You've probably heard the name whispered in film circles or seen it at the very top of those "disturbing movies you can never unsee" lists. Honestly, most people who talk about Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom haven't actually sat through the whole thing. It’s a grueling experience.
Pier Paolo Pasolini, the director, didn't make this to entertain you. He made it to hurt. Released in 1975, just weeks after Pasolini was brutally murdered on a beach in Ostia, the film remains a massive, jagged pill that the cinematic world still hasn't quite swallowed. It’s not just "gross-out" horror; it’s a high-art attack on the audience.
Basically, it's a movie that uses the most repulsive imagery imaginable—torture, coprophagia (eating excrement), and sexual degradation—to make a point about how power works. If you're looking for a fun Friday night flick, keep walking. This is a 117-minute descent into a very specific kind of hell.
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What Actually Happens in Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom?
The plot is deceptively simple and terrifyingly rigid. Set in 1944 in the Republic of Salò—a puppet state of Nazi Germany in Northern Italy—four powerful men kidnap eighteen teenagers. These men are the pillars of society: a Duke, a Bishop, a Magistrate, and a President. They take these kids to a secluded villa, where they subject them to 120 days of systematic physical and mental annihilation.
It's structured like Dante's Inferno. The film is divided into four "circles": the Circle of Manias, the Circle of Shit, and the Circle of Blood.
Everything is rule-bound. The libertines have a literal book of laws. They use four aging prostitutes to tell stories of their own past debauchery to "inspire" the day's tortures. It’s cold. It’s clinical. Unlike most horror movies, there are no jump scares. The camera just sits there. It watches. It forces you to watch too.
Pasolini based the whole thing on the Marquis de Sade’s unfinished 18th-century novel, The 120 Days of Sodom. But he updated the setting to the final days of Italian Fascism. Why? Because he wanted to show that the "anarchy of power" is the ultimate form of evil.
The Controversy That Never Ended
From the moment it premiered at the Paris Film Festival on November 23, 1975, the movie was a target. It was banned in Italy almost immediately. It was banned in Australia for decades. The UK wouldn't give it an uncut certificate until the year 2000.
People were—and are—furious about it.
In 1994, a local gay bookstore owner in Cincinnati was even arrested for "pandering" just for renting out a copy of the film. It took big names like Martin Scorsese and Alec Baldwin signing a legal brief to help get the case dismissed. They argued the film had "artistic merit." And that’s the central tension of Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom. Is it art, or is it just high-brow pornography?
Why it isn't "just" porn
- The Lack of Pleasure: There is zero sexual thrill in this movie. Pasolini intentionally made every sexual act look mechanical, painful, and disgusting.
- The Political Allegory: Every act of violence is a metaphor for how consumerism and fascism "consume" the human body.
- The Aesthetic: The cinematography by Tonino Delli Colli is hauntingly beautiful. The villa is filled with avant-garde art (like Léger-style murals). The contrast between the high-culture setting and the low-culture acts is the whole point.
What Most People Get Wrong About Pasolini's Intent
A lot of folks think Pasolini was just a pervert. They're wrong.
He was a Marxist, a poet, and a deeply disillusioned intellectual. Before Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom, he made the "Trilogy of Life"—films like The Decameron that celebrated sex as something joyful and revolutionary. But by the mid-70s, he felt like the "sexual revolution" had been hijacked by big business.
He felt that in a consumerist society, the body is just another product. Something to be used, sold, and thrown away. He once said that "the real violence is television." He saw the world becoming a place where everyone is forced to be the same, and anyone who doesn't fit the mold is destroyed.
The "shit-eating" scenes? Pasolini famously claimed they were a metaphor for the processed food industry. He was being dead serious. He believed we are all being forced to consume garbage by the people in charge.
The Mystery of Pasolini's Death
You can't talk about this movie without talking about how the director died. On November 1, 1975, Pasolini was run over by his own car and beaten with a wooden picket.
For years, the official story was that a 17-year-old "hustler" named Giuseppe Pelosi killed him in a sexual encounter gone wrong. But Pelosi later recanted, claiming several men with "southern accents" actually did the deed while shouting "filthy communist."
Many believe Pasolini was assassinated because of his political views or because he knew too much about the corruption in the Italian government. The fact that he died just before his most "unacceptable" film was released gave the movie a dark, prophetic aura. It felt like his final testament.
Should You Actually Watch It?
Honestly? Maybe not.
If you are sensitive to depictions of sexual violence or cruelty to minors (though the actors were legal age, the characters are teens), stay away. It is not "entertaining." It is a 117-minute argument that the world is a cruel, indifferent place where the powerful eat the weak.
However, if you're a student of film history or someone who wants to understand how cinema can be used as a weapon, it’s essential. It’s one of the few movies that actually achieves "shock value" in a way that makes you think rather than just making you look away.
How to approach it if you decide to dive in:
- Read up on the context: Knowing about the Republic of Salò and Pasolini’s "Trilogy of Life" makes the metaphors much clearer.
- Watch the Criterion Collection version: It includes documentaries like Salò: Yesterday and Today that provide crucial behind-the-scenes context.
- Don't watch it alone: You’re going to want to talk to someone afterward. Trust me.
Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom isn't a movie you "like." It’s a movie you survive. It forces you to confront the darkest parts of human nature and the systems of power that govern our lives. Whether you think it's a masterpiece or a piece of trash, it’s a film that refuses to be ignored. It stands as a reminder that art shouldn't always make us feel good; sometimes, it needs to make us feel absolutely terrible to tell the truth.
To truly understand the weight of this film, your next step should be researching Pasolini’s "Trilogy of Life"—The Decameron, The Canterbury Tales, and Arabian Nights. Seeing the joy he once found in human sexuality makes the utter despair of Salò much more profound and clarifies his transformation from an optimist to a man who saw the world as a "Circle of Blood."