Archives for category: World War II

I started this project to review The Book Thief all the way back in March of 2014. However, after uploading my review of “I Read The Book Thief – Part Three, Chapters Five-Eight” back in August of 2014, I went on an abrupt hiatus for over half a year, and didn’t publish another review of the book for well over a year.

I started school shortly after August of 2014, so it is true that after that point I suddenly had a lot less free time on my hand, but there was still plenty of time when I was out of school and could have reviewed the book further. So the only real explanation for why my reviews became so infrequent is in this confession: I simply lost interest in the book.

I know there are many Zusak fans that will be horrified at me even saying this, such as Daniel, for instance. However, this is what I think is my explanation: Most of the book was building up to Max arriving at 33 Himmel Street, and it was foreshadowed almost from the beginning, so as soon as it did, all the tension went away.

Obviously plenty will disagree with this, but the problem for me is that this is the point where the book was supposed to start, but given the slice-of-life, relaxed style of the story, all that can happen at this point is that there will be a few tense moments where Max is at risk of being discovered and either eventually he will be or he will not be.

I also must admit that the novelty of the book has worn off for me, as I am now more used to the style and quality of the writing itself. In addition most of my readers have now lost interest and disappeared. I have decided, however, to continue a little bit further with the project, but it is likely I will not finish it.

So, without further ado, let us proceed into Part Five, titled “the whistler,” a book that Liesel had been reading in the Mayor’s library. So I think it is safe to conclude that this will be the book stolen from said library, which I now wish the back of the book had not spoiled for me.

The subtitle is

featuring:
a floating book – the gamblers – a small ghost – two haircuts – rudy’s youth – losers and sketches – a whistler and some shoes – three acts of stupidity – and a frightened boy with frozen legs

As much as I hate to say it, even these enigmatic titles don’t prove too intriguing for me, since I know the “small ghost” can obviously not turn out to be literal, and it will be explained how the other more interesting of the titles (involving “the floating book” and “the frightened boy”) come together, as soon as Zusak begins with

THE FLOATING BOOK (Part I)

As if Zusak is trying to once more pique our interest, he starts off this midway point in the book by giving us yet another glimpse of the future, this time December 1941. He paints a picture in our minds of Rudy retrieving the floating book in the Amper River and asking Liesel for a kiss. Death then finally does what I had feared he would do right from the very beginning. He gives us information about when a major character will die.

How about a kiss?
How about a kiss?
Poor Rudy.

*** A SMALL ANNOUNCEMENT ABOUT RUDY STEINER***
He didn’t deserve to die the way he did.

That’s it, no ceremony. He just hurls it at us, as an unapologetic, baldfaced fact: Rudy is going to die in this book. A character we have grown to know and love will meet a horrible death before his time, and we have to read the rest of the book waiting for it to happen.

Zusak doesn’t even bother to switch up our expectations, and preserve a bit of mystery as to when Rudy will die, as the lesser writer Sara Gruen did in the prologue of Water for Elephants (there by not revealing who died or who the killer was). He predicts the reader’s initial impression and then refutes it in the voice of Death:

Preemptively, you conclude, as I would, that Rudy died that very same day, of hypothermia. He did not. Recollections like those merely remind me that he was not deserving of the fate that met him a little under two years later.

He then describes to us in vivid detail that Rudy will die when he is hit by a bomb, surrounded by a pile of rubble. Despite wanting Liesel to kiss him all his life, she will only give it to him after he is dead. And we are forced to feel the full tragic weight of this now, nearly 2 years before it will happen.

So we have to ask ourselves why Zusak has done this. Why is he giving us all this information now?

Perhaps it’s so we know this war will result in characters we have grown to know and love dying, even if Max somehow survives. Maybe it’s so that every time we read an interaction with Rudy and Liesel, we will already be aware of the future tragedy underneath. Maybe it’s simply to shock the readers, by doing what a writer is told never to do. All we can really do is speculate at this point. But Zusak does at least end the chapter on a nice note:

He’d have been glad to witness her kissing his dusty, bomb-hit lips.
Yes, I know it.
In the darkness of my dark-beating heart, I know. He’d have loved it, all right.
You see?
Even death has a heart.

This sounds like a profound and beautiful metaphor, but I’m not sure what it is really supposed to mean. Death took Rudy before his time, but he also had the heart to let him die with a friend, so he is not as completely heartless as he may seem. In real life, however, death can be very heartless to us, so this is more a moment for the fictional Death as personified in the narrative, but it may be true that we can find some solace and heart even in death itself, if we look hard enough. This is the closest and fairest interpretation I can make of it myself.

THE GAMBLERS (A SEVEN-SIDED DIE)

Zusak opens this chapter, however, by acknowledging his readers’ shock and possible outrage at having all that information spoiled for them, and attempts to justify himself by speaking literally to the readers, albeit through the voice of Death:

Of course, I’m being rude. I’m spoiling the ending, not only of the entire book, but of this particular piece of it. I have given you two events in advance, because I don’t have much interest in building mystery. Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know what happens and so do you. It’s the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me.

