Pier Paolo Pasolini’s 1969 film PIGSTY is perhaps his least accessible work in his self-proclaimed "certain realism" cinema. It is turgidly symbolic (even elusive at times), often bizarre, and oddly profound. Both an inspired satire on the dehumanizing stranglehold of an industrialized society and a careful study of realism, PIGSTY is indeed an ambitious piece of filmmaking crafted by a multi-talented filmmaker and intellectual.

The first image we see in the film is two tablets engraved with what appears to be the social code of an anonymous society (we later learn it is a metaphysical Germany). A narrator is reprimanding his troublesome son, Julien Klotz, for his negligence in society. And Mr. Klotz should be worried, for he is a powerful ruler of a large portion of industrialized Germany, and keeping up appearances as well as grooming his future ruler are essential tasks for this ruler. The problem is, young Julien is neither outwardly rebellious nor fawningly complacent. Julien possesses a troubling ambivalence and Klotz is stuck with a "son who is neither obedient nor disobedient." Julien does have one curious pasttime, however: he periodically traipses to the nearby pigsty, where he copulates with the pigs.

Revulsion notwithstanding, Julien’s act is highly symbolic. Pasolini did not choose just any barnyard animal for Julien. Pigs by their nature have the capacities to devour and to be devoured. Julien has similar properties due to his ambivalence, but it seems as if Julien is doomed, as Mr. Klotz admits early on that he "[has] decided to devour you because of your disobedience." Here, devour means something very specific: total defeat and, most importantly, assimilation. In a way, the pigs devour Julien as well, because he exhibits a curious pig-like behavior. Whenever Julien engages in a heated debate, he pinches his nose, which resembles a snout. Julien openly calls his parents "pigs and sows" (although used in a more traditionally incendiary manner, the diction here still adheres to the rule). And in a more narrative scope, the film is equally devoured by the pigs and Pasolini chooses to have Mr. Klotz speak of pigs when he discusses the subject of heredity (itself a modified system of devouring, as one generation replaces the next).

Coupled with this bedrock metaphor is the central format of the film: a long-running dichotomy created by two seemingly unrelated narratives. The initial tale (after the credit sequence with the pigsty footage) concerns a primitive, unnamed man (played by Pierre Clemente) with unkempt, shoulder-length hair idling in a Dali-esque volcanic landscape. We see him snatch at a butterfly and eat it, and there is then a quick long shot to the palace where Julien resides in the complementary episode. We then immediately cut back to Pierre, who falls ill. First impressions prove misleading, as Pierre is not sick from the butterfly, but from the palace. Pasolini purposefully sandwiches Pierre’s sickness with a singular shot of the palace to suggest this cause/effect relationship. Already we know that these two narratives must be operating in tandem somehow.

Pasolini wastes no time in hinting at the two tales’ relationship. Soon after the Clementi interlude, the returning shot in the Julien episode is one of symmetrical order. We see Julien in a medium shot standing dead center in the frame, flanked by a neatly arranged set of chairs. The "vanishing point" of the shot can be traced to Julien’s head, and this careful composition suggests the logic and reason of the setting. The camera is static and unobtrusive in this episode as well and complements the logic and order of the episode. Contrast this clinical symmetry with Clementi’s episode, which is directed with a manic hand. The camera is uneasy, restless, ping-ponging between long and short-range shots. Pasolini’s final hint at the episode’s relationship occurs when a new character is introduced in the Klotz household: Ida Klotz.

Our first impression of Ida is that she feels some concern for her misguided brother. She implores him to reveal what he desires for his life, as he seems oddly complacent with the "infantile desire" of flying kites. Ida begins to pressure Julien to join her in a student demonstration in which she and her classmates will "piss against the Berlin wall." Even though Ida is not wholly loyal to her father’s empire, she does exhibit a staunch political stance and has the aggression and initiative that Julien so lacks. Julien simply responds that he "prefers the way I am." Ida takes Julien’s response at face value and concludes that he "has no opinions." Indeed he does, but they do not fit into the social fabric of his family’s empire, or Ida’s revolutionary tactics. Ida concludes that Julien is a "selfish individualist." In this society the terms "selfish" and "individualist" are interchangeable. To pursue personal aims is to detract from the "team" effort of an industrialized society. Pasolini further exploits Ida and Julien’s incompatibility by allotting each character a frame to himself/herself. The camera darts back and forth between intimate facial close-ups of each actor. And in the rare occurrence where they do share the frame, they are situated on the extreme opposite sides. Each personal frame represents each character’s personal sphere of influence. In such a sequence, Julien sits sealed in an ornate sedan chair while Ida impatiently stands. Julien admits to himself as well as to Ida what he desires here: repetitions of the same nebulous things.

