I approached Saló, or the 120 Days of Sodom with a certain level of curiosity, particularly because of its historical setting in the final years of World War II, a period I find compelling. The film's connection to Salò, the capital of Mussolini's Republic of Social Italy, initially intrigued me, promising a narrative rooted in one of history's most turbulent moments. However, what I encountered was far from an exploration of that era. Instead, Pasolini's Saló comes across as a purely symbolic and overly intellectual exercise, failing to engage meaningfully with the historical context it supposedly inhabits.
Technically, the film is well-constructed, but its craft feels hollow. The aesthetic choices-sparse, rigid compositions, static camera work, and the muted color palette-while undoubtedly intentional, create a cold, detached atmosphere. The environments, with their meticulously designed yet barren sets, emphasize the dehumanization of the characters. However, this visual sterility mirrors the emotional experience of watching the film: a monotonous, almost robotic progression of events that fails to sustain any real narrative tension.
Pasolini's direction feels more like a lecture than a cinematic experience. The film is densely packed with cultural and philosophical references, from the works of the Marquis de Sade to Dante, but rather than serving the story, they come across as intellectual flourishes. It's as if Pasolini is more concerned with demonstrating his vast knowledge than delivering a compelling narrative. This over-reliance on citation and symbolism gives the film a self-indulgent quality, one that distances the audience rather than drawing them in.
On an acting level, the performances are deliberately detached and mechanical, perhaps reflecting the themes of power and dehumanization. The libertines, representing fascist authority, perform with cold precision, but their lack of emotional range makes it difficult to connect with any character on a human level. The victims, in turn, seem to exist only to be subjected to horror after horror, their performances flat and largely devoid of agency. There's no real dramatic arc, no rise or fall in emotional intensity; instead, it's a relentless cycle of cruelty that lacks the necessary variation to maintain engagement.
Furthermore, the film's use of historical references feels shallow, almost exploitative. By situating the story in Salò and referencing Mussolini's regime, Pasolini seems to invoke the horrors of fascism as a convenient backdrop for his allegorical exploration of power and corruption. But the film never truly grapples with the complexities of that period. It reduces history to a mere pretext for its moral and philosophical posturing, which ultimately feels demagogic. If the aim was to draw parallels between fascist Italy and modern forms of power, the execution is heavy-handed and lacks the nuance needed for such a connection to resonate.
In the end, while I can appreciate the technical craftsmanship and the intellectual ambition behind Saló, the film fails to deliver a truly cinematic experience. Its lack of narrative tension, the monotonous structure, and the disconnection between its historical setting and its abstract themes make it feel more like a cerebral exercise than a necessary film. If the aim was to create an experience of deliberate boredom to reflect the horrors of power, then it succeeds. But in my view, a film that relies on making its audience disengage for the sake of a message ultimately undermines its own effectiveness. Simply put, Saló feels like a showcase of Pasolini's intellect rather than a compelling piece of cinema.
Technically, the film is well-constructed, but its craft feels hollow. The aesthetic choices-sparse, rigid compositions, static camera work, and the muted color palette-while undoubtedly intentional, create a cold, detached atmosphere. The environments, with their meticulously designed yet barren sets, emphasize the dehumanization of the characters. However, this visual sterility mirrors the emotional experience of watching the film: a monotonous, almost robotic progression of events that fails to sustain any real narrative tension.
Pasolini's direction feels more like a lecture than a cinematic experience. The film is densely packed with cultural and philosophical references, from the works of the Marquis de Sade to Dante, but rather than serving the story, they come across as intellectual flourishes. It's as if Pasolini is more concerned with demonstrating his vast knowledge than delivering a compelling narrative. This over-reliance on citation and symbolism gives the film a self-indulgent quality, one that distances the audience rather than drawing them in.
On an acting level, the performances are deliberately detached and mechanical, perhaps reflecting the themes of power and dehumanization. The libertines, representing fascist authority, perform with cold precision, but their lack of emotional range makes it difficult to connect with any character on a human level. The victims, in turn, seem to exist only to be subjected to horror after horror, their performances flat and largely devoid of agency. There's no real dramatic arc, no rise or fall in emotional intensity; instead, it's a relentless cycle of cruelty that lacks the necessary variation to maintain engagement.
Furthermore, the film's use of historical references feels shallow, almost exploitative. By situating the story in Salò and referencing Mussolini's regime, Pasolini seems to invoke the horrors of fascism as a convenient backdrop for his allegorical exploration of power and corruption. But the film never truly grapples with the complexities of that period. It reduces history to a mere pretext for its moral and philosophical posturing, which ultimately feels demagogic. If the aim was to draw parallels between fascist Italy and modern forms of power, the execution is heavy-handed and lacks the nuance needed for such a connection to resonate.
In the end, while I can appreciate the technical craftsmanship and the intellectual ambition behind Saló, the film fails to deliver a truly cinematic experience. Its lack of narrative tension, the monotonous structure, and the disconnection between its historical setting and its abstract themes make it feel more like a cerebral exercise than a necessary film. If the aim was to create an experience of deliberate boredom to reflect the horrors of power, then it succeeds. But in my view, a film that relies on making its audience disengage for the sake of a message ultimately undermines its own effectiveness. Simply put, Saló feels like a showcase of Pasolini's intellect rather than a compelling piece of cinema.
Tell Your Friends