This makes sense for Death, of course, since Death is evidently omniscient and knows all that will happen and how everyone will die, and sees no point in keeping it from the readers. But what Zusak is really trying to justify here is his return to an older form of storytelling. Shakespeare, for instance, opened Romeo and Juliet by telling us how it would end, that Romeo and Juliet would die and their death would end their family’s feud, because in those days, tragedies ended in death, and comedies ended in a wedding, and it was basically a given the titular characters in a Shakespearean tragedy would die, so the point was to intrigue the Elizabethean playgoers in watching the play to see how the star-crossed lovers would meet their demise.

He even asks us, if having given us all that information, we aren’t the slightest bit interested to see how it plays out.

Well, I am, to be honest, and I’m sure other readers were even more so than me, but there’s still the immediate issue of Max being added to the narrative and the tension of whether he will be discovered or not.

It started with gambling. Roll a die by hiding a Jew and this is how you live. This is how it looks.

So accordingly, the chapter is divided into seven vignettes of life in the Hubermann household, with the hidden Jew added to the family. These are separated by illustrated dice, that feature an added dot for every vignette.

The first one is titled “The Haircut,” which demonstrates that life is apparently so normal with Max now that the only passionate arguments Hans and Rosa have about it anymore are where the scissors are to give him a haircut, after he finally requests one. The vignette is cute, in how Max politely rejects Hans and Rosa’s help and asks Liesel to cut his hair, instead. That’s all this part ultimately amounts to, one more bonding moment between Max and Liesel.

The second “side of the die” is titled “The Newspaper”, and opens in May with Liesel reading the aforementioned The Whistler book in the Mayor’s library.

She looked up. She imagined herself walking over, gently tearing some fluffy hair to the side, and whispering in the woman’s ear:
“There’s a Jew in my basement.”
As the book quivered in her lap, the secret sat in her mouth. It made itself comfortable. It crossed its legs.

This is probably a realistic portrayal of the tension and conflict that would go on inside a 12-year-old asked to keep a secret of this magnitude, and it’s entertaining to read, but it also seems silly that the only apparent risk to Max being discovered at this point is one of the three people in Molching who know about him literally telling someone the secret. The book does, however, move on to something more interesting, having to do with the book that gives this part its title. The Mayor’s wife keeps trying to literally give Liesel the book every time she leaves the library, to which she refuses, and Death even explains:

If there was one thing about Liesel Meminger, her stealing was not gratuitous. She only stole books on what she felt was a need-to-have basis. Currently, she had enough.

So the question really does remain of how she will get to the point where she will literally be stealing the book, and how the hell it will end up floating in the river less than a year from now.

But then Liesel goes home to see Max, and the rest of the section is spent showing another way of bonding Liesel and Max have with each other. It shows how depressing Max’s situation continues to be, as he is never allowed out of the basement now that the summer is coming on, but he does have some consolation in that Liesel gives him newspapers regularly, and he enjoys reading them with her, as well as sharing her books. Zusak also spells out Max and Liesel’s relationship in a way I don’t really like:

Where Hans Hubermann and Erik Vandenburg were ultimately united by music, Max and Liesel were held together by the quiet gathering of words.

This just seems like the kind of analysis I wish Zusak would let the readers make instead of spelling it out. He also gives us some cute moments describing how Liesel thinks about Max, but we’ve already seen plenty of those, and I don’t know. Maybe this just isn’t that interesting to write about. It’s cute and touching to read to yourself when you can quickly pass through it and move on, but when you have to linger on it and attempt to analyze it, it just leaves you wondering how many of these moments we need to see before they become distractions.

The third one, titled “The Weatherman,” is more of the same, but it is also a bit sweeter and more genuinely charming. Max asks Liesel to describe to him what the weather is like outside, and Liesel gives him this description:

When she returned to the basement, she told him.
“The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it’s stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun is like a yellow hole….”

This visual description is silly and lackluster by Zusak’s standards, but it works because it is presented as a child’s description and Max even reflects that it could be nothing else. But I think it primarily succeeds because we get something charming and beautiful out of a tragic fact: Max has no idea what the outside world looks like anymore, and can rely only on his memories and imagination, so even a childish description like this while, not plausible, at least creates a fascinating mental image for him that’s in a way, better than if he were able to view the real thing.

On the wall, he painted a long, tightly knotted rope with a dripping yellow sun at the end of it, as if you could dive right into it. On the ropy cloud, he drew two figures-a thin girl and a withering Jew-and they were walking, arms balanced, toward that dripping sun. Beneath the picture, he wrote the following sentence.

*** THE WALL WRITTEN WORDS ***
OF MAX VANDENBURG
It was a Monday, and they walked
on a tightrope to the sun.

I can understand what Zusak meant about trying to include a treasure on every page. I still can’t help but reflect that even this scene could have easily been cut, but it does demonstrate the power of imagination, which is sometimes the only refuge we have from the cold, harsh realities of life.

The next vignette or “side of the die,” titled “The Boxer,” however, only illustrates the opposite, how our imagination can sometimes only make those realities worse or portray them vividly in the same style of hyperbolic fantasy.

This section is probably the most well-written and honestly well worth discussing. At first, it breaks from the few moments of happiness Max has and throws us into the aforementioned harsh realities of how he leads his everyday life. Most of his time is spent in boredom and isolation from the outside world, simply watching time go by and feeling the urge to disappear. Zusak then sets us into the main narrative of this section by showing the projects Max comes up with to occupy his time, primarily keeping his body in shape through a strict exercise regime.

