Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom

Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom

1975

Director: Pier Paolo Pasolini

Starring: the most uncomfortable two hours of my life.

My usual modus operandi for writing these little blog pieces is as follows:

1. Watch the film in question, giving it my full attention, and thinking critically about what I can say about it as I watch it.

2. When I feel ready to write about the film, be it immediately following the viewing of the film or a few days later, put the film on for a second time and have it on in the background while I write so as to remind me of scenes/moments/thoughts I want to comment on.

I shall not be holding to this strategy for today’s film, and the reputation of the film in question is more than enough to tell you why.

The story unfolds in 1944 Fascist Italy, where several powerful men, accompanied by some aging female prostitutes and young men that they have decided are their guards, kidnap eighteen young teenagers and take them to an estate.  What then proceeds is a non-stop sadistic (fitting, as it was based on a story originally penned by the Marquis de Sade) horror story, as pain, rape, humiliation, and eventually torture and murder are in store for the unfortunate teenagers.

Ladies and gentlemen, I wear it as a fucking badge of honor that the one and only time I saw this film was in a theater.

Why?  Well, back when I was borderline obsessed with getting through the 1001 Movies list, Salo was unavailable on DVD.  Or VHS.  Nowhere could one find a copy of it at a reasonable price, and I wasn’t about to pay two hundred bucks for an out of print laser disc copy from ebay.  Turner Classic would hardly air this film. 

And then the Dryden, as it always does, came to the “rescue.”  In the summer of 2007, they had a screening of Salo.  What was slightly unusual about the screening is that the Dryden took greater pains than normal to warn the audience about the nature of this film, and had a strict “No one under 18 admitted” policy.

So, because Salo graces the pages of 1001 Movies and I had no other options, I traipsed out to watch a film I knew would horrify me.  Fantastic.

The Dryden is not an enormous theater.  It seats 500 and has two sections, an orchestra section and a balcony.  The screen itself is moderately sized; it’s not a giant screen in the slightest.  I mention this because I nearly always choose to sit in the orchestra section to feel closer to the film.  Because the screen isn’t enormous, if I sit in the balcony, I feel too far-removed from the film to have that immersive movie theater experience. 

Although I hadn’t seen Salo before that night, I knew its reputation and before I sat in my normal spot (back row center orchestra), I paused.

Did I *really* want to be close to THIS particular film?

No.

Balcony it was.

I physically distanced myself from this film before I had even seen it, and god, I’m glad I did. 

What do I remember of Salo?  I remember sitting in that darkened movie theater and cringing.  Physically cringing.  I didn’t go quite so far as to put my hands in front of my eyes, but I did start pulling a turtle and trying to hide myself in my hoodie, my body curling in on itself as a defense mechanism.  I grimaced, I tried to turn away, and then it eventually became a question of simply making it through the movie.

I remember never having felt so goddamn uncomfortable while watching a movie.  This was a level of discomfort that no war movie, no bizarre experimental film, and no film that has anything to do with pets (all of which are my least favorite kinds of movies) had ever put me through. 

I remember it finishing, the lights coming back on, and thinking, “Thank god.  Time to get the fuck out of here.”

I do not remember the exact plot, and I’m fine with that.  I do not remember all the details of all the scenes of sexual humiliation, and I’m fine with that.  I do not remember character’s names, and I’m fine with that.

I am perfectly fine with never seeing this movie again.  Ever. 

Hell, even reading a detailed description of the plot on Wikipedia was too much for me, and I wound up only skimming it. 

I mean, what else am I supposed to say about a movie where a girl is punished for crying by being made to eat human poo? 

The other film I think of when I think about films dealing with humiliation is John Waters’ Pink Flamingos.  That’s another film that I don’t enjoy, but I’ll say give me Pink Flamingos over Salo any day of the week.  At least Pink Flamingos is rife with camp and tongue-in-cheek attitude that lessens the feeling of horror.  Sure, it’s obnoxious, but at least it has an intent of comic outrageousness, and that coats the humiliation just a bit, making it easier to get through.

