Astron's Notebook

Hello, Friends!


Eat shit.

That's exactly what happens in the movie, Salò or the 120 Days of Sodom.

I first heard about the movie in quite a civilized, little gathering hosted by my friend, Ted, in a dramatic space that mimicked a libertine's abode. The spacious Tin Hau flat was littered with exquisite, carefully curated antiques that have been amassed over decades.

I really shouldn't have had any further interest in seeing a movie which I've been warned contains a scene in which - pardon the alliteration - folks feast on feces. But then again, isn't it human nature to want to experience that which you have been warned against?

A month later, I finally got my hands on a DVD from Mong Kok.

Watching the movie made me wonder: Did Ted "collect" the night's guests - beautiful boys, each one - with the same selective refinement as the libertines in the movie collected their human playthings?

The movie is about four libertines (a bishop, a duke, a magistrate, and a president) in Fascist Italy who kidnap 18 of the most perfect boys and girls to serve their pleasure throughout a 120-day vacation in some secluded castle. It all seems like an erotic proposition in the beginning - hooray for free love! - until the first escapee is shot mercilessly, unceremoniously, without warning. Like game. It's all downhill from there, with our nubile boys and girls being subjected to all manners of humiliation and torture, ending in bloody deaths.

One indelible scene shows the duke defecating smack in the middle of the Great Hall whilst everybody watched enraptured. He then grabs one of the naked girls, hands her a spoon, and yells, "Mangia! Mangiaaa!!!! MANGIAAAAAA!!!!!"

The next scene is of a wedding banquet where domed serving plates are revealed to contain hot shit, which everyone must eat. The "bride" - a boy in a virginal wedding dress - and the "groom" - the bishop - proceed to partake, and then share a deep, chocolate-y kiss.


***


I really should have been more disturbed than I was. But in reality, the movie made me laugh, which probably exposes me as a Philistine. A little black duck, if you will.

I saw Salò as a parody. I could not stop thinking of exotic, inaccessible experiences as today's hallmark of exclusivity, of indulgence. We've become so jaded that we undermine genuine, day-to-day human interaction as mundane, opting instead to focus on urges that are becoming more and more difficult to satisfy. Or, we take the exact opposite tact: We're so comfortably ensconced in our daily routines that any sort of disturbance is magnified beyond its actual importance.

Take our Barnum & Bailey entertainment fare. Who cares about the simple pleasure of watching a talented singer sing beautifully any more? Our entertainment diet has to be seasoned with an element of the carnivalesque in order to make it even vaguely appetizing. It takes a frumpy, heavy-set, middle aged woman with a hint of a moustache singing "I Dreamed A Dream" for us to really sit up and take notice. Now, with more than 100 million combined You Tube hits on her performances, Susan Boyle needs no further introduction.

Oh what a circus, oh what a show.


***


Like a drug addict who's perpetually desperate for the next hit of meth, we compulsively feed our entertainment addiction with junk that pollutes our minds and bodies. We make fun of unattractive people in The Biggest Loser and we make fun of attractive people in America's Next Top Model. I'm probably the most laughable one of all, sitting for hours on end, pounding down burgers and fries, voyueristically participating in other people's lives via reality TV. Meanwhile, the rest of the world passes me by.


***


"I remember it now!" Doug cried triumphantly. "It's called Cake Farts!!!"

A collective groan was heard around the room. And yet, even as we all feigned disgust, everyone sat attentively whilst Doug told stories of beautiful girls flatulate on - what else - chocolate cakes.


***


Salò's ending is an ellipsis. In the courtyard, the libertines relish the bloody slaughter of their victims, horrific cries drowned by manic laughter. In the library, a transistor radio emits the gentle strains of a waltz. Two of the libertine's hired guns, both young men themselves, engage in a dignified dance whilst talking about their girlfriends.

To this day, Salò, Pier Paolo Pasolini's final opus and critically hailed as a cinematic masterpiece, is banned in most countries - including in progressive Australia.





With Affection,
Astron