As a teenager in Stuttgart, he could reach fifty push-ups at a time. Now, at the age of twenty-four, perhaps fifteen pounds lighter than his usual weight, he could barely make it to ten. After a week, he was completing three sets each of sixteen push-ups and twenty-two sit-ups. When he was finished, he would sit against the basement wall with his paint-can friends, feeling his pulse in his teeth. His muscles felt like cake.

Zusak really does succeed in creating empathy for Max, not just by describing his sad state of affairs, but also in making the reader imagine what it would like if this were their own life. He, then, however, shows what, in Max’s mind, all the training is building up to, and throws us into a vivid fantasy sequence.

“In the blue corner,” he quietly commentated, “we have the champion of the world, the Aryan masterpiece-the Führer.” He breathed and turned. “And in the red corner, we have the Jewish, rat-faced challenger-Max Vandenburg.”

It not only gives us a look into how Max’s brain works but also serves as an extended visual metaphor for the Jews’ persecution during this time period at the hands of Hitler. Zusak portrays this imaginary boxing match very vividly. What is truly sad is that while many people would fantasize about beating and humiliating their opponents, even in Max’s fantasies, the entire audience is against him, and the referee of the boxing match is openly in favor of Hitler and anti-Semitic.

There was only one round, and it lasted hours, and for the most part, nothing changed.
The
Führer pounded away at the punching-bag Jew.
Jewish blood was everywhere.

Apart from the rawness and brutality of this imagery, what’s depressing is that ignoring the fantasy it takes place in, it all reads as completely true. It makes you wonder, more so than Inglourious Basterds ever did, how this was allowed to happen, and how Hitler maintained the country’s support for so long. Zusak exposes this all too well, ending Max’s fantasy with a tragic twist. Max eventually gets the upper hand on Hitler, pummels him to a pulp, but rather than being a gratifying Tarantino-esque revenge fantasy sequence, Hitler appears to give up, but then even though he can fight no longer, he stands on the ropes and draws on the power of words, his sheer charisma, and the buried racism, hatred, and prejudice of the German people to summon the entire audience to come together and beat the shit out of Max:

“Can you see that this enemy has found its ways—its despicable ways—through our armor, and that clearly, I cannot stand up here alone and fight him?” The words were visible. They dropped from his mouth like jewels. “Look at him! Take a good look.” They looked. At the bloodied Max Vandenburg. “As we speak, he is plotting his way into your neighborhood. He’s moving in next door. He’s infesting you with his family and he’s about to take you over. He—“ Hitler glanced at him a moment, with disgust. “He will soon own you, until it is he who stands not at the counter of your grocery shop, but sits in the back, smoking his pipe. Before you know it, you’ll be working for him at minimum wage while he can hardly walk from the weight in his pockets. Will you simply stand there and let him do this? Will you stand by as your leaders did in the past, when they gave your land to everyone else, when they sold your country for the price of a few signatures? Will you stand out there, powerless? Or”—and now he stepped one rung higher—“will you climb up into this ring with me?”

This is one part of the book that rings true in its harsh reality. Hitler himself was not the only cause of the Holocaust, and for all his genocidal hatred and insanity, he never would have gotten anywhere if it were not for the underlying fears and distrust of minorities already brooding beneath the hearts of his citizens, which he merely took advantage of.

And so, as Max’s own fantasies turn against him once again, Liesel comes in to offer Max the only mild consolations she can provide, and Zusak ends the chapter by returning us to the reality:

Dark.
Nothing but dark now.
Just basement. Just Jew.

For all of Zusak’s optimism about humanity, he offers no comfort here and leaves the reader feeling like Max, abandoned in a dark corner, left to simply ponder and question the evils of the world.

The next section, titled “The New Dream: A Few Nights Later,” (despite taking place in the afternoon, not at night) throws a strange curveball into things, though, when Max tells Liesel about his fantasy boxing matches and Liesel asks the simple question of who wins.

At first, he was going to answer that no one did, but then he noticed the paint cans, the drop sheets, and the growing pile of newspapers in the periphery of his vision. He watched the words, the long cloud, and the figures on the wall.
“I do,” he said.

Is he saying this just for her benefit, because he can’t handle admitting the truth? Or is it because it will give him hope of beating Hitler eventually if he continues training? Is it because he has the freedom to even fantasize about fighting Hitler, rather than being held in a concentration camp by his government? The narrative leaves this strictly ambiguous, which I suppose is for the better.

The next section, titled “The Painters,” is yet more mysterious. We see Max doing something to rise his spirits by removing the pages of Mein Kampf and painting over them as part of a project to, in essence, remove the last vestiges of Hitler’s work and create something new and potentially beautiful. He even manages to enlist the rest of the Hubermanns in helping him with this, as well, and when Liesel is invited to help them, she remembers how Max described his fantasies and seems to become inspired:

Many months later, he would also paint over the cover of that book and give it a new title, after one of the stories he would write and illustrate inside it.
That afternoon, in the secret ground below 33 Himmel Street, the Hubermanns, Liesel Meminger, and Max Vandenburg prepared the pages of 
The Word Shaker.

