…well.

I don’t know where to start. There have not been many films that have elicited such an extreme reaction in me as Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom. First, some context – a friend and I have an annual Valentine’s Day tradition where we watch the most disturbing, controversial and transgressive films we can think of (within the realm of decency), and this year brought us to the one film we vowed we wouldn’t watch. I was, of course, the sacrificial lamb to the cause, and considering I had heard some positive reviews from a few sources, I figured that it couldn’t possibly be as bad as its reception made it out to be – sometimes with works of art, especially those from previous decades, their reputations often overtake them and cloud the actual work, making them seem worse than they actually are, often being a lot tamer by today’s standards. Let me be clear here – Salò is just as bad as it is made out to be, perhaps even worse. If anything, its reputation has been too kind to it. However, it is a singular experience, one of the most extraordinary artistic achievements I have ever witnessed. This film leaves the viewer at a complete loss for words, and I found myself so confounded by this film. Salò is disturbing and beautiful, shocking and poetic, nauseating and moving. In all honesty, this is a film that is beyond bewildering – how can something make the view both feel sick to their stomach and hopeless awe at what we had just witnessed? Pier Paolo Pasolini made several astonishing films – but for better or worse, he’ll always be remembered for Salò, a film that has left an indelible impression on me as well as multitudes of viewers who endeavoured to watch it, and I have yet to decide whether this is a blessing or a curse. All I can say is that this is certainly something everyone should watch, and no one should watch. Salò is a bundle of contradictions, and one of the most powerful films one will ever see – that is if we can even consider this a film at all.

Salò is a film that is deservedly overshadowed by its reputation – so much that its actual storyline is often never even considered. Those with just a basic knowledge of this film (such as yours truly at the outset) know that Salò is set during the Second War War and is  focused on four Italian men, going by the nom-de-plumes the President (Aldo Valletti), the Magistrate (Umberto Paolo Quintavalle), the Bishop (Giorgio Cataldi) and the Duke (Paolo Bonacelli) – men of wealth, power and endless influence. They kidnap several teenagers, male and female, and take them to an isolated mansion where, as the title alludes, they subject them to four months of transgressive activities. The true might of Salò is revealed when we discover what transpired over these four months, where these innocent children were subjected to sickening torture, sadistic sexual practices and, in the case of the final act of the film, brutal, cold-blooded murder. Between these acts of debauchery, we are given glimpses into the socio-political atmosphere of the time – the four antagonists are all politicians, and thus we are able to view the rise of fascism, and the social practices common in the time. The residents of the house, both dominant masters and subservient victims, are also forced into rituals, such as long, meandering stories by an array of middle-aged prostitutes who proudly speak of their past actions with the same gusto as a soldier returning victorious from war. The reasons as to why these four men are engaging in such sordid activities are not ever made clear – but as we will see further on in this review, there is some possible approach we can take to analysing their motives.

Let’s cut straight to the chase – Salò is one of the most depraved works of art ever produced (and I use the word “art” not as a compliment, but as an objective statement of what this is). This is a film that quite literally makes the viewer sick – it is not uncommon for the majority of viewers to be reaching for the nearest receptacle while watching this film (I know I certainly was), and nothing could’ve prepared me for the experience of watching this film. There are certain films that were apparently extremely disturbing but turned out to be far more worthwhile than their reputations would suggest – Pink Flamingos, A Clockwork Orange and Last Tango in Paris are all great films that, unfortunately – or is it to their benefit? – fall victim to heightened reputations. Salò is one of the few films where its reputation is not only earned – it often doesn’t even note how grotesque and disturbing this film actually is. Right from the outset, there is already a sinister tone, and we are made to feel suitably uncomfortable, but not to the point where it is unwatchable. Then it steadily declines into immoral pandemonium, where all decency seems to be gradually lost – we could mention any of the countless moments of unhinged terror throughout this film: the shocking sexual violence directed at innocent people, the infamous banquet midway through the film (perhaps the first time a film has made me physically nauseous), or the climax of the film, which is truly the material of nightmares, and unlike anything I have ever seen put on film. There is not a moment in this film, save for perhaps the final moment, that is pleasant, endearing or entertaining. Pasolini was a filmmaker capable of remarkable narrative power, and was able to elicit genuine emotion from the viewer – countless people who have watched The Gospel According to St. Matthew note how they were moved to tears. The Canterbury Tales is endearing, and many have mentioned how it is a delightfully comedic adaptation of Chaucer’s work. Salò is a film made by a man who was in full control of his craft – so what would bring Pasolini, a respected director with significant artistic gravitas to make something like Salò?