While Ida is goading Julien, we oscillate between Clementi’s episode and back again. Julien appears stoic throughout the confrontation, but Clementi is far less inactive. As soon as Ida thrusts her ethics upon Julien, Clementi spies a procession of soldiers along the horizon. He flees. The disciplined line of soldiers and their uniform dress (including some very distinctive helmets) suggest the authority figure in this episode. Julien is similarly wrestling with an authority: Ida. As Julien continues to bear the onslaught, Clementi vows to take the bull by the horns and fight his fear: he finds a nearby ditch containing some military garb and hesitantly tries on the helmet. Clementi is struggling with another set of values other than his own just as Julien does in his episode. The fact that Julien’s conscious is inactive and Clementi’s active suggests a conscious/subconscious relationship. So Clementi is Julien’s unconscious and will function as such until Julien no longer needs "him."

The friction from contrasting ethics continues as Julien and Ida exit the palace. Ida and Julien are as separated as ever, and now a physical boundary (a small moat) separates them, as well as the frame. This division of ethics is disrupted, however, when Ida attempts to kiss Julien. The kiss represents a very intimate, physical union between two individuals as well as between their beliefs. Julien backs down from this ethical intercourse and his subconscious (Clementi) dutifully acts out his unrest. Soon Clementi is engaged in a physical duel with authority as he battles with a nearby soldier. Pasolini’s brilliance as a director shows here when he chooses to block all but the helmets of the dueling men by a rock cliff. The viewer sees only two disembodied helmets dueling, and the helmets have such a distinctive shape (with a unicorn-like horn) which draws attention to the head (rationality/reason, values) that they springboard the central theme here: the soldiers’ minds are dueling, not their bodies. Clementi is fighting to preserve his values over the soldier’s alien ethics. Interestingly, when Pasolini’s lens pans out to reveal the aggressor’s body, he suddenly falls ill and is shot by Clementi.

After Clementi has dispatched the soldier, he decapitates him. The act of decapitation holds significant weight here: the head is the "intellectual center" where the all-important self-ethics and personality are held, and Clementi effectively silences the soldier’s humanity by severing his head. Clementi then tosses the head into a nearby crater and proceeds to cannibalize the corpse. The act of cannibalism also carries a symbolic punch here and sutures the concept of devouring neatly together. By eating the soldier, Clementi assimilates the man’s entire self, and not just in a physical sense. Pasolini lends verisimilitude to this notion by having Clementi cross his chest in the same fashion as the deceased soldier. Clementi has adopted a unique character trait from the deceased soldier by way of cannibalism (assimilation).

At the conclusion of the Clementi interlude, we return to Julien’s quiet desperation. We now see Julien in a coma-like state with Ida and their mother flanking his bed. The framing is careful here: by placing Julien physically "in the middle" of Ida and mother, Pasolini further reinforces our observation of Julien’s troublesomeness and the worry of the other members of the family. The lengthy exchange that follows between Ida and mother illuminates yet another component of the film: the inherent disunion of life and the impossibility of comprehending the whole of human existence with limited (human) capacities.

The exchange begins with contrasting views of Julien. The mother begins by asking if Julien was "too aristocratic?" Ida replies "on the contrary…he stooped too low to have the pride of an aristocrat." The mother continues: "Since a baby he’s never lowered himself and never begged the pardon of others." Ida responds: "Many, many times he’s begged the pardon of others." The mother observes that Julien is "not very intelligent" but Ida replies "Julien is very bright." This contradictory exchange continues and one inevitably reaches the conclusion that Julien is a complex individual indeed, so complex as to suggest that a single human being cannot fully understand another. If we keep in mind that Julien is not aware of his subconscious, we can further conclude that Julien is not aware of himself and his world. Julien is not whole; that is, he is not aware of both sets of consciousness and cannot fully comprehend his predicament.

If Julien’s sets of consciousness are two halves of a person, then Mr. Klotz and his mysterious competitor, Herdhitze, are similarly related. While Julien’s pairs of consciousness (or halves) prove symbiotic in the long run, Klotz and Herdhitze have a vociferous and uneasy relationship. Klotz represents the "old" industrialism of Nazi Germany (he even has a mustache similar to Hitler’s): oppressive factories piping with smokestacks and humanity constantly engaged in the skullduggery of capitalistic consumption. Herdhitze, however, represents the other half of the "new" industrialism: it is decidedly non-human. He suggests that "industries [should be] left to technicians…the problem of the future is no longer left up to the individual." Herdhitze considers himself technological and not humanistic. Herdhitze has no offspring to pick up the slack of future employment, and this cements his anti-human industrialism. Pasolini drops a final hint as to the relationship of the two men: they both came from the same town and were two school chums, although their paths diverged dramatically afterward. Herdhitze and Klotz were struck from the same iron and were once fleetingly "whole" but soon split into their current halves.

Herhitze’s revolutionary, inhuman approach to industrialism is a direct threat to Julien’s humanistic pursuits. Herdhitze expresses concern for Julien to Klotz, and admits that Julien may have spent too much time in the natural beauty of the "Hellenistic gardens" and was thus corrupted with excessive humanity. Pasolini utilizes Clementi’s episode to punctuate this threat. A nude couple appear in Clementi’s episode and their nakedness emphasizes Locke’s proverbial tabula rasa. They are pure and untouched by an ordered society. Then Pasolini flashes back to a close-up of Herdhitze. The threat is real. Pasolini also makes a link to Clementi’s episode by choosing to show a smoking crater directly after Klotz mentions the smokestacks of industrialism. The crater is the "smokestack" of Clementi’s episode.