This storyline seems to come out of nowhere, and the chapter never returns to it, either. I genuinely don’t understand where this is going at all, or what this Word Shaker book will be about, but from Liesel’s fantasy inspiration, it appears the book may contain some kind of moral vindication against Hitler and the Nazis. I’m interested to see where this will go.

But now the story moves to “The Showdown” and the aforementioned “seventh side of the die”. The extended metaphor of this chapter’s title is now fully explained. A die typically has six sides, so obviously for any die to roll seven sides… Well, I’ll let Death explain it.

You roll and watch it coming, realizing completely that this is no regular die. You claim it to be bad luck, but you’ve known all along that it had to come. You brought it into the room. The table could smell it on your breath. The Jew was sticking out of your pocket from the outset. He’s smeared to your lapel, and the moment you roll, you know it’s a seven-the one thing that somehow finds a way to hurt you. It lands. It stares you in each eye, miraculous and loathsome, and you turn away with it feeding on your chest.

This is another area of the chapter which contains genuinely great writing and it is also the only point where Zusak succeeds in creating genuine dread
based on Max’s presence in the Hubermann household:

Of no consequence.
That’s what you make yourself believe – because deep down, you know that this small piece of changing fortune is a signal of things to come. You hide a Jew. You pay. Somehow or other, you must.

I’m willing to admit this legitimately had me on the edge of my seat, wondering what would happen to either expose Max or start the chain of events that led to him being exposed. However, Death then when speaking again about Liesel’s recollections writing in the basement years later, admits the incident in this chapter actually had nothing to do with Max at all:

In the great scheme of things, she reasoned that Rosa being fired by the mayor and his wife was not bad luck at all. It had nothing whatsoever to do with hiding Jews. It had everything to do with the greater context of the war.

Well… yeah. That kind of goes without saying. And……. THAT’S IT? How is that some shocking “seventh side of the die”? Hell, they already lost all of their other customers already, so while sad and troublesome, this shouldn’t even be too surprising. So it’s just a shame that that writing, while great, seems to have been basically wasted already.

And the real climax of this chapter doesn’t even come when Liesel is ready to leave the Mayor’s house after reading once more and Frau Hermann (after finally nagging Liesel into taking The Whistler with her) gives her the envelope for Rosa that obviously means the laundry services have been canceled. No, the real drama comes afterwards, in Liesel’s reaction, which is very interesting to discuss. To be fair, Zusak does spend a lot of time carefully showing just how heartbroken and genuinely hurt Liesel is by this:

When the others had canceled, it hadn’t hurt so much. There was always the mayor, his library, and her connection with his wife. Also, this was the last one, the last hope, gone. This time, it felt like the greatest betrayal.
……
Liesel felt it now in the shoulders. The pain, the impact of final rejection.
That’s it? she asked internally. You just boot me out?

Liesel probably could have seen it coming, true, but I think on some level she saw Frau Hermann as something close to a true friend to her, someone she had formed a connection with, a “kindred spirit,” so to speak, in the words of Anne from Anne of Green Gables. And now said friend has cut off one of their last means of viable income.

It’s true, however, that when Liesel reads the letter, it is revealed that it was the Mayor’s decision to “terminate the services of Rosa Hubermann” and not his wife’s, and his reasoning is understandable, if not questionable and a self-serving political maneuver the likes of when George W. Bush decided to stop playing golf in the face of the war in Iraq:

For the most part, he explained that he would be a hypocrite if he maintained his own small luxuries while advising others to prepare for harder times.

This does make sense, though, in a way, even if as Liesel feels, it would help her family personally deal with harder times, and it is as mentioned, a political maneuver and a distraction from the fact that he’s a rich, powerful man who obviously has plenty of luxuries not afforded to the middle-class and lower, in any case. Zusak does highlight in several cases that Liesel’s anger is irrational, such as when she assumes the Mayor’s wife is being dishonest in offering to let Liesel come back to read (even though it’s doubtful she would make the offer if she were unwilling to keep it), and when she accuses Frau Hermann of giving her the book as an act of pity, even though she had been offered it many times beforehand.

Liesel is right to be angry, but there is also an open layer of resentment towards the privileged upper-class, which we hadn’t really seen from her before, and stands in contrast to Max, who only resents himself for exploiting the Hubermanns’ middle-class privilege.

I will also admit that on a personal level, I strongly dislike scenes in media where a character suddenly has an irrational outburst at someone and tells them everything that they have kept bottled up inside (this occurs once in Water for Elephants). It is usually unconvincing and only an act of manufacturing conflict, but that isn’t entirely what happens here, to be fair. Liesel does lose control and snap at the Mayor’s wife, but not impulsively, only as part of a deliberate decision, albeit one motivated and driven by temporary rage. She even gets all the way to the end of Munich Street before storming back and pounding on the door so she can confront the woman, first only expressing anger at having their income cut off abruptly and giving her only a book in return, but then she soon takes it farther:

The injury of words.
Yes, the brutality of words.
She summoned them from someplace she only now recognized and hurled them at Ilsa Hermann. “It’s about time,” she informed her, “that you do your own stinking washing anyway. It’s about time you faced the fact that your son is dead. He got killed! He got strangled and cut up more than twenty years ago! Or did he freeze to death? Either way, he’s dead! He’s dead and it’s pathetic that you sit here shivering in your own house to suffer for it. You think you’re the only one?”

