Oliver Hirschbiegel’s chronicle of Hitler’s
last fortnight on earth is a horrifically compelling testimony to humanity’s
ability to produce, nurture then fail to rein in those whose quest for personal
power and superiority defies reason, common sense and empathy. The vast
majority of their constituents feel powerless and, unwittingly, go along with
the gag until the rationalizations of “creating a better world,” “doing the
right thing,” and “ridding the planet of its scourges,” are, finally and too
late, seen as mere set dressing for the tyrant’s hidden agenda; the fulfillment
of which unleashes unspeakable travesties that, once checked, “will never be
allowed to happen again.”
The source texts (Inside Hitler’s Bunker: The Last Days of the
Third Reich and Until the Final Hour: Hitler’s Last Secretary) have
provided writer/producer Bernd Eichinger with the fodder for his screenplay, but
it is through the “eyes of babes” that the most telling indictment of one man’s
obsession with dominance is brought home.
As back-story, the film opens with the admission from Traudl Junge
that “I was not an enthusiastic Nazi,” setting the stage for her selection
from a group of equally naïve and demurring women. Fascinating here is the
“Miss Universe-like” feigned sincerity of the losers, hovering around the
twenty-two-year-old Junge (Alexandra Maria Lara) as she announces her
appointment as Hitler’s secretary.
From there the “stage” shift’s to the Fuhrer’s bunker, and in
particular the war room—where the main tactical equipment is a map, which
continuously reveals the unstoppable approach of the Russians.
As Hitler, Bruno Ganz ignites the screen with every appearance: his rages against traitors and betrayal (perceived and real) are delivered with
ugly conviction, even as his uncontrollable left hand shakes in silent
affirmation; his descent into madness (effectively aided by the hair and makeup
crew), at first relinquishing his grip “I am no longer in control,” then, as
denialist extraordinaire: “We have to get things moving again,” shows Ganz’s
incredible range and ability to get under everyone’s skin. When it comes to the
few poignant moments (the suicide lessons, the marriage to Eva and the dictation
to Junge of his last testament—… “and then to eternal peace …”)—Ganz espouses
his lines calmly, but his fantastically expressive body language (from eerie eye
movement to stilted walk) adds magnificent sub-text, proving conclusively that
actions change but attitudes do not.
However, it’s the kinder who drive the message home most
effectively. Once the Clausewitz (defend Berlin at all costs)
begins, everyone can play. Pubescent Peter Kranz (Donevan Gunia)—all dressed
up in his uniform—will get a medal for destroying two Russian tanks. He’s proud
of the program and ignores his father’s (Karl Kranskowski, superb in his angst)
pleas for sanity: Impressionable youth, caught up in the excitement and defence
of the Fatherland. Much later—real carnage everywhere—Peter reverts to
being a boy and reunites with his parents in their squalid apartment above the
open grave that used to be a city.
Worse still are the Goebbels. With blind, deranged obedience Papa
(Ulrich Matthes), as he and Hitler harden their resolve to defend Berlin to the
last man (the women and children not counting for much anyway), declares “I feel
no sympathy …. The German people chose their fate.” For her part, Mama
(Corinna Harfouch) can’t fathom a world without national socialism, and because
her six children are “too good for what will come,” poisons them all before she
and her adoring husband end their own lives with the same request as Hitler and
Eva: burn our bodies so that no trace will be left for the victors. With cruel
irony, both couples vanish from the planet in a roaring gas oven.
Finally, a cherubic blond-haired child in short pants—poster
boy for the master race—adopts Junge as his mother and leads her through the
Russians to safety (“They want us; women have a chance,” declares a Nazi). What
sort of person will this young man become, whose musical hit parade has been the
cantus firmus of bombs, artillery, and screams of the dying?
As the German forces begin to collapse, Albert Speer (Heino Ferch)—an enthusiast for the planned “treasure house of art and culture” that has been
promised after victory—advises his Fuhrer that “You must be on stage when the
curtain falls.&lrquo; Telling words for the manic pretender who has talked a nation
into believing that their superiority necessitates the permanent removal of the
weak from the globe.
Deftly underscored by Stephan Zacharias’ string-laden soundscape
and cinematographer Rainer Klausmann’s truly terrific skill in capturing the
grim reality of the horror that was 1945 Berlin, Hirschbiegel pushes many
buttons: the collective guilt of a nation for atrocities committed by their
state balanced against the horrific human price of no surrender; the astonishing
loyalty of the women around the cold-hearted dictator and the SS who vow to
fight on because “we cannot outlive the Führer’s death”; the double standard of
being superior but cleansing themselves of traitors and the imperfect until
there’s no leadership left to carry the torch.
This difficult but brilliantly executed film will continue the
discourse about one of the worst human tragedies ever, even as others flare up
or continue. The lust for power, like the Nazis’ destroying the files once
their dream was dashed, purges the previous lessons of history. No one should
miss the opportunity of learning this message—particularly those, today, who
have assigned themselves the task of making the world a better place. JWR