I watch a lot of films. Anyone who knows me can tell you, I watch an inordinate amount of cinema. There are quite a few that I love, plenty that I don’t, and many stick with me for a long time. Then, there is Pier Paolo Pasolini’s Saló o le 120 giornate di Sodoma- Saló, or the 120 Days of Sodom.
Saló is truly something unique, different. I could say that I love the film, but how exactly does one love a film of this sort? I could say I hate it, but that just would not be true. It has been days since I watched it, and I have watched plenty of other movies since then. But I cannot get Saló out of my head. Since even the film-literate friends I have may never have heard of this work, I digress. I must first tell you what it is, exactly…
In the year 1785 AD, Donatien Alphonse Françios Marquis de Sade wrote a short literary opus of libertinism called The 120 Days of Sodom. For those who do not know, the Marquis de Sade was a libertine, which is to say that he philosophically freed himself of any sort of morality except that which satisfied his own whims and desires. In the 18th Century, being a libertine was considered a philosophical choice. Today, we might simply call it being drastically narcissistic.
The 120 Days of Sodom was his ‘masterpiece’. It centers around four libertines who imprison 18 youths (9 male, 9 female) and proceed to subject them to 120 days of debasement, torture, humiliation, and deviant sexuality. This literary work has been revered, vilified, praised, censored, and banned. In the early 1970’s, during a time when Pasolini was disillusioned with the success of his previous works, he decided to adapt de Sade’s literary opus for the big screen, with goal to make a film so ‘indigestible’ that it could never be identified with what he called the “consumerist repression” of the neo-capitalism that taken over Italy.
Pasolini made two major changes to the story, however. Most notably, he moved the setting of these terrible events from 18th Century France to 1944 Fascist Italy, in the Republic of Saló- the last stronghold of Benito Mussolini’s regime in the final months of World War II. The second major change was to reorganize the story into three separate acts based on different circles of hell from Dante’s Inferno- Il Cerchio di Ossessioni, Il Cerchio di Merda, and Il Cerchio di Sangue.
The film was released in 1976, shortly after Pasolini was murdered under still mysterious circumstances. It seemed only fitting for the man who created this masterpiece of debauchery to meet his end so theatrically. Roman papers ran spreads with pictures of his corpse on the front page, and with that, Saló was catapulted into history.
Without saying too much about the films content, I wish to convey my own feelings on the matter. How does one deal with a film that depicts such humiliation and yet presents itself as a work of high art? Indeed Saló is a work of art- one that depicts rape, coprophagia, torture, murder, deviancy, and a horrific sense of detachment, but a work of art nonetheless. I have rolled the images of the film around in my head for days and I cannot expunge it. It just goes to show that some things, once seen, are impossible to be unseen. The only thing one can do is learn how to process it, understand it, deal with it, and yes, even appreciate it. But how can one appreciate a film like Saló? A film that goes out of its way to offend every sensibility we as decent human beings are supposed to have? Especially when to offend is the very goal of the film’s existence. Is there any redemption to be found at all?
Some may be tempted to label Saló, or the 120 Days of Sodom as a horror film. But that could not be farther from the truth. Horror films seek to exploit violence and sex in order to titillate, scare, and thrill the audience. The entire purpose of a horror film is to be a roller coaster ride of adrenaline in not much more than 90 minutes. Indeed, Saló does have some of the trademarks of the exploitation films of the 70’s- extreme violence, sex, etc. But in exploitation, horror, and the like, there is always a tone of… fun. A wink-wink at the audience in the form of campy humor, likeable characters, and a main character to root for. Saló has none of these things.
The tone of the film is one of cool detachment. We are invited neither to care for the victims, nor root for their triumph. The obvious answer to this might be that we are presented the story from the point of view of the four libertines who are committing these atrocities with the help of their nazi soldiers. But that is not quite it. The libertines are committing their sins with the goal of self-satisfaction. But we feel no pleasure in what they do. We don’t feel anything. The attitude of the film is cold, calculating, and removed. We, as the audience, are introduced to the proceedings from an outside point of view. Pasolini has turned us into the worst kind of audience- the voyeur. We watch the evil, and do nothing about it. We cannot sympathize with the victims, nor laugh with the oppressors. We watch without emotion. In presenting the story this way, Pasolini has made us accomplices to the crimes. And from that, stems the revulsion one feels in watching the film. Not revulsion with the acts committed onscreen, but revulsion with one’s self for letting it happen.
This is to say nothing of the political message of the film. I have mentioned that Saló, or the 120 Days of Sodom manages to offend every human sensibility, and it certainly does. Pier Paolo Pasolini was a devout Marxist. Not a communist, but a Marxist. He believed that even affiliating with established politics such as communism was antithetical to his goal of being a true Marxist. As such, Saló is also a scathing attack on established order and rule. The libertines do not have names, but titles representing four different facets of the ruling class: The Duke, the Bishop, the Magistrate, and the President. With that, Pasolini places the responsibility for the evil squarely on the shoulders of the royalty, the church, the law enforcement, and the business of capitalism. Everything the modern world holds dear to their hearts and minds.
For the entire duration of the film, we as the audience wait for some sort of salvation, redemption from the tortures we are witnessing. When we finally see that there is no deliverance to be had, that is when we give in, and begin to rationalize. The end of the film comes with each of the poor imprisoned souls being executed in a courtyard, and the four libertines each take turns watching from the palace with binoculars. They are voyeurs, just like us. As humans, we feel that the only way out of the painful guilt we now harbor is to rationalize. We are not like them, they are monsters. They are cruel, inhuman creatures who feel nothing at all. And so we force our further detachment as we watch the senselessness of it all to the haunting strains of “Veris leta facies” (The Joyous Face of Spring), movement 3 of Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana. We believe at this point that we can deal with the evil. That we are not part of it, we cannot be. We are incapable. Then, Pasolini throws one last punch. The music changes to a happy big band tune, and two of the guards dance with each other.
“What is your girlfriend’s name?” one asks.
“Margherite,” the other replies.
Suddenly, we realize that there is no difference. As the credits roll, we realize that we are just as guilty, just as complicit in the evil. We must liberate ourselves from the guilt.
That is why Saló, or the 120 Days of Sodom is art.
No comments:
Post a Comment