Jerome Reuter, Author at Diabolique Magazine

“Maybe I’m wrong, but I’ll keep saying we’re all in danger.” The words spoken by Pier Paolo Pasolini in his final interview seem prophetic considering their circumstances. A few hours later he would be dead, run over multiple times by his own automobile. “We’re all in danger...” Coming from a director who had challenged social class, sexuality, and religion, they came across as a stern warning. At the time of the interview in question, he had recently finished work on what would be his final film, Salò o le 120 giornate di Sodoma (Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom, 1975). As one of the most controversial works of art ever created, it’s fitting that Pasolini’s final contribution to a world-changing in drastic ways would be so abrasive. Dismissed by some as filth, with feminist author Andrea Dworkin claiming it made her physically ill, there are others who look past its shocking exterior. The magnum opus provides an unrestrained commentary on fascism, consumerism, subjugation, and the hypocrisy of those who hold positions of leadership. To fully understand the film, one should start at its source material, written by the Marquis de Sade. To the average person, the authors’ name conjures up thoughts of sexual sadism, perversion, and unrestrained debauchery. While his words have carried a stigma with them since they were first put to parchment, there’s more to the man and his writing. Much like the film he inspired, those who simply dismiss them as just being vile and pornographic without considering their other attributes are normally purveyors of lazy thinking. If anything, de Sade held a mirror to a world less civilized than it claimed to be. In his characters Juliette and Justine in particular, he formed a complex study of human nature, one that’s resonated throughout popular culture to this very day. While imprisoned in the Bastille, de Sade set out to write what he described as the “most impure tale ever written.” The result of this effort was Les 120 Journées de Sodome ou l'école du libertinage (The 120 Days of Sodom, or the School of Libertinage). One of the definitive works on libertinage that reflects the corrupt nature of the ruling class he was born into, its since gone on to be honored as a national treasure of France. The story, in which four libertines, a Bishop, Magistrate, Duke, and Judge retreat to a villa secluded in the Black Forest with 18 adolescent children, remains almost unrivaled in its depravity. Within the estate, victims are forced to take part in the libertines’ self-gratifying desires. “The four friends” as they refer to themselves are the physical embodiments of religion, law, and justice. The hypocrisy possessed by the so-called beacons of morality and power is what lies beneath the lecherous deeds of the text. From its opening pages, de Sade strips down the barrier separating the reader and the book, going so far as to address his audience as ‘friend reader.’ This unique aspect wasn’t lost on Pasolini, who continually makes the viewer complicit with the scenarios that play out within the film, and continually forces a perspective from the libertines’ point of view. By transporting the tale of impurity to Italy (circa 1944), a portrait that depicts fascism in all its wretchedness is thoroughly presented. He also makes a case for the dangers of consumerism, which had risen during the post-war era. Establishing a correlation between fascism and libertinage, Salò provides an expose on the abuse and hypocrisy of power that’s existed throughout time. Despite the similarities between war-torn Italy and Libertine-era France, there’s a difference between the respective artists that can’t be ignored. As writers and thinkers, Pasolini and de Sade couldn’t have been more different from one another. While both were unique in philosophical thought and creative output, their upbringing and outlook on the world were about as comparable as night and day. Pasolini had been born into poverty and had continually expressed an idea of ‘poverty not misery’ in his work. He despised television and what he described as conventional culture. As someone who had witnessed the oppression of fascism, he saw a degeneration emerging from the economic boom that had followed the Second World War. In contrast, de Sade had been born into the wealth and privilege of the French aristocracy. From an early age, he had witnessed the hypocrisy of the clergy and the depravity in which many of the upper classes engaged in. He would separate himself from his religious upbringing through his work and behavior, even going so far as to describe himself as ‘atheist to the point of fanaticism.’ Despite their differences, Pasolini honors the spirit of de Sade’s source material and offers a glimpse into a world that’s rotten to the very core. Aside from an adaptation of de Sade’s text, Salò is told through a narrative inspired by The Inferno, written by Dante Alighieri. As the first installment of what’s known as The Divine Comedy, Dante’s piece, although from a different time period than de Sade and Pasolini, contains imagery of degeneration and suffering that coincide with the directors’ artistic vision. The Inferno depicts the nine circles of Hell and divine punishment reserved for “…those who have rejected spiritual values by yielding to bestial appetites or violence, or by perverting their human intellect to fraud or malice against their fellowmen…” With each particular segment of the film inspired by one of Dante’s circles, the audience is plunged into a gradual descent, as the behavior of the libertines degenerates with the assistance of storytelling from a group of courtesans. The juxtaposition of Dante’s seminal work coincides with the indictment of fascism and seems appropriate considering how the parable of Christ was utilized by Pasolini to explore Marxism in Il vangelo secondo Matteo (The Gospel According to St. Matthew, 1964). The biblical epic provides another example of the stark contrast between him and de Sade, especially when one takes into consideration the writers' devout atheism as opposed to Pasolini’s strained relationship with Catholicism. As Salò progresses, we find ourselves becoming complicit with the actions of madmen who have complete control over their subjects. As the first installment in what was to be a “Trilogy of Death”, left incomplete due to Pasolini’s murder, the previous works of the director are acknowledged, yet there exists a departure from the artistic vision commonly associated with his body of work. The film is a stark contrast from his previous efforts in the Trilogy of life. (Three films consisting of Il Decameron (The Decameron,1971) I racconti di Canterbury (The Canterbury Tales, 1972) and Il fiore delle Mille e una Notte (The Arabian Nights,1974.) The vibrant colors have been replaced with drab tones, which seem to indicate the bleak subject matter he’s addressing. The whimsical and lighthearted method of erotic storytelling is also gone. Pasolini’s use of sexuality is cold, distant, and stripped bare of its titillating elements. The human body is reduced to a commodity that exists solely to provide for the governing body of the libertines. Salo begins with a meeting of the four libertines, which establishes a ruling party and its laws that will become central to the film. The surrounding landscapes establish a world in which impurity is about to occur. It’s in this setting where we as the audience bear witness to the mechanics of victims being procured for the libertines. While one child is abducted after attempting to escape on a bicycle, one is seen willingly going into captivity, reassuring family members not to worry about him. As the libertines examine the children for their sordid pleasures, we’re shown their perspective of the human body as a commodity. In Teorema (Theorem, 1968), Pasolini had introduced a motif of undressing to illustrate liberation from the sheltered complacency that exists within the ruling class. In Salò, a similar motif exists in the form of the mirror, which establishes itself in the first act. This object comes to play an important role throughout the film as an indictment of the artists’ own countrymen. The mirror shows that this is a film that forces inner reflection, looking back to the past as a warning, and holding Italy accountable for their actions from years gone by. Before the audience journeys into the Circle of Manias (the first of three Dante-esque levels contained in the film), the setting that will contain cruelty is introduced. The estate, named Silling in de Sade’s text, ultimately takes the form of a self-contained fascist country. With the libertines assuming the form of a governing body, and a small troupe of guards to serve as its army, the rules in which it’s governed by are enforced in the strictest ways possible. From this point forward, we descend into the inferno. As Dante mentioned in his book, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” The Circle of Manias is where indoctrination and subjugation are thoroughly introduced into the film. Any regime that subscribes to an extreme ideology must instill its values and beliefs in the younger generation to ensure that they’re maintained. An example of a regime indoctrinating its subjects for their own benefits is illustrated in a scene where two children are taught to masturbate and forced to take part in a wedding ceremony. Mirroring the pomp and ceremony found in fascism, the wedding soon gives way to the children being forced to fondle one another but halted by the libertines before they can fully consummate their union. Much of this scenario is shown from the perspective of the libertines, thus forcing the audience to witness the whole spectacle from their point of view. Once again, the mirror makes itself known in a scene that’s indicative of how an oppressive government treats its subjects. As the children are forced to act like dogs, begging for food and groveling like...