Liesel is so harsh here that Zusak immediately takes the time out to show us that these words are motivated by Liesel’s own repressed feelings of loss toward her dead brother. He even uses the spirit of Liesel’s brother appearing to her on the porch as visual symbolism, and the scene in general is described very vividly. We can practically feel the venom in Liesel’s words and the hurt in Frau Hermann’s speechless and stunned face. And as Zusak describes Liesel metaphorically throwing her brother down the steps, and his subsequent disappearance, I could picture it very clearly in my mind, and hear the sound of Liesel throwing The Whistler back down on the cement for Frau Hermann to retrieve.

I expected to be much harsher on this scene, but in the end, I’m willing to leave it open to debate as to whether it’s well done or not. The purpose is obviously to illustrate Liesel discovering the power of words to harm others, and she has shown this kind of anger before, both in beating up the two boys and in expressing her hatred of Hitler, and it does go a long way in explaining why Liesel would be angry enough to steal from this woman later on.

The following scene, also, is one of my favorite parts, when Liesel tells Rosa what has transpired:

“It was my fault,” Liesel answered. “Completely. I insulted the mayor’s wife and told her to stop crying over her dead son. I called her pathetic. That was when they fired you. Here.” She walked to the wooden spoons, grabbed a handful, and placed them in front of her. “Take your pick.”
Rosa touched one and picked it up, but she did not wield it. “I don’t believe you.”
Liesel was torn between distress and total mystification. The one time she desperately wanted a
 Watschen and she couldn’t get one! “It’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault,” Mama said, and she even stood and stroked Liesel’s waxy, unwashed hair. “I know you wouldn’t say those things.”
“I said them!”
“All right, you said them.”

😄 No, seriously, I know this moment provides vital character development for Rosa (she starts off the scene numb rather than angry and eventually dumps the wooden spoons out on the floor), but that doesn’t change the fact that it reads like a scene from The Simpsons. Try reading it with Bart and Marge Simpson (or Lisa and Homer) in your mind instead, and tell me it isn’t flat-out hilarious.

There are a few more moments of character development for Liesel before the chapter ends. She goes down into the basement and starts joining Max in his exercise regime, taking her first lesson in push-ups from him that night. This is something I can relate to on a personal level, as I am underweight and not only have I been encouraging myself to practice push-ups lately, I went to the gym every week when I was in school as part of a fitness program set up by the English teacher. I’m only mentioning this to give some insight into my personal connection with the material, and what’s interesting in terms of the story is that it shows Liesel wants to become stronger physically, not just mentally, as if that will help her deal with these troubling times.

The chapter ends with a very nice scene between Liesel and Hans.

Somehow, Hans Hubermann always knew what to say, when to stay, and when to leave her be. Perhaps Liesel was the one thing he was a true expert at.

I’m quoting this bit only because we haven’t seen Hans for a while, and I have to admit that as much as I may have lost interest in this book, I can never get sick of Hans Hubermann.

But the moment between Liesel and Hans, and the way in which he comforts her, is actually quite serious.

“Papa,” she whispered, “I think I’m going to hell.”

Liesel has shown little guilt for the way she spoke to the Mayor’s wife up to this point, and it’s strange to see her suddenly experiencing fear of the afterlife, when this book has been pretty religiously neutral so far and we haven’t seen too many religious thoughts from her up to this point, and beatings in Catholic schools aren’t the kind of experiences that inspire strong belief in God.

It is a question many children ponder, though, and to be honest, I myself had that fear when I was younger than Liesel, and even had trouble sleeping at night because of it. When I told my father, he was exasperated and furious, telling me that I was not going to Hell because there was no such place and it made him angry because the concept of Hell was specifically invented to scare people like me into doing what the Bible wanted me to. Hans is much more gentle by contrast, simply telling Liesel that she won’t be going to Hell. This may offend some Christians in the certainty of his answer, but it’s simple, and exactly the right answer to give Liesel at that moment of utmost vulnerability, and I appreciate that the chapter ends on this note of real tenderness between them.

RUDY’S YOUTH

Interestingly enough, a character who has even been more absent from the narrative lately is the same one presaged to die young, Rudy Steiner. So it’s fitting that Zusak decides to devote the next chapter to him.

The chapter opens in medias res by giving us

*** A PORTRAIT OF RUDY STEINER:***
JULY 1941
Strings of mud clench his face. His tie
is a pendulum, long dead in its clock.
His lemon, lamp-lit hair is disheveled
and he wears a sad, absurd smile.

Giving us a portrait of his life at this point obviously is intended to take on a sad significance, since we now know he is only 2 years away from death. So while it is a relief to see him again now, it is alarming to wonder what led him to be covered in mud and have his hair disheveled. The scenario then gets yet more confusing as Zusak describes Rudy standing near a step saying “All is shit.”

Zusak, then, however, backs up to explain what led to this moment and what Rudy has been doing for the past few months that he was absent from the story for.

In the first half of 1941, while Liesel went about the business of concealing Max Vandenburg, stealing newspapers, and telling off mayors’ wives, Rudy was enduring a new life of his own, at the Hitler Youth.

