Here in Russia, it's a common opinion that we have a twisted perception of German language because the first encounter with it usually happens when we watch a war movie, where hearing the German speech usually means that something really bad is about to happen. I'm not sure if I ever had nightmares about running away from "Ze Germans", but just the sound of Till Lindemann counting from one to ten does indeed sound like some unholy incantation.
My generation is maybe the last one still scarred with this cultural propaganda. There have been so many war films made in the USSR days, and those films still keep on coming. And the absolute most of them feed you two main things: fear and hate. I wish it was otherwise, I really do. But that's how it is, and it's part of the reason I never really liked war movies as a kid.
So I can honestly say one thing. Jojo Rabbit is the best war movie that I've never seen in my childhood. But I'm still grateful that it happened now. Despite being such a grotesquely simplified guilty pleasure, it has one thing any other serious films about this topic lack: sanity. That, and humanity. The 10 year old boy with scars on his face and a swastika on his armband somehow managed to keep his soul intact, and that child's purity is what allows you to see the horrors of war but avoid its traumas.
It might be Waititi's writing that won this film an Oscar. But the heart of it was carried by Scarlett Johansson and Sam Rockwell. Ever since Lost in Translation it was clear that Johansson can act, but for me this film has revealed her ability to steal scenes and carry them single-handedly. That soot mustache speech and a dance that ensued, that's quite mature for someone generally associated with "sexy" characters. And Mr Rockwell, oh my, I didn't like him since The Green Mile, respected him since Moon and loved him since Seven Psychopaths, but here he's just a perfect cherry on top. The last battle attire, that smokey-eyed stare, he's a true hero for giving the Nazi image a face nobody has probably dared to put on before, at least not in such a dashing and self-accepting way.
The accolades could go on and on. To Waititi's "your own, personal Adolf", to Jojo himself, who managed to come from a clumsy kid to a swaggering hustler at the end, to the brave and gentle ghost in the walls. Waititi has a talent for using the little details that look simple but add that very taste that turns cloying into touching and dumb into funny. He's done it before, and he's clearly doing it this time as well.
Whatever silly nonsense this film has shown, it is not something to be bothered about I think. If a war movie has to be surrealistic to spread love instead of hate, let it be. There's nothing civil about war anyway, so better a funny Hitler than the real one.
My generation is maybe the last one still scarred with this cultural propaganda. There have been so many war films made in the USSR days, and those films still keep on coming. And the absolute most of them feed you two main things: fear and hate. I wish it was otherwise, I really do. But that's how it is, and it's part of the reason I never really liked war movies as a kid.
So I can honestly say one thing. Jojo Rabbit is the best war movie that I've never seen in my childhood. But I'm still grateful that it happened now. Despite being such a grotesquely simplified guilty pleasure, it has one thing any other serious films about this topic lack: sanity. That, and humanity. The 10 year old boy with scars on his face and a swastika on his armband somehow managed to keep his soul intact, and that child's purity is what allows you to see the horrors of war but avoid its traumas.
It might be Waititi's writing that won this film an Oscar. But the heart of it was carried by Scarlett Johansson and Sam Rockwell. Ever since Lost in Translation it was clear that Johansson can act, but for me this film has revealed her ability to steal scenes and carry them single-handedly. That soot mustache speech and a dance that ensued, that's quite mature for someone generally associated with "sexy" characters. And Mr Rockwell, oh my, I didn't like him since The Green Mile, respected him since Moon and loved him since Seven Psychopaths, but here he's just a perfect cherry on top. The last battle attire, that smokey-eyed stare, he's a true hero for giving the Nazi image a face nobody has probably dared to put on before, at least not in such a dashing and self-accepting way.
The accolades could go on and on. To Waititi's "your own, personal Adolf", to Jojo himself, who managed to come from a clumsy kid to a swaggering hustler at the end, to the brave and gentle ghost in the walls. Waititi has a talent for using the little details that look simple but add that very taste that turns cloying into touching and dumb into funny. He's done it before, and he's clearly doing it this time as well.
Whatever silly nonsense this film has shown, it is not something to be bothered about I think. If a war movie has to be surrealistic to spread love instead of hate, let it be. There's nothing civil about war anyway, so better a funny Hitler than the real one.
