I teetered back and forth between Band of Brothers and Saving Private Ryan for the focus of today's post, ultimately settling on the HBO miniseries for its sheer magnitude and undeniable role in propelling me to pursue a graduate degree in history (and despite my general estimation of Steven Spielberg's 1998 World War 2 magnum opus as one of the greatest films ever made).
I knew about the critically acclaimed Band of Brothers miniseries well before I ever saw it, largely thanks to Entertainment Weekly. The magazine's coverage and reviews intensified my overall interest, already piqued by the comparisons made to Saving Private Ryan. Without access to HBO, though, I waited to watch Band of Brothers until I found a deal for the boxset I couldn't pass up. DVDs in hand, I binged my way through all ten episodes in a matter of days, and to say the series surpassed my expectations would be an understatement. In fact, Band of Brothers made such an impression that when I rewatched the series again a year or so later, it motivated me to finally start the process of obtaining my Masters degree in History, something I had been stewing over for years. Based on the work of historian Stephen Ambrose, Band of Brothers depicts World War 2 from boot camp to war's end through the eyes of the US Army 101st Airborne's Easy Company. Throughout the series, viewers witness the company's involvement in such momentous events as D-Day, the Battle of the Bulge, and the liberation of a concentration camp. In fact, the image above comes from episode nine, "Why We Fight," which deals with Easy Company's discovery and subsequent liberation of a Nazi Concentration Camp and represents one of the most heart-wrenching hours of programming ever to air on television. Not surprisingly, a strong bond of brotherhood develops between company members based on the intensity of their shared experiences over the course of the war, not unlike the kind identified by the character of Upham in Saving Private Ryan. And while Spielberg's war film certainly introduces the idea, the miniseries format allows Band of Brothers to expand on the groundwork laid by Ryan, flesh out a broader cast of characters, and incorporate recollections from surviving Easy Company veterans. Brothers therefore provides audiences with a much more intimate glimpse of what the war was like for soldiers fighting in Europe. If you've been keeping up with my Countdown to 40 blog, my fascination with World War 2 does not come as a surprise, and I can think of two specific reasons why the it interests me so much. First, as I recounted in my post about Schindler's List, the Holocaust and its socio-political repercussions in Germany raised several historical questions for me, ones I eventually explored in grad school using films like Downfall. The second reason, one I have not yet shared, relates to my grandfather. Like many people my age and around the world, my grandparents lived through the war. And like many men of his generation, my mother's father fought in the war. I was not yet fifteen when my grandfather passed away, and I often regret not learning more about his wartime experiences. That's not to say I am completely without knowledge of his time in the Navy. When putting together a video memorial of my grandfather's life shortly after his death, my older sister and I came across a set of letters he and my grandmother exchanged during that time. Based on what my relatives told me, I also learned that Grandpa returned from the war a changed man, one who no longer believed in the existence of God. Taken as a whole, that pretty much sums up what I know about my grandfather's wartime perspective. Of course, given the intense nature of such experiences, perhaps he wouldn't have wanted to talk about them with me. Nevertheless, I still wish I would have asked him, and I think things like Band of Brothers and Saving Private Ryan offer a way for me to imagine the war through Grandpa's eyes. And maybe, just maybe, my desire to know the world and time of my grandparents better was the real impetus behind initiating my graduate studies.
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Downfall first hit theaters in the United States during 2005, following its release abroad in 2004. Advertisements and previews touted the film as the first German-made film starring German actors to depict the final days of the Nazi regime from within Adolf Hitler's Berlin bunker. (A claim I later discovered ignores certain historical facts.) Largely based on the memoirs of one of Hitler's personal secretaries, Traudl Junge, and a book written by historian Joachim Fest, Downfall also promised to provide a rather intimate portrait of Hitler, dangerously bordering on sympathetic. My predilection for films dealing with World War 2 and Nazi Germany practically dictated I would see it. What I did not realize at the time was how influential Oliver Hirschbiegel's motion picture would become in just a few short years.
