Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom
If there is one core tenet of evil, it is the destruction of innocence through the perversion of all that is good. Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom is a graphic horror movie adapted from the novel by the Marquis de Sade and set in fascist Italy at the height of World War II. A collective of depraved politicians, clergymen, and the filthy rich exploit their positions of power and kidnap nine young men and nine young women. They hold them captive at a private villa removed from civilization, where they indulge in the most grotesque and sinister fantasies ever imagined in an unholy celebration of evil.
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There are few movies like Pier Paolo Pasolini's Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom which are deliberately constructed to outrage or offend the sensibilities of the audience--not even the works of cinematic provocateurs like Lars von Trier or Alejandro Jodorowsky. Crafted over forty years ago, the film remains a challenge for even those with the strongest of stomachs for graphic content to endure; this raises the question about its importance to the film's message. Through its two hours of shocking content, Salò explores no less than the nature of power and whether mankind is inherently evil. Setting Salò during World War II is no arbitrary choice--this is the same period in history that allowed the Holocaust and related atrocities to transpire across Europe and abroad. The question lingers as to how these dozen and a half youths could have been taken from their homes and declared dead before they would be turned into the fetishistic playthings of despots and tyrants. The unsettling answer is the same as why real-world monsters like the Nazis were able to thrive--because we let them; history shows how we turned a blind eye to the depravity. Pasolini's unsubtle critique of his homeland during the reign of the fascist puppet state from which he draws his film's title is deliberate and uncompromising. This cynical--even nihilistic--sampling from the terroir in which the flowers of evil flourished incriminates not just those who did nothing to stop the forces of darkness from leading their youths from their villages at gunpoint, it also points the finger at the audience. Salò demands that the audience understand that the evil depicted may seem extreme, but one need only take a tour of the Holocaust Museum to see the appalling evidence of one of the darkest periods in recent history.
Despite its graphic depictions of virtually every kind of perversion and deviance, Salò is a satire of political excess and entitlement. The vile inner circle of slavemasters are portrayed as the power elite--they are dressed in tailored suits and resemble the confident and assured leaders of the world. They enter a pact at the start of Salò--as though it were a summit between these titans of industry and government, signing treaties before their forces goosestep through villages and kick in doors to collect the victims for their brutal anathema against human dignity. To look at these men, one would not think that they would be the kind to engage in the unrepeatable acts that they derive so much pleasure from. (The women who accompany them share stomach-churning stories of deviant sexual experiences to whet the men's foul appetites.) The question becomes whether they were always this way, or like the old saying goes, "power corrupts"--and they are certainly corrupt. Even worse, they actively embrace evil, worshiping everything horrible from untenable humiliation to torture and murder. Salò wisely never offers an iota of empathy for them, and instead judges them by their sordid acts as demons dwelling in the circles of Hell from Dante Alighieri's "Inferno"; Salò draws inspiration in the naming of its increasingly gruesome chapter breaks from the epic poem. These monstrous rulers are bad enough, but Salò explores how such an environment can cause some of their victims to become collaborators in their sick schemes, becoming acclimated to their twisted desires. The tyrants impose cruel rules and inflict terrible punishments on those that would break them--or those who they just want to hurt to sate their sadistic pleasures. That they participate at all under increasingly detestable parameters is a metaphor for how much we tolerate from our leaders--what freedoms have been curtailed, or what kinds of indignities we suffer by those in power who consider us no better than slaves.
A less comforting interpretation to power being the corrupting influence in Salò is that deep down--as the wicked men and women officiating this carnival of carnage purport--human beings are evil, and wickedness knows no bounds when allowed to run rampant. One of the politicians who sets down the rules says that any mention of religion is punishable by death; in other words, he wants no opportunities for their immortal souls to be saved when their bodies ultimately expire. This is a common tactic for despots; they break the will of their subjects by depriving them the hope of salvation. Their petty paranoia is so consuming, that any power greater than their own poses a threat to them--they demand absolute dominion over their slaves. Faith is the shield against the darkness of worldliness that spreads like a cancer in the hearts of human beings. To believe is to be "saved", granting their victims immunity to their vile legacy and from transforming them into the successors of their evil camaraderie.
Recommended for: Fans of an unsettling and shocking depiction of unfettered evil and the perversity that follows unchecked power. Salò proposes that no matter how collected or--in spite of--how wealthy someone may appear on the outside, there are those whose hearts are as black as coal and desire nothing more than to spread their vile and cancerous darkness to fuel their own corrupt urges.
Despite its graphic depictions of virtually every kind of perversion and deviance, Salò is a satire of political excess and entitlement. The vile inner circle of slavemasters are portrayed as the power elite--they are dressed in tailored suits and resemble the confident and assured leaders of the world. They enter a pact at the start of Salò--as though it were a summit between these titans of industry and government, signing treaties before their forces goosestep through villages and kick in doors to collect the victims for their brutal anathema against human dignity. To look at these men, one would not think that they would be the kind to engage in the unrepeatable acts that they derive so much pleasure from. (The women who accompany them share stomach-churning stories of deviant sexual experiences to whet the men's foul appetites.) The question becomes whether they were always this way, or like the old saying goes, "power corrupts"--and they are certainly corrupt. Even worse, they actively embrace evil, worshiping everything horrible from untenable humiliation to torture and murder. Salò wisely never offers an iota of empathy for them, and instead judges them by their sordid acts as demons dwelling in the circles of Hell from Dante Alighieri's "Inferno"; Salò draws inspiration in the naming of its increasingly gruesome chapter breaks from the epic poem. These monstrous rulers are bad enough, but Salò explores how such an environment can cause some of their victims to become collaborators in their sick schemes, becoming acclimated to their twisted desires. The tyrants impose cruel rules and inflict terrible punishments on those that would break them--or those who they just want to hurt to sate their sadistic pleasures. That they participate at all under increasingly detestable parameters is a metaphor for how much we tolerate from our leaders--what freedoms have been curtailed, or what kinds of indignities we suffer by those in power who consider us no better than slaves.
A less comforting interpretation to power being the corrupting influence in Salò is that deep down--as the wicked men and women officiating this carnival of carnage purport--human beings are evil, and wickedness knows no bounds when allowed to run rampant. One of the politicians who sets down the rules says that any mention of religion is punishable by death; in other words, he wants no opportunities for their immortal souls to be saved when their bodies ultimately expire. This is a common tactic for despots; they break the will of their subjects by depriving them the hope of salvation. Their petty paranoia is so consuming, that any power greater than their own poses a threat to them--they demand absolute dominion over their slaves. Faith is the shield against the darkness of worldliness that spreads like a cancer in the hearts of human beings. To believe is to be "saved", granting their victims immunity to their vile legacy and from transforming them into the successors of their evil camaraderie.
Recommended for: Fans of an unsettling and shocking depiction of unfettered evil and the perversity that follows unchecked power. Salò proposes that no matter how collected or--in spite of--how wealthy someone may appear on the outside, there are those whose hearts are as black as coal and desire nothing more than to spread their vile and cancerous darkness to fuel their own corrupt urges.