The answer is terror. Salò is a film that remains unclassifiable, not being able to fit into a single category, defying all genres and becoming something of its own, a film of unique narrative and visual independence. Perhaps we can attempt to classify it is a horror of sorts – and going by the strict definition of the genre, it would technically fit – perhaps it lacks the shocks and surprises that define the more popular entries, but when it comes to unhinged terror, there are few films that come as close to Salò in terms of disturbing its audience – and it exceeds the limits of even the most deranged of horror films. Whereas a jump-scare or a suspenseful sequence may frighten the audience, the terror in Salò lingers far longer – it is a macabre, uncomfortable fear that may not cause the audience to scream, but rather remain in agony as to what we are experiencing. Worst of all, while we know even the most shocking of horror films are just fiction and will eventually come to an end when the lights are turned on and the calmness returns, Salò remains. It finds its way into your consciousness, creating an inescapable discomfort that just refuses to subside. This film is relentless – and the fact that this relies not on any traditional methods of terrifying the audience, but rather on explicit portrayals of carnal debauchery, foregrounded with the theme of fascism, and the countless references to well-known philosophers and writers lends Salò a horrifying realism that makes The Exorcist look like a CBS sitcom. There is a famous quote attributed surprisingly to Charles Darwin who stated “We stopped looking for monsters under our bed when we realized that they were inside us” – and in the case of Salò, the real monstrosities are not lurking in the shadows, but in plain sight, taking the form of the most mild-mannered and dignified people from time to time, and that is utterly and catastrophically terrifying.

Yet, there is something else about Salò that is just as inescapable as its macabre overtones – this is a film imbued with a very strange beauty. We could attribute it to the gorgeous cinematography from Tonino Delli Colli, or the astonishing score from the iconoclast Maestro Ennio Morricone. However, there is a deeper and more metaphysical beauty to this film, found in scattered and sporadic moments, which serve to be momentary escapes from the relentless depravity. The film is framed in four episodic segments, inspired by Dante’s Inferno, which lends it a gothic undercurrent that serves to be unsettling and spiritual. The core of this film is set in multiple philosophical works, with Roland Barthes, the Marquis de Sade (from whose eponymous book this film is mainly adapted) and Ezra Pound being the main inspirations. An academic more than an artist, Pasolini manages to resolve the divide between the philosophical and the visual, creating something harrowing, but also hopelessly beautiful, perhaps not necessarily aesthetically (the hideosity of this film can never be understated), but in how the film strives to find beauty in between the horror. There are moments of surprising tenderness throughout the film, not immediately evident – consider the juxtaposition between the countless acts of rape inflicted by the four antagonists, and the moment where a young soldier and a slave girl make passionate love. The mechanics are the same, but the acts could not be more different. We can consider the final moments of this film, where two young soldiers dance tenderly while innocent people are being slaughtered in horrifying ways just below them. I would not dare call Salò a beautiful film – rather, its a grotesque film with moments of genuine beauty scattered throughout, and some may consider these attempts by Pasolini to restore some sanity to the viewer, but I’d argue that these moments of tenderness do not break the tension – they only add to the horror, because it confirms that life is not only filled with suffering but rather that there is always some experiencing pleasure while others are enduring pain.

When we break it down to its core, Salò is a film made by a man who was both a tremendously talented artist and a socially-aware intellectual and academic. Pasolini was extremely aware of the nature of fascism, and in making Salò, he wasn’t trying to commit relentless debauchery to film without reason. Strangely enough, we can find some motivation into Pasolini’s intention, and the message conveyed in Salò is shockingly resonant. This is a film that takes a bold approach to look at the relationship between political power and carnality. Many films that look at fascism neglect to consider that there was an element of visceral desire present in these individuals – fascism is defined by visceral, brutal and almost animalistic lust for power and dominance. The President, the Duke, the Bishop and the Magistrate are not merely deranged individuals with a penchant for sodomy and sadomasochism (amongst other proclivities), but individuals who seek to assert their seemingly unimpeachable power on those they deem inferior – and in a modern context, this remains starkly and tragically resonant. Salò looks at the limits (or lack thereof) present within people who find themselves being drawn into the relentless lust for power, which often results in destruction of others, who become nothing more than objects, with sexuality being the most potent tool to assert dominance, mainly because it overlaps considerably with the concept of animalistic desire. It was alluded to previously, but it is not only the acts that make Salò so terrifying – it is what they represent. Taken on their own, these are horrifying actions. Compounded with the socio-political background and the philosophical underpinnings, this film becomes far more than just two hours of depravity – it is a complex, disconcerting and distressing piece, made all the more troubling by the fact that there is an element of truth in these horrifying actions.

When it came to assigning a score for Salò, I was conflicted. It took some introspection to determine what my actual response to this film was. I am still working through this experience, which must be akin to some form of minor trauma, and I can safely confirm that this is not a film I enjoyed in any way, and there are few films I will refuse to ever revisit as much as this one. It was brutal, horrifying and left me in a state of mortified shock. Yet, isn’t art supposed to elicit some reaction, and the more powerful it is, the better the work? If a comedy makes you laugh, surely it is a success, just in the same as if a tragedy evokes tears, then it has achieved its goal. Pasolini was attempting to terrify the audience, driving us into a state of genuine shock and provoking our morals just enough to leave an indelible impression. Whatever Pasolini was setting out to do with Salò, he did so exceptionally – and as much as I found this film utterly abominable and truly harrowing, its impossible to ignore the audacity that went into the making of it, and in a strange way, I admire Pasolini for making this film, because it is the mark of a great artist when they are able to successfully elicit some extreme emotion, whether rabid adoration or bitter contempt. An artist has only failed when their work results in complete ambivalence, and I doubt many have endured Salò and not exited it feeling provoked, shocked and terrified. Salò is an insightful film – but what it has insight into isn’t clear: into the depths of human depravity, the corruption of the soul manifesting in physical, mental and emotional torture, the relentless inescapability of lustful desire, the manipulation of power and the loss of innocence by malevolent forces existing in this world. What a despicable and extraordinary film Salò is.