Of course, things come tumbling down for Helmut Wallenberg when a secret recording of a candid conversation between him and Margherita is delivered to members of the Gestapo with the incriminating statement, “My wife’s grandfather was a Jew, not to mention the confession that in regard to many members of the Nazi leadership, including Himmler, he knows, "every single weakness of each of them…The type of cocaine they use…Their impotence, their perversions…the larcenies, the betrayals, their rivals…A variety of cowards!" Of course, Wallenberg – a man who recklessly and unwaveringly wallows in wantonness – dies in a compromised position fit for a SS twink, thus making for a climatic conclusion to Salon Kitty; a certainly sinful cinematic take on less known anecdotes from history. Of course, the most incriminating and insightful segment of the racy recording of Wallenberg’s words, even more so than the revelation of his racially impure, 2nd degree Mischling (1/4 Jewish) wife, is his statement regarding the creation and social infrastructure of the Third Reich: “I don’t give a shit about National Socialism…just as none of our leaders gives a damn. It’s a means to an end…All of them have just one goal: power!...There are no ideals, no belief system!...You are the one who has illusions, Margherita…You, and millions of Germans like you who believed in us…It was a way to put all of you at our feet…You…a middle-class girl…at the mercy of a pimp…To get you and all that you represent, I’ve reduced you to my level…Just like all the others…Reduced to a world of gangsters…We turned everyone of you into a criminal…murderers, thieves, corrupted accomplices…and slaves.” (A paraphrasing between both English-Italian versions of the film). Despite being a work of epically erotic and nonsensically naked National Socialism, one could argue that Salon Kitty features more hard truths regarding not only National Socialism and its leadership, but also any and every political system more or less, than Hollywood World War II epics like Steven Spielberg’s Schindler's List (1993) and Saving Private Ryan (1998) ever could. Although no one wants to admit, if the United States of America were to turn into a neo-fascist empire with a race-based ideology, both pimp politicians, cuckold celebrities, and the prostituted populous would fawn for the new Führer in no time just as the ethno-masochistic white liberals and non-white minority groups swoon over Chairman Obama today.
Spawning an unofficial remake/rip-off almost immediately entitled SS Girls (1977) aka Casa privata per le SS directed by guido exploitation auteur Bruno Mattei (SS Extermination Love Camp, Zombi 3), as well as countless other forgettable and totally worthless and innately impotent Nazisploitation knock-offs, Salon Kitty is certainly the filmic Führer of seedy SS skin flicks featuring crude concentration camp campiness and radically risqué renderings of the Aryan race. An exceedingly aesthetically enthralling yet equally exploitative combination of salacious and satirical ingredients from the monumental authoritarian Nazi imagery of Leni Riefenstahl's Triumph of the Will (1934), the double-screen celluloid pop-art of Morrissey/Warhol's Chelsea Girls (1966), the cultivated cinematic camp of Visconti’s The Damned (1969), the psychotic cynicism of Castle Keep (1969) directed by Sydney Pollack, the debauched disregard for historical reality of Werner Schroeter's Der Bomberpilot (1970), the aberrant and aesthetically antagonistic Aryan Aktionism of Otto Mühl and Kurt Kren's SS and Star of David (1970) and The Lascivious Wotan (1971) aka Der geile Wotan and the fiercely foul fetishism of fascism of Pasolini’s S&M swansong Salò (1975), except with the superlatively singular and strikingly stylized sleazy of excess of Tinto Brass, Salon Kitty is certainly an epic enigma of film history created during a zany zeitgeist when an ostensibly healthy medium between celluloid art and trash still seemed possible and would even be taken to a greater extreme with the filmmaker’s subsequent and ultimately abandoned work Caligula (1979). More campy and comical than Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator (1940), more debauched than Visconti’s The Damned, more provocative, penetrating, and scatological than Spielberg’s Schindler’s List (1993), and more aesthetically stunning and historically sound than Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds (2009), Salon Kitty is a film that deserves to be seen at least once by every self-respecting cinephile as a reminder that cinematic sleaze can be both ravishing and refined, even when depicting one of the most taboo subjects of human history as more of a hot yet humorous whore show featuring nubile Nordic nudes as opposed to a hysterical and horrendous horror show comprised of sad, starving, swarthy, and stripped Semites.