Watching Downfall for the first time, I immediately started questioning its presentation of Hitler as a man rather than a monster. Like you, I knew what history says about the author of Mein Kampf and man behind the Final Solution--he was a xenophobic demagogue who exploited fears, employed powerful propaganda, and utilized an armed paramilitary to coerce ordinary citizens to commit extraordinary crimes. So it should not surprise you that scenes hinting at Hitler's softer side made me rather uncomfortable, whether through his love for his dog, his romance with Eva Braun, his gentleness towards Junge, or his sadness at being abandoned by Albert Speer. Why? Because those scenes challenge the image of Hitler solely as a monster, and I wondered how someone responsible for the systematic extermination of so many millions of people could also possibly be the guy next door. When finding myself sympathizing with the character of Hitler on screen, even if only for a scene or two, I wondered if that meant I connected to Hitler on some level. And what does that mean? Could I be Hitler? Perhaps the filmmakers intended Downfall to pose such questions to audiences, a strong statement to be sure. Still, the exercise proved not all that pleasant and therefore resulted in an unsettled feeling, at least for a while. In the following months and years as the film's subject matter sank in more deeply, my perspective changed a little, and the thing that stood out to me most about Hirschbiegel's Downfall was not its presentation of Hitler as the man but rather its portrayal of Germans as victims of National Socialism. This theme of victimhood appeared perhaps most provocatively in one of the most disturbing scenes of the film. Frau Goebbels enters her children’s sleeping quarters, where they are reading a nighttime story. With the help of a doctor, she administers a sleeping draft to her six children, telling them it’s to help them stay healthy in the dampness of the bunker. Having successfully drugged all six children, Frau Goebbels then wishes them a good night’s sleep and leaves them in the darkness of their cement room. She returns to the sleeping children a short time later, and one by one Frau Goebbels inserts a cyanide pill into each child’s mouth, killing her own children because she cannot fathom they live in a world without National Socialism. I made several important observations because of this scene. By denying her children the chance to live in a Germany free of Hitler and the Nazi Party, Frau Goebbels chose ideology over life. The children, in a way, symbolized the German conscience, unable to combat the oppressive influence of the Nazi party, and the murder of the children therefore represented the killing of German innocence, in which fanatical Nazi leaders misled the German public. Narratives like this one piqued my interest and inspired a certain degree of historical inquiry. I wanted to know, how could Germans now claim victimization, especially considering those specifically persecuted by the regime? How accurately does the film portray the German wartime experience? What are the implications of placing German civilians among Hitler's victims? How do Downfall and several other post-2000 German films that depict Germans as victims fit into German society's larger, over-arching process of coming to terms with their Nazi past (ie. A Woman in Berlin and Sophie Scholl: The Final Days)? These questions about victimization in the postwar period eventually formed the base of my thesis research, which centers on the confluence of history and popular film as purveyors of cultural memory. And while I certainly recognized the problems posed by Downfall when I left the theater that day in 2005, I had no idea it would help lead me to graduate school and a Masters of Arts in History. My slight, er, obsession with Disney movies dates as far back as I can remember. Whether animated, live-action, or a cross section of the two, whether classic or modern, whether musical or otherwise, I possess a tendency to gravitate towards the studio's library of films without prejudice. When thinking about my childhood Disney experiences in particular, gems like Mary Poppins, The Apple Dumpling Gang, The Love Bug, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Pete's Dragon, and Dumbo come to mind. None stick out among the classics, however, as much as my personal favorite, Bedknobs and Broomsticks.
