Salò (The 120 Days of Sodom) (NR) 1975
Italian with English subtitles
So here's the thing.
I want to tell you about this film. I want to impress on you how deranged it is. I want to make you aware that even after watching three-thousand, four-hundred and ninety-seven other movies over the course of your lifetime (give or take) you will never forget the feeling you had after watching this hate-infested cesspool. And yet, paradoxically, I also believe the entire plot of Pier Paolo Pasolini's Salò can be summed up in one word:
OHMYFREAKIN'GODWHATTHEHELL!
Yep, that pretty much covers it.
But for those members of the readership who enjoy this blog for its humorous asides and hysterically funny commentary (a.k.a. "Mom"), I will go on.
Salò is a horror in the truest sense of the word. A reworking of the Marquis de Sade's 120 Days of Sodom, it tells the tale of four high ranking Italian fascists and the 20 kidnapped teens they sexually and physically abuse for their own personal enjoyment. It is divided into three parts, each disgusting in its own unique way. However, describing the actual horrors that appear onscreen would be a disservice to the viewer, because like Lady Gaga's meat dress, the impact of the movie lies in its shock value.
And there's the rub. (It's interesting that no one knows what a rub is but we all know where it is. Just saying.) This is a movie that begs to be discussed. But those who haven't seen it probably shouldn't talk about it, and those who have probably don't want to.
Ever.
All I can say is that Salò is a cancerous ulcer that feeds on the soul. (I believe this is where Lenny and Squiggy would burst in and say hello.) Other movies may have a scene or two that cause the viewer to tremble in their tutus, but Salò is a 145 minute nonstop assault on the human psyche. It is a complete onslaught of the senses including taste and smell (trust me on this one). My dwindling discerning audience knows that I've seen a lot of jaw dropping films. But folks, even days after enduring this vile movie my eyes won't stop watering and I feel like I have to scratch myself to keep the bugs away.
Don't get me wrong. Salò is a pretty bad movie. Considered an art house classic by some and stringent political commentary by others, it nonetheless sucks the hind tit (no pun intended). It is wholly deserving of its two-star BSC ranking based on the plot and pacing alone. Much like Cannibal Holocaust, it's a film that is infamous despite its story, not because of it.
But like taking a trip to Amish country or listening to a Meghan Trainor song, you don't have to enjoy Salò to appreciate it. The experience itself is enough.
And so with that in mind, let me give you one piece of advice before wrapping up yet another completely cryptic and uninformative movie review.
Do yourself a favor.
Forget the popcorn.
You'll thank me later.
So here's the thing.
I want to tell you about this film. I want to impress on you how deranged it is. I want to make you aware that even after watching three-thousand, four-hundred and ninety-seven other movies over the course of your lifetime (give or take) you will never forget the feeling you had after watching this hate-infested cesspool. And yet, paradoxically, I also believe the entire plot of Pier Paolo Pasolini's Salò can be summed up in one word:
OHMYFREAKIN'GODWHATTHEHELL!
Yep, that pretty much covers it.
But for those members of the readership who enjoy this blog for its humorous asides and hysterically funny commentary (a.k.a. "Mom"), I will go on.
Salò is a horror in the truest sense of the word. A reworking of the Marquis de Sade's 120 Days of Sodom, it tells the tale of four high ranking Italian fascists and the 20 kidnapped teens they sexually and physically abuse for their own personal enjoyment. It is divided into three parts, each disgusting in its own unique way. However, describing the actual horrors that appear onscreen would be a disservice to the viewer, because like Lady Gaga's meat dress, the impact of the movie lies in its shock value.
And there's the rub. (It's interesting that no one knows what a rub is but we all know where it is. Just saying.) This is a movie that begs to be discussed. But those who haven't seen it probably shouldn't talk about it, and those who have probably don't want to.
Ever.
All I can say is that Salò is a cancerous ulcer that feeds on the soul. (I believe this is where Lenny and Squiggy would burst in and say hello.) Other movies may have a scene or two that cause the viewer to tremble in their tutus, but Salò is a 145 minute nonstop assault on the human psyche. It is a complete onslaught of the senses including taste and smell (trust me on this one). My Don't get me wrong. Salò is a pretty bad movie. Considered an art house classic by some and stringent political commentary by others, it nonetheless sucks the hind tit (no pun intended). It is wholly deserving of its two-star BSC ranking based on the plot and pacing alone. Much like Cannibal Holocaust, it's a film that is infamous despite its story, not because of it.
But like taking a trip to Amish country or listening to a Meghan Trainor song, you don't have to enjoy Salò to appreciate it. The experience itself is enough.
And so with that in mind, let me give you one piece of advice before wrapping up yet another completely cryptic and uninformative movie review.
Do yourself a favor.
Forget the popcorn.
You'll thank me later.
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