THE WALDHEIM WALTZ: Ruth Beckermann's fine documentary about world leader/ex-Nazi Kurt Waldheim opens in theaters

Given the time line shown us in THE WALDHEIM WALTZ -- from World War II onwards into the 1960s through the 1990s -- it is little short of amazing how riveting, galvanizing and particularly timely this new documentary about Kurt Waldheim proves to be. Herr Waldheim is the fellow who famously served as Secretary-General of the United Nations from 1972-81. Though rumors had begun circulating about his Nazi past even then, they became a full-fledged scandal once he ran for President of Austria, first in 1971 (he lost) and then again in 1986 (he won).

This excellent documentary about a world leader and world-class liar -- produced and directed by Ruth Beckermann 
(shown at left) -- takes us back to the protests that rocked the western world during these events (which we see below and further below), even as we meet Herr Waldheim and some of his family members and take note of how he handles and deflects the charges against him -- one of which involves how his famous biography so clearly lies regarding his Nazi past. His "excuses" (see the photo at bottom) are revelatory.

While one should never allows a single man to represent his country, you may find it difficult not to do this where Kurt Waldheim is concerned. As the movie, along with some of its interviewees, points out, the country of Austria (unlike that of Germany) has never taken responsibility for its role and actions during World War II. Instead it sticks to its own ridiculous theory about being WWII's "victim." Listening to all this "hooey" may put you in mind of what went on during our own recent Brett Kavanaugh hearing. The American Republican Party has been using this "victim" ploy for decades. Now it just grow worse and ever more stupid for those of us not doing the Republican "goose step."

Ms Beckermann's movie is filled with terrific archival images, as well as precise and germane interviews that fill us in on what went on during this time. All is woven together with such skill (the editing is by Dieter Pichler) that the documentary's pace never slows but only grows, as the sense of impending doom begins to engulf us. Though folk who follow history will already know what happened, Beckermann makes it current and horrifying all over again.

If you find yourself wondering how a population could manage to elect someone like Waldheim (above and below) who had been so thoroughly discredited, over and over again prior to his election, you only need to think of the USA and Donald Trump. And in fact, if you follow world politics, you'll know that right-wing parties won first place and third place in Austria's national election only last year. Ms Beckermann does not ever mention this in her fine documentary. For Austrians, she doesn't need to: history simply repeats, and too many of them are happy to go with the flow.

One caveat: TrustMovies wishes that the filmmaker or distributor had invested in better English subtitles. Those white ones used here are sometimes very difficult to read against the various white or light grey backgrounds.

From Menemsha Films and running a sleek 93 minutes, The Waldheim Waltz opens this Friday, October 19, in New York City at the Metrograph. In the weeks to follow, it will hit other scitires around the country, including Los Angeles (at Laemmle's Royal and Town Center) on November 16. To view all currently-scheduled playdates, cities and theaters, click here.

How dark and deadly can WWII Germany get? Discover Robert Schwentke's THE CAPTAIN

Antiheroes don't come much more non-heroic than the young German army deserter who goes by the  name of Willi Herold, and who -- thanks to the discovery of a abandoned jeep, a uniform and some food --  is soon impersonating a German Captain and getting up to some really awful stuff.

Herr Herold actually existed, and even if the movie made about him -- entitled THE CAPTAIN and just having its U.S. theatrical debut -- is fictionalized, this young man's short but shocking military career should astound and depress you, big-time.

The film's writer/director, Robert Schwentke (shown at left) has had a varied career, including both German and American films (from Flight Plan and RED to the Insurgent/Allegiant duo), but nothing he's done that I've seen would have prepared us for the bleak and nasty ugliness of this intimate little World War II epic. What young Herold does and how he manages it might defy credibility were the history of WWII not already so crammed with shock and unbelievable horror. As played by Max Hubacher (shown below), a young actor whose career seems to have been set in major


motion by this role and film, Herold remains as fascinating and mystifying as he is a cipher. We know nothing about him prior to his desertion (except a couple of platitudes his daddy told him). Though he initially seems like someone we might root for as he runs away from the German military police whose aim is clearly to kill him, once his escape is made and his disguise in place, he slowly becomes more and more horrific. All of which makes this young man's single scene of what seems like "feeling" (shown in the penultimate photo below) all the more bizarre.