This chapter’s title has a double-meaning in a way, as it refers both to Rudy’s literal youth and to the fact that one of his experiences in his Hitler Youth group is described in this chapter.

If only Tommy Müller hadn’t disappeared for seven hours on one of the coldest days in Munich’s history, six years earlier. His ear infections and nerve damage were still contorting the marching pattern at the Hitler Youth, which, I can assure you, was not a positive thing.

This passage contains another continuity error from Zusak: When Tommy Müller is introduced in Part One, Rudy informs Liesel that “When he was five years old, he got lost at the markets on the coldest day of the year. Three hours later, when they found him, he was frozen solid…” Only three hours, not seven. I realize this is, of course, nitpicking, and it’s possible Rudy simply got this detail wrong, but I always feel tempted to point details like this out when I notice them. Also, I legitimately don’t know what to say about this chapter, because it feels so completely inconsequential. All that happens from here is that after Tommy Müller’s hearing problems keep disrupting the march, the leader gets pissed off at him, and Rudy sticks up for Tommy and is punished by being forced to run laps, perform drills, and throw himself in the mud. Rudy and Tommy then go back to Himmel Street, where Rudy tells Liesel the story, the in medias res opening now makes sense, and he tries to get Liesel to kiss him again using pity. Obviously, she refuses, which of course is a harsh blow to us now that we know when she finally will kiss him.

It seems like the only purpose of this chapter is to show how harsh and strict the Hitler Youth organization is, and to show Rudy performing a good deed for someone, so that when he dies, we won’t simply fixate on his stealing from Otto Sturm and nearly disabling him. Other than that, there’s not much to discuss, and the chapter genuinely feels like filler. It does, however, end with a weak segue into the next chapter:

She also realized it was most likely those sodden days at the Hitler Youth that had fed his, and subsequently her own, desire for crime.
After all, despite the usual bouts of rain, summer was beginning to arrive properly. The
 Klar apples should have been ripening. There was more stealing to be done.

THE LOSERS

I was not looking forward to this, and as much as I hate to end this review on a negative note, I have to say it: this may just be the worst chapter in the book.

The last time we heard of our friendly group of apple-thieving delinquents, the leader, Arthur Berg, had moved away to Cologne, which means that when Ludwig Schmeikl’s brother invites them to the river to meet and discuss their new plans for theft, the group will be under new management.

“So are you the leader now?” Rudy had asked, but Andy shook his head, heavy with disappointment. He clearly wished that he had what it took.

Why doesn’t he have what it takes? He observed Arthur’s leadership for a long time, the other members of the group all know him and trust him. And most importantly, they know that he’s one of them and can relate to him, as opposed to

***THE NEW ARTHUR BERG***
He had windy hair and cloudy eyes,
and he was the kind of delinquent
who had no other reason to
steal except that he enjoyed it.
His name was Viktor Chemmel.

Markus Zusak is violating one of the cardinal rules of writing in this chapter: Show, Don’t Tell. Before we have ever met Viktor or read a line of dialogue spoken by him, we already know what to think of him because Zusak just told us. Also, I know this is solely personal opinion, but the visual descriptions are getting worse, as Zusak seems to be forcing them more and more. We don’t know what color his hair and eyes are, and when I try to imagine cloudy eyes, I just imagine someone whose pupils are dilated or rolled back in their head due to some type of brain injury.

Unlike most people engaged in the various arts of thievery, Viktor Chemmel had it all. He lived in the best part of Molching, high up in a villa that had been fumigated when the Jews were driven out. He had money. He had cigarettes. What he wanted, however, was more.

Then why are any of the lower-class, struggling-to-survive kids that constitute the rest of this group putting up with this little shit? Why would someone in Viktor’s social standing even socialize with people like Liesel and Rudy, and thus even know about this group? Zusak attempts to answer the question here:

At face value, Viktor Chemmel was clearly your typical teenage bullshit artist. Unfortunately, when he felt like revealing it, he also possessed a certain charisma, a kind of follow me.

But you know what? I’m not buying it. All Zusak gives as an example of this is one speech where he delivers meaningless rhetoric about “wanting more” that I’m amazed doesn’t provoke this band of thieves into rolling this rich punk for everything he’s got.

“So where are these two deviants you’ve been bragging about? It’s ten past four already.”
“Not by my watch,” said Rudy.
Viktor Chemmel propped himself up on an elbow. “You’re not wearing a watch.”
“Would I be here if I was rich enough to own a watch?”

Then how do you know what time it is, and why did you say that, Rudy? Also, this is an organization of thieves. Granted, under Berg they were apparently only supposed to steal absolute necessities such as food, but it’s perfectly reasonable to expect someone practiced in thievery to break the honor code and steal a watch. Also, this group has been disbanded for nearly 9 months now, and none of these people have starved to death, so I refuse to believe that they desperately “need” the food, either.

Viktor then displays his charisma and ability to inspire loyalty in his followers even further by calling Liesel a whore for no reason and blowing cigarette smoke in her face. I swear, I am not even making up that last one. But it’s all right, because Zusak makes sure to inform us:

Liesel did not cough.

