Hitler's Final Days: Der Untergang

By Kale S. Bongers | Friday, November 4, 2005

It is almost a maxim in the film industry that controversy sells a movie but fails to deliver awards or critical recognition. Take, as case studies, films such as The Passion of the Christ and Fahrenheit 9/11, both of which aroused public opinion on all sides of the culture wars and received numerous scathing denunciations from pundits and critics alike. Each proceeded to gross copious amounts of money in theaters, but were subsequently shut out of the Oscars. Downfall, the recent film depicting the final days of Adolf Hitler and his Nazi regime, does not easily fit into this assumption: it did not have large box-office sales (less than $5.5 million in the United States in the first four months), but it did garner an Academy Award nomination for best foreign language film. In this distinction, among others, Downfall differs from what is expected of it. It depicts the Nazis neither as sympathetic innocents (as some critics have alleged), nor as monsters—not typical World War II movie fare.

Similarly, instead of delivering a staid, stereotypical war film, Downfall is a singularly profound and moving work that seamlessly blends military and civilian lives and physical and mental manifestations of war to provide intriguing insights into the fall of the Third Reich and to force its viewers to question their own adherence to ideology.

The film focuses on two worlds that are inextricably intertwined: the grim destruction of the war as the front lines move ever-closer to Berlin and the decadent lives led by those in Hitler's bunker, far below the embattled city. Outside the bunker, vigilante justice and chaos reign; supposed "conspirators" and "deserters" are shot on paranoid whims; the limbs of the wounded are amputated without the benefit of anesthetics in makeshift operating rooms while bombs wreak havoc on human and building alike. Inside the bunker, however, those same bombs are mere rumbles; chilled champagne is being served in immaculate fluted glasses as the bunker's residents fully partake in the uninhibited, but largely joyless, hedonism of the damned. One instantly recalls the aphorism based on the book of Ecclesiastes: Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die. The dour juxtaposition of the situations in the city and in the bunker is intentionally remorseless—while the faceless German masses are on the verge of complete annihilation, those responsible live in a fantasy where ideological purity is preferred to life or reason. Eventually, however, the inescapable truth of war arrives, and the two realities finally converge on the unavoidable, grim conclusion. The film's crescendo of desperation culminates with Hitler's suicide and the utter collapse of order in the Nazi state.

Hitler's death follows a decline into madness that coldly parallels his nation's slow road to anarchy and ruin. The irresistible power of Hitler's character is the result of a truly exceptional performance by Bruno Ganz. Ganz plays his role forcefully, yet somehow so delicately, that the viewer is ill at ease regarding Hitler's motives. Though he often seems insane, commanding armies that exist only in his mind and making fantastic plans for a new imperial Berlin, there is enough cruel calculation remaining in him to retain culpability. The result is a doubly unnerving character: is it worse to have a madman leading the nation or a cold-hearted killer completely aware of his actions? In channeling facets of both, Ganz creates a complex yet utterly repugnant character.

Hitler's coterie of aides and strategists proves an interesting study in the power of personal loyalty even when the trait is unwarranted and not reciprocated. Virtually all of the generals know that the Nazi state is at an end, and that any continuation of the conflict will be utterly futile. Yet they cannot (or will not) see Hitler's guile, or summon whatever remaining loyalty they have to the German people to overcome the love of their power and the personal connection they feel to their leader. Hitler is able to exploit them, and they are led astray again, perhaps the most damning indictment possible. One desperate officer's unanswered question hangs as a pall over the whole affair: "Should that [Hitler's position as Führer] prevent us from thinking?" The query is unintentionally profound, one of the foundational questions of the film, and may easily be extended to every Nazi, and to every human being: should death or dishonor prevent someone from doing what is right? In this sense, Downfall portrays a World War II that was not merely fought in the Ardennes, North Africa, or the beaches of Normandy, but also in the minds, hearts, and interactions of the German people. Through this strong dimension of the interactions between Hitler and his supporting ensemble, director Oliver Hirschbiegel enhances the condemnation of both: Hitler is seen as a ruthless, glory-seeking consummate egotist, while his generals and aides are spineless individuals who, for reasons of personal advancement, stubbornness, or apathy, willingly suspend their disbeliefs and follow evil.

Downfall is an extraordinary work, one which successfully intertwines the horrors of combat with an outstanding plot and meaningful characters. So effective is the film that the viewer feels like a voyeur peering into the private lives of the Nazis; the viewer is simultaneously repulsed and intrigued, too revolted to condone the actions of the murderous regime, yet too interested in their foibles and affairs to fully turn away. The film does not portray any of its characters favorably, as some critics have claimed, but does not depict the leaders of the Nazi regime as monsters.

Indeed, this is what gives the film much of its immense power: he characters are evil, yes, but still fundamentally human. It is a frightening thought, one that jarringly reminds us that it is but a thin fa�ade of civilization which shields humanity from utter barbarism. The recent horrors of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans were just the latest example of this inherently barbaric aspect of human nature. Human decency, then, must be vigorously and constantly protected so such a malevolent man, or even an act of nature, can never again inspire such acts of horror against a nation and the world.

Hitler's Final Days: Der Untergang

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