Yet it takes much more than a single man -- even a high-level military officer -- to achieve what  is accomplished here. How Herold is helped along, and by whom, is what makes the movie even darker and more disgusting.

The apex/nadir is reached in a lengthy celebratory dinner honoring this "officer" and his work, with food and alcohol aplenty and even a pair of Jewish comedians to entertain the troops with ugly jokes. How those whom one might call "good" Germans are coerced into helping the horror is effectively demonstrated, and this landmark scene ends by offering up the single way out, when one is forced to enable this kind of evil.

As effective as is young Hubacher, the excellent supporting cast proves even better, with Milan Peschel (above and below, left) the standout, as the infantryman who initially helps Herold, only to grow increasingly aghast at (and a reluctant party to) his actions.

During the films final half hour, it grows nearly (and rightly) surreal, as this war must have seems for so many people. As director, Schwentke gets much not merely "right" but on-the-nose, though I wish he had done away with a few unnecessary artsy/fartsy overhead shots and that single moment when the excellent black-and-white cinematography (by the excellent Florian Ballhaus) must change to color in order to make a point that has already been made via the script.

Otherwise, The Captain is strong, hideous stuff. Gird up your loins and prepare. The movie will make you glad all over again that Germany and Hitler lost their war and should have you hopeful that Donald Trump and the Republican Party will lose theirs against America. We shall see.

Meanwhile, this Music Box Films release, running just under two hours and spoken in German with English subtitles, opens tomorrow, Friday, July 27, in New York City at the Quad Cinema, in Chicago at the Music Box Theater on August 3, and in Los Angeles at the Landmark NuArt on August 10 -- before expanding to another dozen or so theaters over the weeks/months to come. To view all currently scheduled playdates, cities and theaters, click here and then scroll down to click on THEATERS.

September Sunday Corner With Lee Liberman: WHAT OUR FATHERS DID: A NAZI LEGACY -- two Nazi sons and a Jew burdened by history

The writer and co-producer of this odd holocaust film, available now on DVD and via Netflix streaming, is a most accomplished fellow -- Philippe Sands, international human rights lawyer, law professor, prolific author, the latest work of which is: East West Street: On the origins of Genocide and Crimes Against Humanity.

Published in May 2016 to a torrent of praise (press title, above, for review) it contains the material that led to our film plus the stories of two Nuremberg prosecutors whose work created the basis for the prosecution of war criminals.

The film itself,  WHAT OUR FATHERS DID: A NAZI LEGACY (2015), has won top prizes at several film festivals and a British film award. It is thus with ambivalence that I quarrel with it because Sands's body of work is completely admirable and the film is engrossing and thought-provoking.

Directed by Sands's friend, David Evans (of Downton Abbey, above), it begins as the story of Niklas Frank and Horst von Wachter, whose two highly placed Nazi fathers, Hans Frank and Otto von Wachter, executed the entire Jewish population under their jurisdiction in Poland and Ukraine. The film morphs into a warm yet toxic relationship among the three men -- Wachter, Sands, Frank (l - r, below).

The viewer goes along as the world and crimes of the two fathers are revealed until the viewer begins to feel unwillingly drawn into the relentless, emotional "right-fight" (I'm entirely right; you're entirely wrong) that escalates pitting Sands and Niklas against Horst. (One columnist wrote that the film should have been titled "Making Horst Crack".)

Sands is painfully connected to his subjects: his paternal grandfather was the sole survivor of a family of 80 Jews from western Ukraine murdered by the two senior Nazis. Hans Frank was Hitler's personal lawyer and appointed governor of occupied Poland; he turned it into a killing field. Frank's mandates were carried out by Otto von Wachter -- an Austrian lawyer who served as civil administrator of Krakow and Galicia (Ukraine). (Below, front row, Frank, l, with Hitler.)