If you've never seen the movie musical, it blends live-action with animation, much in the style of Mary Poppins, and stars Angela Lansbury as a witch by the name of Miss Eglantine Price and David Tomlinson as Professor Cornelius Brown. Set in 1940s England with an impending threat of attack by Nazi Germany always looming, Bedknobs and Broomsticks focuses on Miss Price, Professor Brown, and three children (Charlie, Carrie, and Paul) as they track down a much sought-after spell that could help England with the war effort. Their adventures take them to London and Naboombu, an animated island filled with enchanted, speaking animals before returning them to Pepperinge Eye, Miss Price's fictional hometown on the English coast. Shortly thereafter, Nazi troops invade the island and commandeer Miss Price's home as their headquarters. Using the Substitutiary Locomotion spell found on the Island of Naboombu, Miss Price brings an army of British Isle soldiers to life and forces the Nazis back to sea. I do not recall how old I was when I first saw Bedknobs and Broomsticks, but I always connect my earliest memories of the film to my older sister, Melissa. I can only assume, therefore, that she introduced me to the movie a few decades ago, and for that I will be eternally grateful. Of course, I immediately fell in love with Bedknobs and Broomsticks and have seen it perhaps more times than I've seen any other film. I'm actually watching it now, as I write this post. I simply cannot get enough of its fantastical premise, historical setting, and delightfully catchy music. Truth be told, not a week goes by without songs from the soundtrack, "The Age of Not Believing," "Portobello Road," or "The Beautifully Briny," getting stuck in my head at one point or another, a pleasant byproduct of repeated viewings and the earworm nature of the songs. Beyond my affinity for the film as sheer entertainment, Bedknobs and Broomsticks helped to establish my fondness for fantasy and most probably served as an early spark to my interest in history, particularly in regards to Germany and World War II. In fact, it may have been my first introduction to the topic, proving that inspiration can spring from the most unassuming and unintentional places. The scene in which the little girl dressed in a red coat winds her way through the chaos and terror of the Nazi liquidation of a Jewish ghetto sticks out as one of the most indelible ever filmed. And that says a lot, considering the film confronts audiences with scene after scene of unimaginable violence. Truth be told, no single movie made a more lasting impact on my high-school brain than Schindler's List.
Generally speaking, I knew about World War II and Adolf Hitler's crusade to rid Europe of its Jews. History books and classes had offered introductions to the topics as early as elementary school. But not until I watched Schindler's List in 1993 did I start to realize the extent and horror of the Holocaust. Like everyone else I knew who experienced the film, I found what I saw on screen heart-breaking and unbelievable. But it also raised several questions. How could people commit such atrocities against one another? Why didn't the German people stop the Nazis? What did the rest of the world know about Hitler's Final Solution? What took the Allies so long to intervene? How did and do Germans and Germany overcome this part of their history? Recognizing that films about the past--even those based on actual events--should not be confused with history itself, the questions prompted by Schindler's List served to further pique my interest in history and deepen my fascination with Germany, the Holocaust, and World War II. And though the answers may seem obvious at first glance, they proved much more complex and typically led to an entirely new set of questions. So much so that Schindler's List and the questions it posed laid the foundation for my eventual pursuit of a graduate degree in history and for informing the research topic of my grad school thesis paper, in which I examine the confluence of popular film, victimization, cultural memory, and history. It's no wonder Schindler's List made my list of most influential elements of popular culture. A common slogan in the aftermath of World War II has been "Never Again," usually plastered over images not unlike ones seen in Schindler's List. Yet victory over Hitler failed to prevent genocides in Cambodia, Bosnia, and Rwanda, among others. In today's current political atmosphere, with demagogues and nativists rising to positions of power the world over, remembering the Holocaust and other genocides as well as acknowledging the xenophobic and authoritarian rhetoric that compelled almost entire societies to commit genocide against themselves seems timely and important. When facts, science, the arts, compassion for humankind, and the freedoms of speech, religion, and press come under attack, films like Schindler's List remind us what can happen when humanity lets fear, apathy, and anger rule the day, thereby not only justifying hate crimes and intolerance but condoning them, too. And therein lies the danger. |
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