Jojo Rabbit & The Nazi Problem
(A spoiler-free article written by Connor)
With a risky cocktail of irreverent humour and dramatic gravitas, Taika Waititi (Thor Ragnarok, What We Do in the Shadows) gives us Jojo Rabbit. This is the story of a bullied ten-year-old, Jojo, who must question his nationalism as he faces the final days of Nazi Germany. When Jojo discovers that his mother, Rosie (Scarlet Johanson), is hiding a Jewish girl in her attic, Jojo must confront the prejudices he has been led to believe. Set during the fall of the Third Reich, it explores themes of racism and dogma through a comedic lens.
Granted, this was always going to ruffle some feathers. However, some critics have created startling paradoxes in their objections to Waititi’s well-crafted film. While on the whole, reception has been incredibly positive, a minority of critics have written some pretty scathing stuff. In their damning declarations that both satirical comedy and ethical nuance have no place in the discussion on authoritarianism, these outspoken writers are themselves cementing a perverse and quite frankly, dangerous ideology. This way of thinking is not only historically and morally insensitive; failing to understand how regimes rise and fall, but also does nothing to aid in the cultural conversation on how to stop them rising again…
First of all, what's the film like generally? Now don't get me wrong, this isn't a flawless movie, or even likely to be anyone's favourite of the year. That said, it’s a relatively refreshing project to see in the current world of cinema. Most of its coming-of-age character beats are nicely woven into the narrative and land exceedingly well, theatre-goers are sure to laugh at many of the jokes and there is surprisingly stylistic cinematography at times. On the whole, it is deserving of its multiple nominations and awards for sure. Waititi has proven himself a clear dab hand at humour but very occasionally the balance alongside the heavy material can be awkward. The flick didn't get everything right but the absolute tonal gymnastics required to pull this off is almost Forrest Gump-esque at times. One highlight is a visit from the Bristolian Gestapo, in the form of lanky Office co-writer Stephen Merchant, which somehow manages to be simultaneously hilarious and nail-bitingly tense. But let's get to the real problem - Nazis.
The Guardian's Peter Bradshaw referred to the film as "insidious", "pointless" and "terrible", highlighting the apparent smug, quaint and sanitised handling of Nazi Germany, clearly feeling that dour tones and abject horror are more suitable ways, nay the only ways, to deal with Nazis. Similarly, the New Yorker's Richard Brody chimed in, saying that the film unintentionally muddies the moral waters and seems to say "there are a lot of very fine people on both sides". There were similar complaints about the film feeling too 'charming' given its subject matter or that inappropriate use of antisemitic slurs and myths being played for laughs. Perhaps the worst review came from Hannah Woodhead writing for Little White Lies, who declared that the film "feels oddly impartial, keen to note that actually, there were some nice Nazis too. That's not really something we need to hear in 2019, with white nationalism back in vogue and on the march across much of western civilisation". This and Brody's comments about murky waters are particularly interesting for reasons that will become apparent.
Others more directly disagreed with the film's premise more so than its execution and this appears to be the subtext for this general vein of thinking. It seems a strange tactic to begin with a critique of a vision rather than its result. It's a bit like saying "I'm not partial to the romance genre so I'll sit this one out" - as a review it almost dodges having to review anything at all and misses the mark by becoming lost in wider discussions of identity politics and meta-commentary. Finding the film unfunny or badly handled is one thing but I think these reviews are revelatory of a deeper point about the role of art and the critical community. They also hit on a problem in how our society wants to discuss authoritarianism. (I'll give you a clue - badly... so let’s unpack this.)
The Guardian's Peter Bradshaw referred to the film as "insidious", "pointless" and "terrible", highlighting the apparent smug, quaint and sanitised handling of Nazi Germany, clearly feeling that dour tones and abject horror are more suitable ways, nay the only ways, to deal with Nazis. Similarly, the New Yorker's Richard Brody chimed in, saying that the film unintentionally muddies the moral waters and seems to say "there are a lot of very fine people on both sides". There were similar complaints about the film feeling too 'charming' given its subject matter or that inappropriate use of antisemitic slurs and myths being played for laughs. Perhaps the worst review came from Hannah Woodhead writing for Little White Lies, who declared that the film "feels oddly impartial, keen to note that actually, there were some nice Nazis too. That's not really something we need to hear in 2019, with white nationalism back in vogue and on the march across much of western civilisation". This and Brody's comments about murky waters are particularly interesting for reasons that will become apparent.