We learn through Sands's interviews with each son (both born in 1939 and now nearing 80) that Hans Frank and his wife were cold, estranged parents. Niklas learned kindness from his nurse; he matured clear-eyed about the crimes of his father having already been primed by the indifference of both parents. He described his father once as 'a slime-hole of a Hitler fanatic' ; his book, Der Vater (1987) was a controversial bestseller in Germany -- said to have been the first time a child of a high-ranking Nazi broke the silence of Nazi descendants.

Horst, on the other hand, grew up in a loving family (above). "I know that the whole system was criminal and that he was part of it, but I don't think he was criminal....." he says. Horst claims his father believed and even told Hitler that his racial policies could not endure. Otto's views appeared to have concerned his superiors enough for Heinrich Himmler to have offered him the option to change posts; dutiful Otto stayed on the job and carried out Hans Frank's extermination directive. Hans was executed following the Nuremberg trials. Otto fled, taking refuge in the Vatican and dying of illness at 49 while under its protection.

At the overgrown killing field where his relatives were executed and their bones remain (above), Sands confronts Horst with his father's 1942 signed paperwork and continues to press Horst to admit his father's guilt. Niklas joins in and all three grow obstinate. Frank and von Wachter both had command authority over the mass murder but Horst remains mealy-mouthed -- his father was not evil. Niklas declares that Horst is a Nazi at heart and renounces their friendship from childhood (below, an almost proud Niklas with photo of his executed father).

The film reveals that Horst chose not to follow the professional path for which he was groomed. Refusing to go to law school, he found employment as an assistant to a Jewish artist, assuaging his soul, at least, that his daily life served as protest against anti-Semitism. Horst retains an empathic view of Judiasm but no matter the evidence, cannot bring himself to condemn his father.

It's too easy to condemn Horst for being in denial of his father's guilt and to applaud Niklas's clarity about his father's crimes -- it means none of the familial ties or the environmental conditioning have been factored in, such as the coldness of the Franks that led a son to hate a father nor the relent-less pressure of conformity by the Nazi culture that carried Otto in its tide.

The mindset that was to govern Germany originated in a Prussian Calvinism practiced by Wilhelm I (1797-1888) King of Prussia, ('the soldier king,' with his wife Augusta, at right), the first German head of state of a united Germany (Prussia was a territory/ kingdom that combined with others to form the German empire). "Soldatic virtues" included duty, discipline, subordination, loyalty. Prussian men were instilled with a range of strictures that were to infiltrate the character of a united Germany. And when Hitler came to power in 1933, education and public opinion were commandeered entirely; the force of Nazism suppressed or replaced the individuality, empathy, and objectivity required for public opposition.

In a recent interview with the aged (105) secretary of Joseph Geobbels, Brunhilde Pomsel, she describes herself as a product of Prussian discipline and sense of duty: "... After the rise of the Nazi party, the whole country was as if under a kind of spell...the idealism of youth might easily have led to you having your neck broken." In effect, for an individual to oppose Nazism went against the human instinct to seek safety and protection in the prevailing wind. Humans bond together for survival.

Philippe Sands, his family having been murdered by the two fathers, is an understandably emotionally-fraught narrator as he presses Horst, the troubled, guilt-ridden older man, to 'crack' -- not Sands's finest moment. Oddly, at least one virtue of this film is in its revelation of myopia that freezes belief like a dragonfly fixed in amber.

The above post was written by our 

monthly correspondent, Lee Liberman.