The two industrial giants’ contrasting ideals on business springboard Pasolini’s taut satire as well. Herdhitze reveals his background as an odious war criminal and his crimes against humanity. He speaks in great length about his slaughter of "Communist Bolshevik Jews" and his subsequent medical experiments on them. This horrific recount is complemented with Klotz’s harp, tickling gently in the background. Both men speak in verse, and the overall effect of the juxtaposition of rhythmic, soothing accompaniment over such repugnant recapitulation is Pasolini’s satire in the blackest note. Pasolini’s most ambitious and disturbing meditation on the absurdity of Herdhitze’s industrialist philosophy comes from the lips of Mr. Klotz. When Herdhitze becomes enamored with Klotz’s quaintly antique furnace, Klotz jokingly suggests that Herdhitze’s corpse be burned to initiate a "new" method of heating, where both Klotz’s old system of industry (in which humans are needed) and Herdhitze’s technological approach intersect. That is, Klotz suggests that humanity and technology could work together (quite literally) by burning bodies for heating! The reference to the evils of Hitler’s industrialist regime (in the form of the crematoriums in the concentration camps) is obvious and most stinging.

After such a powerful standoff between the two giants, Pasolini exposes the viewer to another "subconscious strand" linking the two episodes together. The first image we see in the Clementi episode is a storm brewing, which reflects the internal strife between the two men in Julien’s episode. Herdhitze’s threat also becomes more real in Clementi’s episode, as his hands are bound. Just at this moment in Clementi’s episode, Julien awakens from his coma-like state. Clementi’s bondage and Julien’s sudden awakening signify that Julien no longer needs Clementi (his subconscious), for Julien is now aware of what only his subconscious had access to before: his true desires and stance in life. Julien cements his newfound cognizance in a final confrontation with Ida. Julien launches into a sort of soliloquy, telling her (and himself) that he "realizes his love" and that he does not necessarily love a single thing/person, but that he simply has love and passion. He goes on to admit an intensely personal revelation: that he has "a compulsion to always seek the truth." Now we can fully comprehend the enormity of Julien’s threat to Herdhitze and his ideology. Julien is an individual whose values include introspection and passion, precisely those which pose a threat to Herdhitze’s futuristic, anonymous industrialist empire. Herdhitze’s oppressive influence results in a final blow to Julien’s subconscious.

No sooner does Julien reveal his true self than Clementi’s fate becomes permanently sealed. Clementi and his clan of outcasts are brought to a church (another symbol of authority) where a priest reads what is most likely their crimes. The speech is rendered unintelligible by the tolling of a bell. The effect is that of confusion and power: Clementi and crew are not only punished, they can’t even comprehend what they are punished for (shades of Kafka). Clementi and his group are soon led to a field where they are tied to the ground and left to be killed by ravenous dogs. However, Clementi is able to put one phrase (the only speech in the episode) in before his execution: "I slew my father, I’ve eaten the flesh of man, and quiver with joy." The Freudian overtones are obvious here. Killing the father is half of the Oedipus complex, and Clementi’s mention of cannibalism reflects his Freudian desire to unleash his inner beast, and of course all of the connotations that accompany the act of devouring (and assimilation).

With this, Julien’s fate is sealed. He makes his final trek to the pigsty and, in a cruel twist of fate, is devoured by the pigs. After this event, a group of local peasants congregate at the palace and recount the horrific happening to Klotz and Herdhitze. Even though the peasants are of limited intelligence, they were able to ascertain that "Julien was in charge of his own soul" (the major cause of his ultimate downfall in an industrialized society). Pasolini volunteers one final hint to the audience concerning the two episodes’ relationship: the presence of Ninetto Davoli as an innocent bystander in both episodes. One of Pasolini’s favorite male actors (playing the role of an innocent bystander-more or less- in films such as ARABIAN NIGHTS-playing the naïve, amorous Aziz, TEOREMA-a messenger, and THE DECAMERON-also a messenger), Davoli is the most physical link between the two stories, and he is the one to recount to the two men Julien’s demise. Once Herdhitze has absorbed the information and learns that not one trace of Julien remains, he puts his index finger to his lips and requests "not a word." Julien has been swept under Herdhitze’s industrialist carpet, and the credits roll.

PIGSTY remains the only Pasolini film unreleased in the US. It’s not surprising, considering the elephantine, surreal (and disturbing) latticework Pasolini has created. To quote Pasolini scholar Maurizio Viano (author of the incisive A Certain Realism: Making Use of Pasolini’s Film Theory and Practice. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1993.), PIGSTY is

an intriguing example of realism’s growing pains, of that complex
phenomenon whereby so many leftist directors sought to fabricate
new modes of representation to better fulfill the demands of the
changing times.

Pasolini achieves a sort of modified realism (or, according to the man himself his "certain realism") by injecting dream-like situations and images into traditionally permissive settings (such as the subconscious) to retain credibility. PIGSTY remains Pasolini’s densest film, containing sociopolitical satire while re-inventing realist cinema with equal aplomb.