Others more directly disagreed with the film's premise more so than its execution and this appears to be the subtext for this general vein of thinking. It seems a strange tactic to begin with a critique of a vision rather than its result. It's a bit like saying "I'm not partial to the romance genre so I'll sit this one out" - as a review it almost dodges having to review anything at all and misses the mark by becoming lost in wider discussions of identity politics and meta-commentary. Finding the film unfunny or badly handled is one thing but I think these reviews are revelatory of a deeper point about the role of art and the critical community. They also hit on a problem in how our society wants to discuss authoritarianism. (I'll give you a clue - badly... so let’s unpack this.)
There seems to be a sentiment lurking in these criticisms that the combination of certain ideas is intrinsically terrible, namely Nazis and comedy. We've seen this before; the idea that art and storytelling should adhere to certain taboos. Good art is unrestricted, it pushes boundaries and explores uncomfortable areas (not that this movie is anything truly groundbreaking, by any means). However, you can't help but get the sense from some dissenters that not only did they think the movie didn't handle the material well but that generally, art should never attempt what Waititi has done.
The blanket statement that comedy has no place in tackling regimes is grossly offensive and insensitive. This notion ignores a rich history of iconoclasm and satire. It seems we've already forgotten Mel Brook's satirical musical Springtime For Hitler. Giving that this mocking creation comes from a German-Jewish WW2 Veteran, it seems a striking testimony to the role that art can play in dismantling ideology. The reason why comedy can be so effective in this effort is that through its open conversation, the dismantling of taboos and the sheer joy it brings, shines as the opposite of what regimes typically stand for. It reverses the dynamics of power, reducing the powerful to the powerless and vice versa. From Charlie Chaplain to Holocaust victims, people have used satire to engage in these dynamics and dress down regimes. This complaint is nothing new of course... remember Tarantino's Inglourious Bastards and the media shitstorm that accompanied it? Storytelling should explore history and make use of its antipodes - Nazis are often the first thought-of example when one thinks of villainy in this regard.
Whether Jojo Rabbit pulls any of this off effectively is, of course, more debatable. Yet, the premise is indisputably valid and part of a long-standing story of anti-Nazi entertainment. Especially when it comes from the mind of a Polynesian Jew! Some of these reviews seem to go beyond the mandate of critiquing filmmaking and appear to be rather poorly engaging in the philosophy of art.
That said, some critics have delved firmly into the substance of the film, yet many of the counter-examples mentioned seem quite poor. One often-mentioned is the Gestapo investigation scene, wherein a running joke is a continual exchange of salutes by all of the characters present, seemingly adding to the "non-horror" of the situation. Yet, due to its historical accuracy (yes, you really did have to heil everyone in the room, especially in situations like these), it is one of the most effective jokes in the film. One of the most talked-about examples, is the outrageous and fantastical Jewish stereotypes in the film, which many deemed offensive (That may have been the point?). Such commentary most likely confuses the subject with the target of the joke. That is, the joke is on the ideologues who espouse these bizarre and offensive theories, not their recipients. We know this because the point of their inclusion is clearly their laughable and obvious falsity. We're talking mind-control, demonic horns and the like. Is this really good material for a "joke" though or is this still too sensitive a subject? Well, reducing the Nazi's peculiar and fallacious racial ideologies to the absurd jokes that they seem the most appropriate way to fight hate. Not to mention that there are certain advantages to dealing with this in a more lighthearted tone than we are typically used to in Hollywood.
What's most apt about the unconventional use of comedy in a film like this is that, despite what you may think, not all the gravitas is lost. In fact, the darker themes and dramatic beats are enriched by the general sense of black comedy. Comedy allows its emotional moments to have more impact by sharp contrast and the occasional timely juxtaposition. Obviously this film cannot match The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas or Schindler's List, but neither does it try to and for good reason. It's a classic case of apples and oranges. Those crying out for more of that realistic grit to teach us moral lessons are perhaps underestimating the role films like this have in our conversations. They are two different kinds of the many ways in which we can use effective storytelling to contribute to our cultural discussions. Granted, it shouldn't be the predominant way we talk about these things, but there's no harm in experimenting.