Franziska Schlotterer's CLOSED SEASON: yet another surprising tale out of The Holocaust

They have no end, these stories that keep rising, year in and year out, from the ashes of the destruction of the Jews in the Nazi-occupied territories during World War II. The latest -- sort of, it was made in 2012 but is only now arriving in U.S. theaters -- is a small-scale tale of a husband, wife and the interloper who becomes a odd but necessary part of their "family." CLOSED SEASON (Ende der Schonzeit), co-written (with Gwendolyn Bellmann) and directed by Franziska Schlotterer (shown below), takes place in the Black Forest area of Germany in the middle of WWII, and, with the exception of a few local townspeople (along with a few others shown in Israel at the film's beginning and end). is basically a three-hander: quiet, intimate and at times even lyrical.

Though telling an unusual (that's putting it mildly) tale, the movie should leave little doubt that such a thing could and probably did happen during this time and place. Still, to its credit, the film does not claim that it is -- as is every other movie these days -- "based on true events." Slow-moving, somewhat obvious, and lacking much action (except in sexual situations), Closed Season is certainly no "breakthrough" of any sort. Yet the dialog and direction are strong enough to carry it along, and the performances in particular are top-notch.

As the pivot point of this movie, Brigitte Hobmeier (above) brings a fine combination of distance, dignity, anger and passion to her role of the put-upon (in more ways than one) wife. As her stern and seemingly thoughtless husband, Hans-Jochen Wagner (below, left) does wonders with a character that could easily seem remote and unfeeling. By movie's end we're in his corner every bit as much as we are in those of the other two protagonists.

In the third role, that of a young Jew fleeing the Nazis who stumbles upon the couple and their farm, Christian Friedel (of The White Ribbon and Amour Fou), shown above, right, and below, would of course appear to have our sympathy from the get-go. It is to the movie's credit that his character proves as nuanced as the other two -- though what he must finally endure bears little comparison to the travails of the host couple.

Although in its peculiar way a movie about The Holocaust, Closed Season allows us to view not a bit of that awful experience. It all remains off-screen. We are privy only to what occurs between this threesome. But that is enough to keep us relatively hooked. The book-end opening and closing of the film allow us a look into the next generation, as well as revealing more about what happened to our threesome -- and why.

All in all, if the film breaks no new ground, Ms Schlotterer's movie is well-executed enough to be worth a viewing and maybe some interesting discussion afterward. From Menemsha Films and running a concise 100 minutes, it has its American theatrical debut here in South Florida tomorrow, Friday, January 15, at the Cinema Paradiso in Fort Lauderdale, the Living Room Theater, Boca Raton, and at the Movies of Delray and Movies of Lake Worth. Further release dates, cities and theaters can be found (eventually) by clicking here.

Personal appearance: 

the film's co-writer Gwendolyn Bellmann 

will appear at the various theaters above 

for a Q&A during the opening weekend.

World War II and survival via learning: János Szász's uber-bleak tale of THE NOTEBOOK

A pair of attractive young twin boys graces THE NOTE BOOK, but anyone who mistakes this film with the movie crafted from the sentimental, sodden Nicholas Sparks novel will probably go running from the theater within a very few minutes. This newer Hungarian film traces the lives of these twins, once they have been sent off to the country to live with Grandma, after Hitler's troops have entered Hungary and begun despoiling it.

Using twins as its main characters to bring the point of the novel and film home was a fine idea because of the nature of twins: to be so firmly rooted one to the other that no other character could in any way exist to pull the pair apart. Had the "hero" of the tale been a singular character, he (or she) might have looked to another, older, wiser person for guidance here.

The twins (above) have each other, and together they determine to learn how to survive by watching and aping their "masters" -- who are in this case their truly horrible grandmother (below) and the Nazis who overrun the country. (That's the fine Danish actor, Ulrich Thomsen, shown two photos below as the leading German officer.)

If you are imagining that this scenario would result in one of the bleakest, ugliest portraits of WWII to so far make it to the screen, you'd be on the mark. One of  the pair writes what they have learned in that "notebook" of the title (the film even uses the French title of the international best-seller on which it was based, Le Grand Cahier, as a kind of recognizable subtitle), which we see from time to time.