Pasolini is so damned unapologetic about what he puts up there on the screen in Salo that it feels as if he is purposely torturing the audience as well as the cast of characters.  There is no attempt on his part to “make it go down easier.”  Nope, he’s saying, this material is hard, and I’ll be danged if I make it easier for you.

Salo is getting a low score for me, but I’m not giving it the lowest possible score, and here’s where, oddly enough, I feel like I need to explain why.  (Funny, me explaining why it won’t actually get a one out of ten.)  Because, as repugnant a film as it is, I don’t feel as though it’s repugnant just for funsies or by accident.  There is intent here, and there is anger here, and there is passion here.  Underneath all the horrible scenes set to film in Salo, Pasolini has a message about corruption and power and perversion.  It’s not pretty to sit through, but it’s undeniably there.  What’s more, it’s well-constructed film.  Awful, yes, but Pasolini knew what he was doing in terms of cinematography.  There’s a reason that this is called “an art film,” because it honestly looks like art.  Sometimes horrible, horrible art, but art nonetheless.  So I must give Pasolini his due and admit to Salo, despite its awfulness, is well-imagined awful and made with the intent of being awful and with purpose.  (I’m giving the side-eye to films like Vinyl which seem to have absolutely no intent whatsoever here…)

I mean, if nothing else, I can appreciate that the above shot is pretty. 

Did I have to see Salo before I died?  I’m not sure.  Frankly, given the enormous reputation of the film in film circles and the immediate reaction the film gets whenever anyone brings it up in any conversation, I begrudgingly admit to being glad I’ve seen it, if for no other reason than I can meaningfully participate in said conversations.  Do I need to see Salo again before I die?  HELL NO.

Once was more than enough.

Arbitrary Rating: 2/10.

Jaws

Jaws

1975

Director: Steven Spielberg

Starring: Roy Scheider, Richard Dreyfuss, Robert Shaw

I think there is a distinct gap between the public’s impression of Jaws and what the film actually is.  The general impression of Jaws is that it’s a horror film about a monster rampaging shark.  While I would never wholly disagree with this statement, if that is all you want from Jaws, you will probably be rather bored for most of the movie.  In reality, this is a film that defies classification, offering up bits and pieces of multiple genres, all delightfully blended together into a helluva rollercoaster.

  

Police Chief Brody (Scheider) is still kind of a newbie on Amity Island, a resort town in the Northeast that relies on summer dollars for its economy.  When mangled human remains are found on the beach, Brody tries to convince an unbelieving mayor that he has a shark problem on his hands.  When panic starts to spread, Brody calls in help from the oceanographic institute in the form of Hooper (Dreyfuss) along with the salty sea captain Quint (Shaw) in an effort to kill the shark.

  

I’m a bit of a wimp when it comes to horror films and violent films and war films.  I don’t have the best tolerance for violence, blood, and gore.  However, I am a huge fan of suspense films and thrillers.  I was scared to see Jaws the first time – I remember that I was in middle school.  There are certain scenes that scared me then (and that still scare me now), but I remember a distinct feeling of “Is that all?” where the blood was concerned after that first viewing.  For all its hype as a man-eating shark horror film, there is little (but not zero!) graphic violence and blood in it, especially by today’s standards. 

Despite the moderate amount of blood, the film has some very scary moments.  The opening prologue – following a skinny-dipper as she is eaten by the shark – is truly terrifying to me.  Her fear is so primal and all-encompassing, and watching her bob up and down in the water, being pulled back and forth against her will, and then finally pulled down for good… ACK!  Susan Backlinie played the girl who drowned, and her brief performance is my favorite scream queen sequence from any film.  It really wigs me out.  There is so much lore around the making of the movie, how Spielberg had to rely on fear of the unknown instead of a frightening monster, I won’t bother going into detail about it, except to add on that this opening sequence is a prime example of that.  You don’t see the shark here.  The camera, right at water level, only shows you the girl’s head, and you don’t know what’s happening just under the surface.  It’s so visceral, so guttural, and really, REALLY scary.  I’ve seen that sequence dozens of times, and it still gets under my skin.  

