What it *is* though is a highly confusing yet thought-provoking story which covers grief and dillusion in equal measure.

Donald Sutherland plays John Baxter, who's married to Laura, who lose a child in an accident and find their worlds turned upside-down as a result. However, thereafter the story is set in Venice where John's working on a job and Laura's accompanied him there, and where things start to get disturbing for the couple as events begin to focus on their dead daughter and paranormal themes emerge.

It *is* a strange tale, and ultimately what you get out of it is entirely up to you. It is probably from this film that the likes of David Lynch started to derive inspiration.

Overall, good, if intrinsically confusing.

"Don't Look Now" was released at about the time of "The Excorcist". There is otherwise no basis for comparison between these movies. While the Excorcist hits us in the face with the equivalent of a special effects rubber chicken, "Don't Look Now" manages to get under your skin from the very first scene, and gradually, elegantly insinuates itself into a place where your childhood and adult fears dwell and steep. Its setting in Venice is both beautiful and menacing. Something terrible is always just around the corner from our conscious mind. It is also troubling, and, as only a good movie can, leaves more questions unanswered than resolved. Without a doubt, it contains one of the most beautiful loves scenes ever filmed, showing scenes of Christie and Sutherland in genuinely erotic (by '70's standards) lovemaking, mixed with scenes of the couple as they dress and prepare for their day, the following morning. Director Nicolas Roeg is a forgotten Master.

Now here's a film that may just get you thinking, the extents that some go to with abstractive linking, as a daughter is drowned, this might just make you frown, as you witness two souls, whose reality's sinking. Wandering around Venice there's a large hint of menace, two sisters suggest afterlife has a premise, a wife who believes, husband who still grieves, though to him, hocus pocus, is far too remiss. Understanding their feelings is the key to the door, through eyes that have witnessed events that have scored, a scar through their souls, left bottomless holes, a knife that has slashed at least one, to the floor.

There are two types of horror films, really. There are popcorn horror films, good for a cheap in-the-moment thrill at best, and there are serious horror films, movies that linger in the mind and in the bones. I have just watched Nicolas Roeg's 'Don't Look Now' and my spine is frozen. It's 4am, I'm alone, and I have a heightened awareness of sounds and sights I usually don't notice.

Here is a movie that's both resolved and unresolved, ultimately growing more ambiguous as it progresses and becomes more complex. After it is over and has become a complete(d) work to the eye of the viewer, the lasting impression is that of mystery. Too many films in this genre bark up the wrong tree, working to explain all of the events that unfold. By explaining nothing, by being almost abstract, questions and images will haunt the viewer indefinitely. It is what it is, and while this movie can be watched over and over, and the events that occur can be anticipated, they will forever remain an enigma. This is true cinema, purely visual and aural, without the helpful but ultimately self-defeating aid of a proxy observer; the viewer is the direct observer, and there's no filter through which the events and images develop any sort of tidy rationality.

Donald Sutherland's performance here is sober, adult, the grief of his character palpable. And in the face of this grief is a force that runs through the movie like a dark current, evoking the eternal and spookily ethereal and subterranean; less an eternity of the heavens than the eternity of a crypt. Venice is not merely the ideal location for this story, but the necessary location; it could not take place anywhere else. The unquestionable, and indeed imposing, Gothic majesty of the churches, whose interior height dwarfs their human occupants with the spiritual dread of the ancient, overlooks the canals of Venice like the wicked-faced stone gargoyles Sutherland finds himself physically embracing, while the canals that run through the city are literally the ghost of this couple's personal tragedy. Living in Venice, in light of the details surrounding their loss, seems almost a perverse choice, perhaps a masochistic one; they could be punishing themselves for their daughter's drowning by living in a flooded city.

It's not that Sutherland's character is a rational man in an irrational environment, but rather a rational man in an environment whose own secret code, which one may trust makes perfect sense to itself (like a tree in the forest that will only fall if no one is around to hear), is inaccessible and inexplicable to him, baring itself only in fragments in a way he chooses to ignore, just as you might ignore a spectral voice in the dead of night, dismissing it as a product of your imagination.

The movie's notorious love scene is jarringly explicit, yet rather than erotic, it is profoundly sad, and takes on a deeper (even creepy) resonance after the film ends. That the scene is intercut with scenes of Sutherland and Julie Christie dressing prevents the two from ever being completely naked and united; this editing choice changes the dimensions of the love scene in a way that I've never seen attempted elsewhere. At other points, Roeg inserts moments and images that carry sinister implications, none of which are ever concretely substantiated and only leave the viewer with more questions.

The film drifts along at a wandering pace. The final twenty minutes are among the most atmospheric and suspenseful twenty minutes in any film, culminating in a montage that is absolutely chilling.

'The Blair Witch Project,' made over two decades later and probably influenced by this, has similar aspirations, but finally has only a fraction of the emotional gravity.