Mostly we see the horrors of wartime brought home in a somewhat different manner, as our twins stand up to their oppressors by hardening their bodies, minds and hearts. This leads to perhaps the most shocking, deadening finale you will have encountered -- even in the overrun realm of WWII and Holocaust films.

While I refer to the Holocaust, The Notebook is not really a Holocaust movie, as the twins are not Jewish, and neither are most of the characters we see and meet here. The one scene of Jews being rounded up, and a young girl the twins become involved with (above and below) ratting out a local shoemaker as Jewish, is well done but somewhat peripheral. (Later we see smoke rising from the camp chimneys.) And because the movie jumps so often and so quickly from incident to incident, we get no real sense of what the shoemaker meant to the twins. We are told, but we don't see.

This jumping from incident to incident seems a hallmark of the film's director, János Szász (shown below), and it was probably a wise one in terms of cramming into the film's very cut-down 104-minute running time as many bits and pieces as possible.

These incidents do not necessarily grow more horrible as they go along (they're dreadful from the get-go), and yet in terms of wartime humiliation, they cannot help but finally appear that way.

How war dehumanizes a population is the major theme here, as shown us via the twins. Not that certain members of that population were not already plenty dehumanized (Grandma, for one). But how our boys lose all shred of humanity until their final shocking act -- which, not incidentally, I think, allows them to "grow" in a certain way that they have, until now, denied themselves.

What kind of growth this is, however, you will have to decide for yourself. Becoming autonomous has rarely been shown us in quite this kind of manner.

Whether or not you'll want to put yourself through the toils of this particular Notebook is an interesting question. The film is certainly well-done of its kind, yet what it adds to our history of World War II, I am not certain. The twins (newcomers László Gyémánt and András Gyémánt) give as good a performance (for untutored actors) as you could wish, even if their expressions seldom vary, and they never seem to outgrow their matching sweaters over the course of the war.

Supporting performances are on the mark, as well, with Granny (Piroska Molnár) especially good, while the twins' mom (Gyöngyvér Bognár, shown above and below) and dad (Ulrich Matthes) are in fine form to show us the before and after of  that particular generation during WWII.

From Sony Pictures Classics, The Notebook (Le Grand Cahier) opens this Friday, August 29, in New York (at the Quad Cinema) and Los Angeles at Laemmle's Royal. The following Friday it will expand in  the L.A. area to Laemmle's Town Center 5 and Playhouse 7.

Andrew Shea's PORTRAIT OF WALLY: an art theft that spawned yet more thieving

Combining some of the history of The Rape of Europa with the mystery and investigative skills of The Art of the Steal, the new art documentary directed by Andrew Shea and titled PORTRAIT OF WALLY concentrates on but a single piece of art -- the portrait of the title, painted by Egon Schiele in 1912 of his mistress, Walburga "Wally" Neuzil -- and its long and tortuous history involving steal after steal after steal.

Willi Korte, the researcher and investigator who co-founded the Holocaust Art Restitution Project, calls the final steal involved here, and the one concentrated on by the filmmaker, "The case out of all art restitution cases that has shaped the discussion for the forthcoming years." How we get to that case involves the original steal by a Nazi named Friedrich Welz in 1939 from the Jewish Viennese art gallery owner, Lea Bondi, to whom the painting of Wally originally belonged.

When, in 1997, "Wally" suddenly surfaced, on loan from the Leopold Museum in Austria to New York's Museum of Modern Art, the heirs of Lea Bondi asked MoMA to hold the painting in New York. MoMA refused and a court case was begun that lasted 13 years. It's that case, how it was handled -- along with who was involved -- and its final resolution that make up the meat of the movie. And a full meal it is.

We see and hear a wide range of people, from newscaster/journalist Morley Safer to New York City D.A. Robert Morgenthau, art historians to museum honchos, art collectors to Bondi family members. Filmmaker Shea, shown at left, is not one to raise his voice: The documentary seems quite evenhanded and fair. But Shea also allows everyone to voice his or her opinion, and some of these are surprising in their condemnation of powerful institutions such as MoMA and National Public Radio and then-political figures like Alphonse D'Amato. The section involving radio journalist/critic David D'Arcy -- who also co-produced the documentary -- and his shoddy treatment by the cowardly NPR is eye/ear-opening.

