The film is humanistic exploration of Italy’s “southern problem” and a thorough indictment of nationalist and imperialist agendas.
A bracing cinematic buzzkill, Salò will wipe that shit-eating grin right off your face.
Pier Paolo Pasolini’s boudoirs of perversion lack the Marquis de Sade’s scarlet hedonism.
For its reissue, Criterion has ironed out a bunch of the kinks, though I still detect some edge enhancement in the film’s endless series of long shots.
The visual effects fantastically morph the film’s frescos into illusory gateways into Anna’s subconscious.