Maybe you’ve heard about this controversial film and thought “hey, how twisted can this really be?” Well, put on your seat belt. “Salò” is two straight hours of sickening depravity with each scene one-upping the one before. To give a quick synopsis: adapted from the Marquis de Sade’s pornographic prison writings, Pasolini has reset the tale in the Republic of Salò, the last holdout of Italian Fascism during WWII. If you pay close attention (and that is hard to do, as much of the film is watched through fingers covering your eyes) you can hear planes on bombing runs overhead bringing the war to an end. Four top fascist officials decide to go out with a bang — they trade their four buxom daughters with each other, which they then have soldiers spit on and strip. Then they have soldiers run out into the countryside to find 10 nubile, virginal boys and girls. Then the whole gang runs off to a wonderfully Futurist-designed mansion. Waiting for them is four older, depraved women who tell lascivious stories and play Chopin on the piano. The film is then cut into three parts. The first is the Circle of Manias, where the youngsters are verbally abused and then sexually abused. The second is the Circle of Shit, where the youngsters are forced to do all sorts of things with excrement — mostly eat it. The last is the Circle of Blood, where the youngsters are tortured and (it is assumed) killed. The end. Why is this movie worth your time? Under the “benefit of doubt” clause, given Pasolini’s other fantastic work, we’ll assume that there is something going on here — not just the hope to shock. An indictment of fascism? The human condition? Modernity? Consumerism? Sure, why not? Also, there is some humor here. It comes in the juxtaposition of de Sade’s lurid prose (which the older women read), the music (piano works or big band jazz) and the pain, suffering and humiliation seen on screen. The disconnect is funny. The four men expound philosophically about Nietzschean philosophy while teenaged girls and boys cower in fear. They interrupt their buggering to trade quips from Baudelaire and Plato. It’s an odd thing. The shooting style is stagey — not at all verite, as you might expect from an expose on torture. And the set, with its Futurist paintings and modern furniture, is gorgeous — it’s a shame it has to get shit on so much. All told, I am glad I saw this horrible film. . .it was weird seeing it in public. I kept thinking of the rest of the audience, wondering “what is wrong with these people that they would watch a movie like this??”