Salò o le 120 giornate di Sodoma (1975) aka Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom
One of the most infamous, transgressive titles around here (or anywhere else, for that matter), though 'normal' audiences probably are blissfully unaware it exists. Knowing its reputation ahead of time, it's not the type of film I would have normally sought out, but when I saw the title at the local public library, I knew I had to finally bite the bullet.
In the last days of the occupation of Italy at the end of WWII, a group of Libertines carefully select and kidnap a group of (supposedly) virginal victims with the plan to reach the lowest levels of debauchery.
Is this their last gasp as they perceive the nearing end of their regime?
It all starts normally enough, with carefully composed visuals and more than competent filmmaking suitable to any wartime drama (this is, after all, still an art film,) but once the secluded destination villa is reached, the rules are laid out and the degeneracy begins, it turns into a different thing.
Veteran prostitutes are to tell tales of their lives and careers, with a tasteful musical accompaniment, intended to turn on and inspire the Libertines to perform the lewdest possible acts on their victims which include extreme violence, sadism, genital torture, and psychological torture, though most of it is based simply on humiliation, (that some of these victims are sons and daughters of notable citizens is no accident.)
We may understand all of this is an intellectual, Sadean exercise, and not based on a particular historical event but, regardless, one will question how is it possible that criminals such as these ever reach the position of authority that would allow them to commit such atrocities.
To answer the question, the film addresses the immediate and brutal dispatching of those who refuse to conform; with scenes of guard characters slowly becoming complicit; with an ever-growing list of those who break the rules; or, of victims betraying and reporting each others' transgressions. The systematic process of breaking down individuals and the institution of fascism is made more than clear.
The tragic results more than clarify how it is that the only acceptable human answer is resistance, those who die early are better off for it.
No surprise that the film was banned for purely political reasons, and not because of lewd, immoral, or disgusting scenes. These people need to be stopped.
Buñuel's Un chien andalou was meant as a call to murder, and I really would not expect this film to be anything less, (murdering the four Libertines in time would have liberated everyone else.) Audiences were expected to rebel against what they saw on the screen, I suppose.
That we still don't recognize this happening in front of us, ("The thing I value most is loyalty,") makes Pasolini's message as relevant as it ever was.
The film utilizes distancing devices for its horrific, concluding chapter; most of it is seen from binoculars and without sound, and the gore (and other) effects aren't as convincing as the production team would have them be (initially fake sputum, but also a large, prosthetic penis, among many others), but by then the film has become a true-blue Horror film.
One can distance oneself from the screen reminding oneself that these are merely players in a drama, but once coprophagia is invoked, (Girone della Merda references Dante,) even awareness of cinema trickery won't be sufficient.
Strong stomachs will be required.
It's a bit difficult to see that anyone could derive pleasure from any of this unless from the purely subversive joy of breaking all possible rules of decency and decorum, though the existence of the Nazisploitation genre (which, among The Night Porter and Seven Beauties also includes the disreputable Ilsa films and such) would seem to contradict my perception.
It's funny to think that Roger Corman had anticipated Pasolini's film by a decade with his The Masque of the Red Death (1964), a film that explores much the same theme and elements (particularly close parallels are transitions from one color-themed room to another and when forcing masque guests to act like animals,) though not nearly as graphically nor as adult oriented.
With Paolo Bonacelli, Giorgio Cataldi, Uberto Paolo Quintavalle, Aldo Valletti, Caterina Boratto, Elsa De Giorgi, Hélène Surgère, and Sonia Saviange.
You have been warned.
One of the most infamous, transgressive titles around here (or anywhere else, for that matter), though 'normal' audiences probably are blissfully unaware it exists. Knowing its reputation ahead of time, it's not the type of film I would have normally sought out, but when I saw the title at the local public library, I knew I had to finally bite the bullet.
In the last days of the occupation of Italy at the end of WWII, a group of Libertines carefully select and kidnap a group of (supposedly) virginal victims with the plan to reach the lowest levels of debauchery.
Is this their last gasp as they perceive the nearing end of their regime?
It all starts normally enough, with carefully composed visuals and more than competent filmmaking suitable to any wartime drama (this is, after all, still an art film,) but once the secluded destination villa is reached, the rules are laid out and the degeneracy begins, it turns into a different thing.
Veteran prostitutes are to tell tales of their lives and careers, with a tasteful musical accompaniment, intended to turn on and inspire the Libertines to perform the lewdest possible acts on their victims which include extreme violence, sadism, genital torture, and psychological torture, though most of it is based simply on humiliation, (that some of these victims are sons and daughters of notable citizens is no accident.)
We may understand all of this is an intellectual, Sadean exercise, and not based on a particular historical event but, regardless, one will question how is it possible that criminals such as these ever reach the position of authority that would allow them to commit such atrocities.
To answer the question, the film addresses the immediate and brutal dispatching of those who refuse to conform; with scenes of guard characters slowly becoming complicit; with an ever-growing list of those who break the rules; or, of victims betraying and reporting each others' transgressions. The systematic process of breaking down individuals and the institution of fascism is made more than clear.
The tragic results more than clarify how it is that the only acceptable human answer is resistance, those who die early are better off for it.
No surprise that the film was banned for purely political reasons, and not because of lewd, immoral, or disgusting scenes. These people need to be stopped.
Buñuel's Un chien andalou was meant as a call to murder, and I really would not expect this film to be anything less, (murdering the four Libertines in time would have liberated everyone else.) Audiences were expected to rebel against what they saw on the screen, I suppose.
That we still don't recognize this happening in front of us, ("The thing I value most is loyalty,") makes Pasolini's message as relevant as it ever was.
The film utilizes distancing devices for its horrific, concluding chapter; most of it is seen from binoculars and without sound, and the gore (and other) effects aren't as convincing as the production team would have them be (initially fake sputum, but also a large, prosthetic penis, among many others), but by then the film has become a true-blue Horror film.
One can distance oneself from the screen reminding oneself that these are merely players in a drama, but once coprophagia is invoked, (Girone della Merda references Dante,) even awareness of cinema trickery won't be sufficient.
Strong stomachs will be required.
It's a bit difficult to see that anyone could derive pleasure from any of this unless from the purely subversive joy of breaking all possible rules of decency and decorum, though the existence of the Nazisploitation genre (which, among The Night Porter and Seven Beauties also includes the disreputable Ilsa films and such) would seem to contradict my perception.
It's funny to think that Roger Corman had anticipated Pasolini's film by a decade with his The Masque of the Red Death (1964), a film that explores much the same theme and elements (particularly close parallels are transitions from one color-themed room to another and when forcing masque guests to act like animals,) though not nearly as graphically nor as adult oriented.
With Paolo Bonacelli, Giorgio Cataldi, Uberto Paolo Quintavalle, Aldo Valletti, Caterina Boratto, Elsa De Giorgi, Hélène Surgère, and Sonia Saviange.
You have been warned.
statistics: Posted by hermanthegerm — 3:51 PM - 1 day ago — Replies 0 — Views 182