Reflection in a Dead Diamond
When Neo Giallo Goes Full Arthouse Fever Dream
The Belgian duo behind Amer returns with a spy thriller that’s less James Bond, more “What if Argento directed a perfume commercial during a particularly wild acid trip”
Let’s get one thing straight: Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani don’t make movies for the casual Netflix-and-chill crowd. They craft films for those of us who stayed up until 3 AM watching scratchy VHS copies of Bay of Blood and can spot a Sergio Martino reference from three split-screen frames away. I’ve seen them all, but their latest, Reflection in a Dead Diamond, just might be my favorite. This is what happens when you throw Mission: Impossible, Italian fumetti comics, and a collage into a blender, then project the results directly onto your retinas.
The Plot (Or Whatever We’re Calling This Kaleidoscope of Chaos)
Ostensibly, this is about an aging spy named Monsieur Diman (Fabio Testi from The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly, looking distinguished as ever) haunted by his past missions. Or maybe it’s about his younger self, John D. (Yannick Renier), battling a shape-shifting assassin named Serpentik while protecting an oil billionaire. Or perhaps it’s about a fictional character from a B-movie bleeding into reality like ink through thin paper.
Look, trying to explain the plot of a Cattet-Forzani film is like trying to describe a dream you had after eating too much cheese while binge-watching Danger Diabolik—you know something wild happened, but the linear narrative left the building around the time that sequined dress started shooting daggers.
A Love Letter Written in Blood and Neon
The directors are playing a greatest hits compilation of Euro-thriller aesthetics here, and I caught enough references to make my inner film nerd do backflips:
Danger Diabolik (the comic book sensibility is absolutely divine)
Diva (we have an opera singer, and that blue lighting isn’t subtle, darlings)
Diamonds Are Forever (because why not steal from the best?)
The original Mission: Impossible series (when spies were stylish)
A Perversion Story (Martino would be proud)
The Case of the Scorpion’s Tail (another Martino deep cut for the initiated)
But here’s the thing: this isn’t empty pastiche. Where Tarantino might wink at you until his eye gets tired, Cattet and Forzani are too busy crafting each frame like they’re painting the Sistine Chapel with blood squibs and primary colors.
The Female Gaze Cuts Deeper Than Any Stiletto
While the film follows male protagonists, the real power players here are the women. Serpentik, played by multiple actresses including Thi Mai Nguyen and Sylvia Camarda, is less a character than a force of nature. She’s a Dr. Mabuse for the Instagram age. And that sequined dress worn by Moth (Céline Camara) is not just fashion, it’s a weapon, darling. Every glittering disc becomes a projectile, turning haute couture into homicide.
Maria de Medeiros shows up as Diman’s old flame, bringing with her the ghost of Pulp Fiction and enough gravitas to ground even the most hallucinogenic sequences. These aren’t damsels in distress; they’re the distress itself, exquisite and terrifying in equal measure.
Style as Substance (And What Glorious Substance It Is)
Manuel Dacosse’s cinematography pops, sparkles, and then detonates. Every frame is drenched in the kind of lurid crimsons and electric blues that would make Dario Argento reach for his sunglasses. The camera rarely holds still for more than five seconds, creating a visual rhythm that’s part music video, part anxiety attack, part pure cinema.
The 87-minute runtime feels both endless and fleeting, like being trapped in a lava lamp while someone plays Russian roulette with the color settings. A giant millipede crawls over a corpse. Time folds in on itself like origami made of razor blades. Characters swap ages and identities with the casual ease of changing Instagram filters.
What mainstream critics often miss about Cattet and Forzani is that they’re having a blast. This isn’t reverent homage; it’s playful deconstruction. Sure, they’re genuflecting at the altar of giallo, but they’re also spray-painting it hot pink and setting off fireworks. The film’s humor isn’t in punchlines but in its audacious commitment to its own fever dream logic.
Bottom Line: A Diamond in the Rough? More Like a Diamond Disco Ball
Reflection in a Dead Diamond isn’t horror in the traditional sense. However, horror-adjacent fans who appreciate when genre boundaries get obliterated will find plenty to love. It’s a film that demands you leave your need for narrative coherence at the door and surrender to pure sensory experience.
This is cinema as assault, as seduction, as a particularly vivid hallucination. It won’t be for everyone—mainstream audiences will likely flee faster than victims in a slasher flick. But for those of us who like our films colorful, potent, and slightly dangerous, Cattet and Forzani have mixed up something special.
Perfect for: Giallo devotees, arthouse masochists, anyone who thinks modern cinema plays it too safe
Skip if: You need your plots to make sense
In select theaters on November 21, 2025
Streaming on Shudder December 5, 2025
Slap my forearm and inject it in me.