One of the unique advantages of piloting the comedic vehicle through the dark themes of the holocaust is that we share in the highs of Jojo’s world as opposed to the sombre disgust and moral shock that films like The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas demand upon us. That is, we relate to this world more openly and willingly through seeing a hyper-real and bizarre parody of it. The morals are still imparted effectively when that optimism worldview is challenged. We see society through a child's eyes, both narratively and tonally and thus Nazi ideals look more ridiculous than ever from this juvenile and optimistic perspective. Heart and charm certainly have a place in media that challenges prejudice, particularly when the style demands that lens.
The blanket statement that comedy has no place in tackling regimes is grossly offensive and insensitive. This notion ignores a rich history of iconoclasm and satire. It seems we've already forgotten Mel Brook's satirical musical Springtime For Hitler. Giving that this mocking creation comes from a German-Jewish WW2 Veteran, it seems a striking testimony to the role that art can play in dismantling ideology. The reason why comedy can be so effective in this effort is that through its open conversation, the dismantling of taboos and the sheer joy it brings, shines as the opposite of what regimes typically stand for. It reverses the dynamics of power, reducing the powerful to the powerless and vice versa. From Charlie Chaplain to Holocaust victims, people have used satire to engage in these dynamics and dress down regimes. This complaint is nothing new of course... remember Tarantino's Inglourious Bastards and the media shitstorm that accompanied it? Storytelling should explore history and make use of its antipodes - Nazis are often the first thought-of example when one thinks of villainy in this regard.
Whether Jojo Rabbit pulls any of this off effectively is, of course, more debatable. Yet, the premise is indisputably valid and part of a long-standing story of anti-Nazi entertainment. Especially when it comes from the mind of a Polynesian Jew! Some of these reviews seem to go beyond the mandate of critiquing filmmaking and appear to be rather poorly engaging in the philosophy of art.
That said, some critics have delved firmly into the substance of the film, yet many of the counter-examples mentioned seem quite poor. One often-mentioned is the Gestapo investigation scene, wherein a running joke is a continual exchange of salutes by all of the characters present, seemingly adding to the "non-horror" of the situation. Yet, due to its historical accuracy (yes, you really did have to heil everyone in the room, especially in situations like these), it is one of the most effective jokes in the film. One of the most talked-about examples, is the outrageous and fantastical Jewish stereotypes in the film, which many deemed offensive (That may have been the point?). Such commentary most likely confuses the subject with the target of the joke. That is, the joke is on the ideologues who espouse these bizarre and offensive theories, not their recipients. We know this because the point of their inclusion is clearly their laughable and obvious falsity. We're talking mind-control, demonic horns and the like. Is this really good material for a "joke" though or is this still too sensitive a subject? Well, reducing the Nazi's peculiar and fallacious racial ideologies to the absurd jokes that they seem the most appropriate way to fight hate. Not to mention that there are certain advantages to dealing with this in a more lighthearted tone than we are typically used to in Hollywood.
What's most apt about the unconventional use of comedy in a film like this is that, despite what you may think, not all the gravitas is lost. In fact, the darker themes and dramatic beats are enriched by the general sense of black comedy. Comedy allows its emotional moments to have more impact by sharp contrast and the occasional timely juxtaposition. Obviously this film cannot match The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas or Schindler's List, but neither does it try to and for good reason. It's a classic case of apples and oranges. Those crying out for more of that realistic grit to teach us moral lessons are perhaps underestimating the role films like this have in our conversations. They are two different kinds of the many ways in which we can use effective storytelling to contribute to our cultural discussions. Granted, it shouldn't be the predominant way we talk about these things, but there's no harm in experimenting.
One of the unique advantages of piloting the comedic vehicle through the dark themes of the holocaust is that we share in the highs of Jojo’s world as opposed to the sombre disgust and moral shock that films like The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas demand upon us. That is, we relate to this world more openly and willingly through seeing a hyper-real and bizarre parody of it. The morals are still imparted effectively when that optimism worldview is challenged. We see society through a child's eyes, both narratively and tonally and thus Nazi ideals look more ridiculous than ever from this juvenile and optimistic perspective. Heart and charm certainly have a place in media that challenges prejudice, particularly when the style demands that lens.
The last and arguably most egregious misstep in these criticisms is their ethical and political implications. It’s here we revisit the notion that "some Nazis were nice" and how this is "backfires" against Waititi. This couldn't be further from the truth and, rather than adding to the "non-horror" of the scenario, it hits on a darker and more chilling truth. We’ve lost our ability to take authoritarian regimes seriously. We had mystified their essence as they have faded further into myth and in doing so, inadvertently deified them. We have placed them on a pedestal and portrayed them to represent a kind of metaphysical and cosmic evil, more fitting of a comic book than serious commentary. It's certainly not the fault of well-aimed satire like this, but the people who insist that the masses are one bad joke away from goose-stepping. It isn't jokes that are causing the noted rise in white nationalism but ideology. Ideology, as we see in the character of Jojo, can influence otherwise good people - a fact worth remembering.
