I went see Salo at the IFC expecting a fight. The kind of “tune in, turn on, get creeped out” internal battle of sexual monsters. If you haven’t heard of Salo, it is Italian poet Pier Paolo Pasolini’s interpretation of the Marquis de Sade’s 120 Day’s of Sodom. Bizarre sexual rites, torture and murder are committed by 4 powerful Italian collaborators on a group of young adolescents in a remote Italian villa at the tail-end of WWII, which is supposed to be some convenient metaphor for the perversity of fascism, capitalism and western power. The plan was to get hot and bothered, then worry what that meant afterwards. Preferably over margaritas.
So there we were, 2 gays and 1 lesbian in a packed movie house, bristling with apprehension, excitement. The lights went down. Some sweet, lazy pre-war jazz played while the titles rolled “Victims- Male”, “Victims- Female”, “Fascists”, “Servants”. I settled into my seat. This was gonna be so fucked up. Continue Reading