The evidence amassed against the museum consortium here in the U.S. and NPR, as well as against Austria's Leopold Museum and its "founder" Rudolf Leopold is daunting. Little wonder that most of the real villains of the piece -- MoMA, Ronald Lauder, Alphonse D'Amato and NPR -- declined to be interviewed, while everyone else proved more than willing.

By sticking with this single painting, its history and the history of all those who circled around it, the movie proves an intelligent and surprising foray into the world of high-end art -- and a more vital and immediate experience than even The Rape of Europa. And by allowing us to see that the museum responsible for a fascinating show like Marina Abramović: The Artist Is Present (a documentary about which will open here next month) is also responsible for an unnecessary 13-year-long court battle in which that museum was morally and legally bankrupt (well: nobody's perfect), the film does us all a service.

Portrait of Wally, 90 minutes, from Seventh Art Releasing, opens this Friday, May 11, in New York City at the Quad Cinema. To view upcoming playdates, theatrically and festival-wise, click here, and then scroll down the left hand side of the screen that opens up until you reach Calendar Events. Eventually, too, the film should make it to DVD.

Disappointment of the Year: Tarantino's INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS

How glad is TrustMovies that he waited for DVD and didn't waste any of his slowly disappear-
ing savings by rush-
ing to the theater to view Quentin Tarantino's tiresome INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS? Very. But now, having seen 1-1/2 hours of it on DVD (yep: he skipped the last hour and went back to blogging: time better spent), he admits he is flummoxed as to what all the fuss is/was about.

Starting at the beginning, with the scene between the French dairy farmer and the naughty Nazi, we get it, we know what's going to happen, and then we just wait. And wait. Past surprise, past suspense, past humor, past caring. Later, when we see both the Nazi and the escaped Jewess together again in the same scene, do we really have to be reminded of what happened earlier? Does Mr. Quentin, shown at right, believe his audience is that dumb?

I guess so.

Scenes like this first one -- lengthy, drawn out talk-fests during which we are reminded of things we already know -- keep happening over and over: the cute-meet via ladder, the restaurant into which every noted Nazi in Paris appears, the secret meeting at the how-come-it's-in-a-basement? bar (shown above). And then there is Brad Pitt (below), giving the absolute worst performance I have ever seen from this OK-to-sometimes-very-good (Burn After Reading) actor: one-note, one-expression, with the accent on the accent, an insult to himself and his viewers.

Take away the needless repetition and all the visual and verbal movie references from Inglourious Basterds and that first 90-or-so minutes that I watched might have been paired down to a swift and decent hour. Of course we expect and get over-the-top violence from Mr. Quentin: Here it's scalping, clubbing-to-death, various shoot-outs and the finger-in-the-leg-wound (kinda paltry, really, but I'm not complaining). Well, I am complaining, but not about the violence. Rather it's the film-making in general. This self-bred auteur seems to have lost not just his edge but his overall ability to tell what's funny (or dramatic, suspenseful, and/or necessary) from what's not.

The writer/director does gets points for casting international stars like Mélanie Laurent, Diane Kruger, Christoph Waltz and Daniel Brühl (shown, right). But the praise heaped upon the cinematography and sets seems a tad over-the-top. You'll find more creativity and the right "look" from Paris 36 than anything I saw in those first 90 minutes. I'll probably finish the film someday. I've certainly seen worse this year. But nothing as over-hyped, over-rated and obvious. I realize that I am in the great minority on this one. Over the years I've run hot and cold on the work of this particular filmmaker, enjoying some films (or parts of them), disliking others. Until now, however, I had never found myself bored.

Inglourious Basterds makes its DVDebut today -- available for purchase or rental.