Which would be very very impressive if this were a Disney cartoon instead of a serious YA/adult novel. But no, apparently that’s supposed to show Liesel’s tough-as-nails, she is. Well, I would never consider myself to be a particularly tough guy, and I have never smoked a cigarette, either, but when I was in high school almost everyone else did, and they would sit outside smoking during break every day. I got so used to it that a girl I was talking to blew smoke in my face by accident one time while exhaling, and I just ignored it and we continued talking as if nothing had happened. And realistically, anyone living in 1941 Europe would be so continually exposed to second-hand smoke that NO FUCKING SHIT THEY WOULDN’T COUGH. WHO CARES? 

Zusak then attempts to justify yet again why the group is allowing Viktor to be in charge:

It was the same group as the previous year, the only exception being the leader. Liesel wondered why none of the other boys had assumed the helm, but looking from face to face, she realized that none of them had it. They had no qualms about stealing, but they needed to be told. They liked to be told, and Viktor Chemmel liked to be the teller. It was a nice microcosm.
For a moment, Liesel longed for the reappearance of Arthur Berg. Or would he, too, have fallen under the leadership of Chemmel? It didn’t matter. Liesel only knew that Arthur Berg did not have a tyrannical bone in his body, whereas the new leader had hundreds of them. Last year, she knew that if she was stuck in a tree, Arthur would come back for her, despite claiming otherwise. This year, by comparison, she was instantly aware that Viktor Chemmel wouldn’t even bother to look back.

Again, Zusak is Telling, not Showing. I never liked Berg much, either, and I think he only gave Otto back his basket and treated his group fairly to help justify his criminal behavior, but if he was so great, why didn’t he appoint someone else to take his place before he left, so this kind of thing wouldn’t happen? And ignoring this arbitrary definition of who “had it”, I again refuse to believe that this entire group, of which every other member has stayed, wouldn’t have met and selected someone else to be the leader in Berg’s place, instead of letting this rich prick nobody knew come in and push them around.

But just in case we hadn’t absolutely made our minds up how to feel about Viktor, Rudy flat-out asks Liesel if she likes him, right after he pointlessly calls her a whore again.

“Do you?”
Rudy paused a moment. “I think he’s a complete bastard.”
“Me too.”

I have to admit I’m more tolerant than most of characters who only exist in the narrative simply to be hated. But say what you will about characters such as Vernon Dursley in the Harry Potter books or Gabe in the first Percy Jackson book, for instance, while those characters were underdeveloped and one-dimensional, the authors still showed us why we shouldn’t like them, instead of just telling us over and over again. And even when they didn’t, those were children’s books. This is supposed to be a serious YA novel that is aimed at adults, as well. I know most authors break the Show, Don’t Tell rule in some form, even legitimately great ones, but this is too much to ignore. This is crossing the line, and I’m sick and damn tired of it. Viktor Chemmel is an asshole. Viktor Chemmel is an asshole. Does everybody hate this character who has been created solely to be hated? Yes, so let’s move on.

The chapter ends with the group raiding an apple farm, only to find next to no fruit is blooming, and what is isn’t very high-quality. Liesel and Rudy are only given one apple to share, and this is the only time Zusak actually admits Viktor is partially justified in anything he does: “In fairness, the takings were incredibly poor, but Viktor Chemmel also ran a tighter ship.

But Rudy still decides it’s a good idea to challenge their new leader, because that won’t create friction within the group that has inexplicably not challenged him already, so Viktor actually obliges him.

“One lousy apple?”
“Here.” A half-eaten one was also tossed their way, landing chewed-side-down in the dirt. “You can have that one, too.”

Considering Rudy and Liesel are supposed to be desperate for food and the apple would be as good as new once the saliva and mud have been thoroughly washed off, this seems incredibly reasonable, but Rudy still insists on getting on their leader’s bad side, so Viktor resorts to physically attacking him, and in the end he almost strangles Rudy to death. After letting Rudy go, he calls Liesel a slut and Rudy spits blood and saliva at his feet (not at his face, mind you) before leaving. Viktor is so offended by this he vows to make Rudy “pay for that at a later date, my friend.

Say what you will about Viktor Chemmel, but he certainly had patience and a good memory. It took him approximately five months to turn his statement into a true one.

Well, Bertram Cooper waited nearly three years to take advantage of Don Draper being Dick Whitman, but that is incredibly patient for someone who just impulsively almost strangled the same person he’s threatening to death. But I think I have the blueprint for the rest of the chapter now:
Liesel and Rudy are going to steal the book from the Mayor’s wife for some reason, even though she tried to force Liesel to take it earlier, her motivations behind doing so the only bit of mystery left that does intrigue me. Viktor Chemmel will steal the book five months from now (December 1941) and throw it in the river, and the chapter will end with Rudy going in to retrieve it and asking Liesel again for a kiss we know he will never receive until he is tragically dead at the age of 15 two years from now.

I apologize to Daniel and all the other Book Thief fans for being so harsh in this post, but I have honestly tried to be as fair as I can for as long as possible. I don’t hate the book, and I still think Markus Zusak is primarily skilled at writing, and I will read the rest of Part 5 to see how the story actually does come together and attempt to review it, and I hope I can be more positive in doing so. To anyone who was offended by this, you can feel free to explain to me why I’m wrong in the comments.