One of the recurring beats in Waititi’s film is Jojo’s inability to see Elsa as human. Nazi propaganda has disfigured this 10-year-old’s view of the Jewish people as non-human; the ridiculousness of which is often played out in tragic comedy. Inversely, one can’t help but wonder if something similar is happening with the way we think about the followers of regimes. It seems we need reminding that, not only are the victims human, and it is their dehumanisation that allowed the holocaust to transpire, but so are their tormentors… all too human. Like the Nazis in Waititi's film, it seems these commentators imagine "real Nazis" also sported mind powers and horns.
From Hannah Arendt's Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil to the Stanford prison experiment, it is remarkable how good people can be swayed by poor ideas. Often these ideas take the form of systematically suppressing humanisation and reduce any chance of that experiential encounter with the human face that awakens a good person's innate sense of ethics. What's the alternative narrative that these people want to believe? That the large majority of an entire country was, all at once, "evil"? That, cartoonishly, a society collectively wakes up and decide to ignore ethics? The thought sounds like a a Saturday morning kid's show or something straight from the books of Tolkien. Such an explanation is little more than a childish and clumsy comfort. It's the result of well-intentioned non-thinking concealed by misplaced, obnoxious and righteous pride.
Only when we have the moral courage to recognise the validity of an enemy; comprehending the appeal that they feel in these regimes, and therefore fear their voice, do we stand a chance at dislodging them. So, contrary to Hannah Woodhead's remarks, we absolutely do need to hear that some Nazis were capable of compassion - that's when we can start feeling true terror... terror that we may have to take alternative ideas seriously. The way that the regressive left didn't with Trump and didn't with Brexit. Sanitised "woke discussion", at least without nuance, is probably the most ineffective at actually tackling the issues of authoritarianism, despite its obvious good intentions. It offers nothing beyond inflammatory and sweeping statements and vacuous signalling. Adam Graham seems to have his head screwed on in his review when he said the film “opens doors at a time when many are slamming them shut”.
In short, go and watch it and while you’re at it, watch out for those Nazis!
One of the recurring beats in Waititi’s film is Jojo’s inability to see Elsa as human. Nazi propaganda has disfigured this 10-year-old’s view of the Jewish people as non-human; the ridiculousness of which is often played out in tragic comedy. Inversely, one can’t help but wonder if something similar is happening with the way we think about the followers of regimes. It seems we need reminding that, not only are the victims human, and it is their dehumanisation that allowed the holocaust to transpire, but so are their tormentors… all too human. Like the Nazis in Waititi's film, it seems these commentators imagine "real Nazis" also sported mind powers and horns.
From Hannah Arendt's Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil to the Stanford prison experiment, it is remarkable how good people can be swayed by poor ideas. Often these ideas take the form of systematically suppressing humanisation and reduce any chance of that experiential encounter with the human face that awakens a good person's innate sense of ethics. What's the alternative narrative that these people want to believe? That the large majority of an entire country was, all at once, "evil"? That, cartoonishly, a society collectively wakes up and decide to ignore ethics? The thought sounds like a a Saturday morning kid's show or something straight from the books of Tolkien. Such an explanation is little more than a childish and clumsy comfort. It's the result of well-intentioned non-thinking concealed by misplaced, obnoxious and righteous pride.
Only when we have the moral courage to recognise the validity of an enemy; comprehending the appeal that they feel in these regimes, and therefore fear their voice, do we stand a chance at dislodging them. So, contrary to Hannah Woodhead's remarks, we absolutely do need to hear that some Nazis were capable of compassion - that's when we can start feeling true terror... terror that we may have to take alternative ideas seriously. The way that the regressive left didn't with Trump and didn't with Brexit. Sanitised "woke discussion", at least without nuance, is probably the most ineffective at actually tackling the issues of authoritarianism, despite its obvious good intentions. It offers nothing beyond inflammatory and sweeping statements and vacuous signalling. Adam Graham seems to have his head screwed on in his review when he said the film “opens doors at a time when many are slamming them shut”.
In short, go and watch it and while you’re at it, watch out for those Nazis!