In Frusta’s cinema, disguise often conceals truth. The Queen of Nineveh hides behind the curtains to poison her husband and share power with the man she wanted. She couldn’t prevent a priest from carrying her son off to an unpleasant grotto a la Méliès. She opposed a deceptive false god, which emerged from a cloud of smoke to shock people who riot only on demand. And in the end, compelled by male cowardice, she did what she had always done: take things into her own hands. Dressed in the clothes (costume) of a warrior, she advances on the staircase for her life and fatally falls on the blade of her son. Totally evil? Of course: but also, like any great tragic figure, a secret treasure trove we can’t help admiring.