Nothing can really prepare you for the jawdropping shock of this movie. It is in Italian, and if you chose to have no subtitles you would never suspect what these beautiful women are talking about. Italian is, after all, a romance language.
A film/script by Pier Paolo Pasolini, who apparently hated fascists so much he felt the need to depict them or the effect of the philosophy on his Italian culture in the most vile way possible. It is an art film, and thereby, it is a truth film. Bare. Honest. Disturbing.
I came away reminded that there are sadists in this world. There are people that get a sexual charge from another's pain. There are people that enjoy the torment and degradation of anything that is pure and beautiful.
In this film they eat shit and exalt in excrement.
This is a sad fact of life. Yet, it brings me to an appreciation of those that do not subscribe to this debasement. We should treasure ourselves and those around us that have soft and compassionate hearts. Love the one who cries. Love the one who is touched by kindness.
This is the antedote for our modern times. Love one another, and understand.
Here is a synopsis from IMDB: "Set in the Nazi-controlled, northern Italian state of Salo in 1944, four dignitaries round up sixteen perfect specimens of youth and take them together with guards, servants and studs to a palace near Marzabotto. In addition, there are four middle-aged women: three of whom recount arousing stories whilst the fourth accompanies on the piano. The story is largely taken up with their recounting the stories of Dante and De Sade: the Circle of Manias, the Circle of Shit and the Circle of Blood. Following this, the youths are executed whilst each libertine takes his turn as voyeur. Written by {andrewm@kbss.bt.co.uk} "
A woman in my station in life Is expected to carry herself With poise, deference, and quiet sophistication Yet, I scream in jubilant exaultation To the sound of jazz Drums beating at a rythmic pace Unstoppable only to an atom bomb
Bloomers exposed Sweat peeling off Skin twitching to the love of the sound
The soul rich luster of a bass Mixed strains of saxophone grace A memory of Mingus, Basie, and Waits In a little train station Time to waste Listening to a chug A screech A scream from the pit Of all that is What we were formed from Masses of cells Globs of mud With the face of the Virgin Mary
Under my high neck lace gown Longs to burst the flagrant clown An indian A squaw The earth Under and over all the words The blood The blood pulses down.
Stir the tea Sit back with thee A pillow for your head, my dear.
Thrilled I was to meet someone new A young man With time to sit with me Over beer and alchemy Over smoke and flirtation Me, an aged one Invisible or clear An empty vessel to pour in Whatever the fancy
He said he had to be nice these days Unlike what he had been before A surly clerk Rewarded for sarcasm Now chained to a corporate master He must speak only in platitudes To customers To consumers of his product An espresso drink I empathize How hard it must be How hard It must be.
Muscles of new strength Cannot be only for the young We all like to flex our tongues To lick the fortune of our own True reflections.
And, when have I sold out When have I not sold out For a check For payment on my existence For my very life?
Tonight, I walked down the old boulevard carefully placing each foot on the gritty sidewalk that has been our friend for more than twenty years looking up to the building of Tiffany & Co, jewelers to the statosphere not the shabby storefront that once held a romantic and dark place to steal a kiss and a cigarette
Things change and improvement comes what once was a place to dive wallow in loneliness is now a glittering icon of bliss with no public bathrooms
Ohm me
A shy child that was transformed by a thriftshop dress nourished by a stable horse fed by a barkeep's soft concern for a wayward waif who's parents frightened her away who's hometown never loved her in return who's life is fragile yet seemingly impossible to extinguish
Ohm me
The sweet smell of old beer dust gathers in the corners of her mouth choked by memories like a zombie remembering a love that has never come again and the sun that sets in an orange and purple sky ornate and sculptured is the greatest jewel ever created
