What happens when a city becomes a mirror for your deepest wounds? Nicolas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now (1973) turns Venice’s labyrinthine canals into a haunting canvas, where grief festers and visions blur reality. For today’s audiences, hungry for horror that probes the psyche, this film’s raw exploration of loss feels like a precursor to modern masterpieces like The Babadook. Its unsettling beauty and refusal to spoon-feed answers make it a must-watch in our era of introspective storytelling.

Roeg’s direction is a masterclass in disorientation. He doesn’t just tell a story; he fractures it, weaving past and present into a tapestry that mimics the chaos of mourning. The Baxters John and Laura, played by Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie navigate their daughter’s death through glimpses of memory and foreboding. Roeg’s boldest move, a now-iconic love scene cut with mundane aftermath, captures intimacy’s fleeting solace against grief’s weight. Yet, the film stumbles slightly in its middle, with cryptic psychic visions that can feel more confusing than compelling, testing patience.

The performances anchor the film’s emotional core. Sutherland’s John is a skeptic unraveling, his furrowed brow and haunted gaze carrying a father’s unspoken pain. Christie’s Laura dances between despair and fragile hope, her quiet strength making every smile feel earned. Their chemistry grounds the supernatural, making their sorrow achingly relatable. Unlike today’s horror, which often leans on shock, these performances build dread through subtle, lived-in humanity, inviting you to feel their loss.

Anthony B. Richmond’s cinematography transforms Venice into a character its fog-drenched alleys and glinting waters reflecting the Baxters’ fractured minds. The recurring red coat, a piercing visual motif, burns through the muted palette, a technique echoed in contemporary horror’s use of color to signal dread. However, Pino Donaggio’s score occasionally overreaches, its lush strings tipping suspense into melodrama, slightly undermining the tension.

Why does this film endure? In 2025, when audiences crave stories that wrestle with trauma, Don’t Look Now offers no easy closure, only questions. Its ambiguity and emotional depth resonate with fans of slow-burn horror, while its visual daring inspires filmmakers today. Flawed yet fearless, it’s a journey into grief’s murky waters. Let it pull you under you’ll emerge changed.