  

So after scaring the pants off you in the opening, Spielberg then introduces you to his seventies small town dramedy that is the majority of Jaws.  The interaction of Brody with not only the mayor but the rest of his town, and certainly his family, provides a substantial heart and heft to the film.  Spielberg devotes a great deal of time giving you insight into Brody’s life and relationships, but never doing it in a prosaic or predictable manner.  Brody argues with the townspeople in a decidedly chaotic manner; Spielberg has people talk over one another constantly in this movie, to the point where I thought I was watching a Robert Altman film.  It works, though; it emphasizes that no one really understands what’s going on.  With Brody’s family, Spielberg doesn’t give us staged dialogue between Brody and his wife where they tell each other how much they love each other.  Instead, we see Brody’s wife rub his shoulders, hand him a glass of wine, and purr, “Wanna get drunk and fool around?”  Instead of presenting a scene where Brody hugs his sons and tells them tearfully just how much he cherishes them, Spielberg gives us the incredibly tender mimicking sequence, which speaks volumes about the family dynamic.  Scheider is fantastic as Brody, the police chief of an island community who hates the water.  

  

From time to time, I forget what a funny film Jaws is.  So many great lines, so many funny moments.  It’s not primarily a comedy, but Spielberg freely laces in light laughs, mostly in the form of Richard Dreyfuss.  Whether he’s cackling under his breath, “You’re all gonna die!” to a group of ignorant islanders or pulling ridiculous faces at Quint, he’s a great character.  

  

The finale of the film, where the trio embark on their ultimate hunt for the great white shark, is a great piece of filmmaking.  Spielberg doesn’t rush the final encounter.  Instead of one long battle, he breaks it up into much smaller fights between the shark and the men.  In between these fights, there’s a great deal of waiting and preparing and drinking and bonding.  As the men sit around, they swap scar stories, drink apricot brandy, and worry.  The feeling of brotherhood between three men who would otherwise have precious little to do with one another is one of the reasons that this is one of my husband’s favorite films.  And then, just when Spielberg has lulled us into thinking we might be watching a buddy film, the shark appears out of nowhere and everyone jumps out of their seats. 

John Williams’ score is a large part of the success of Jaws.  The deep, throbbing shark theme (shamelessly ripped off from Dvorak, by the way) is established early on a signifier of the shark.  We hear the music, then realize the shark is near.  The rules are established.  Well, then, what happens next?  The rules change, we see the shark without ever hearing the music, and jump out of our seats yet again!  The rest of the score, the non-shark parts, are typical triumphal John Williams in his classic Americana style; rousing and charming.  

Jaws is a rollercoaster of a film, and it’s so much fun.  I don’t wonder that movie-goers flocked to it in droves when it came out.  Spielberg knows how to take you on really terrific ride.

Arbitrary Rating: 9/10

Addendum: I saw Jaws last summer at the Dryden because the Dryden is awesome, but unfortunately, I had a less than stellar theater experience while there.  First of all, the Dryden showed an original print of Jaws, and while this sounds awesome in concept, the original print was in what can only be described as mediocre condition.  There were a lot of small skips and scratches and faded color.  The person doing the introduction described the print as “having character,” which is a nice way to say it’s crap.  Additionally, there was a rather obnoxious group sitting in front of us who consisted of two middle-aged men, presumably brothers, an elderly woman, presumably their mother, and a child who looked no older than 8, more like 6, presumably daughter of one of the men.  I was “lucky” enough to be sitting right behind the poor girl, so I got to witness her excruciating boredom at the first two thirds of Jaws.  Best part of her boredom?  Her vocalization of said boredom at all opportunities and her inability to sit still in her seat.  I THEN got to witness the young girl being utterly traumatized by the final sequences in the film, her shrieks of terror and her quiet sobs as she again couldn’t sit still in her seat, while the adults repeatedly told the girl to “Be quiet!”  They were completely unsympathetic to both her boredom and her terror, and were also rather loud in their indignance toward her.  All of this severely tainted an experience I had really been looking forward to: Jaws on the big screen.  Really, who takes their young child to see this movie?  I am certain there are young kids out there who would enjoy this movie, but not many.  Not the majority.  Thanks, idiotic family.  I know we all have those shitty theater experiences; I’m still really bummed that I had to have such a crap experience with this movie, because Jaws is an awesome movie.