Here are some examples of the increasingly strange and desperate visual metaphors in this chapter that I didn’t have time to mention there:

The town that afternoon was covered in a yellow mist, which stroked the rooftops as if they were pets and filled up the streets like a bath. (This makes me imagine a mysterious yellow fog taking over the town and somehow pausing to form a literal hand stroking the rooftops gently.)

…a sun that had broken through like God sitting down after he’d eaten too much for his dinner. (I genuinely don’t understand what this means.)

Jewish blood was everywhere. Like red rain clouds on the white-sky canvas at their feet. (But rain clouds are not typically red, so this metaphor is stretching.)

The words were visible. They dropped from his mouth like jewels.  (I don’t understand in what circumstance jewels would literally fall out of someone’s mouth, and this is very silly to picture.)

This one, however, is legitimately powerful and well done:

Grimly, she realized that clocks don’t make a sound that even remotely resembles ticking, tocking. It was more the sound of a hammer, upside down, hacking methodically at the earth. It was the sound of a grave. 

There is also an extended visual metaphor of the Mayor’s wife physically beaten and battered after being verbally assaulted by Liesel, which is on-the-nose but disturbingly effective, and I haven’t made up my mind how to feel about it.

(Warning! This review includes detailed spoilers for the 2009 film Inglourious Basterds.)

I know I haven’t uploaded any Book Thief reviews for a while, but I thought it would be interesting to take a break from that for a moment to review, in contrast, a World War II movie, from one of the modern cinema’s most interesting directors, Quentin Tarantino.

Tarantino is a director that many either love or hate. His films can either celebrate violence or simply portray it in all of its ugliness. His primary influences are a childhood spent watching spaghetti westerns and grindhouse/exploitation fare, and he himself has said in interviews that he feels violence is “very visceral” and that “violence is just one of many things you can do in movies. People ask me, ‘Where does all this violence come from in your movies?’ I say, ‘Where does all this dancing come from in Stanley Donen movies?’ If you ask me how I feel about violence in real life, well, I have a lot of feelings about it. It’s one of the worst aspects of America. In movies, violence is cool. I like it.”

Obviously, there are many who do not agree with this sentiment, and some may wonder how he ever became acclaimed as a director and writer, but the answer is that he usually does portray violence within a fitting context and he typically knows exactly how to use it in a story to manipulate his audience’s emotions, as he himself has said. So for better or for worse, it was only a matter of time before Tarantino directed, wrote, and produced a war movie.

One of the criticisms leveled against Tarantino is that he is a copycat, ripping off any number of earlier films he used for inspiration in the process of building his own. In this case, Inglourious Basterds is clearly inspired by several earlier war movies, even to the point of stealing his title (albeit misspelled) from an Italian 1978 war film. And yet one must admit that there has never been a movie quite like this before.

One of the interesting things about the film is that it is filmed in 3 separate languages: English, French, and German (the latter two with English subtitles). This is a touch of authenticity that can be missed in many movies set in foreign countries, where we simply assume we are listening to a translation. Christoph Waltz’s character in particular is noted for being fluent in at least 4 separate languages (German, French, English, and Italian), and one of the best lines in the film comes at the expense of the Americans, when the German Bridget von Hammersmark asks the Basterds, “I know this is a silly question, but… can you Americans speak any language other than English?” (The answer is obvious.) The only instances where the characters’ bilingual nature seems contrived is when the French peasant in the opening is inexplicably fluent in English for no apparent reason, when we hear German soldiers speaking English to the Basterds, despite the fact that almost none did at that point in real life, or when the character Shosanna’s recorded message to Hitler is in English, despite the fact that she is never shown speaking the language at any other point in the film (although this was only added at Diane Kruger’s request). The beautiful moment when the British Hicox gives his cover up and resolves to “go out speaking the King’s” is also dampened by the fact he then uses “momentarily” in the American sense rather than the British, but this is a small nitpick, as most non-British viewers would never notice.

The film primarily follows 2 sets of characters, the Basterds and (eventually) their allies British Lt. Archie Hicox and German agent Bridget von Hammersmark, and the theater owner Shosanna Dreyfus and her unwanted admirer/stalker, Private Zoller, with the SS Colonel Hans Landa acting as an intermediary character who interacts with both sets and ultimately ties the film together.

The Basterds in question are a (mostly Jewish-American) Nazi resistance group, led by Lt. Aldo Raine (played by Brad Pitt), who make a name for themselves by ambushing German soldiers and scalping and killing them, while leaving a lone survivor alive with a swastika carved into his forehead, to forever mark him as a Nazi and strike fear into the heart of Hitler himself.

The other set of characters is led by Shosanna Dreyfus (played by Mélanie Laurent), a young Jew who escaped the massacre of her entire family in 1941 to become the owner of her own theater in 1944 under a false name. She tries unsuccessfully to discourage the advances of Pvt. Zoller (played by Daniel Brühl), a German sniper who she dislikes primarily due to her distaste for the Nazis as a whole. He is the star of a Nazi propaganda film, and he arranges to have the premiere of the film held at her cinema, which will be attended by the highest German officials up to Hitler himself. So Shosanna decides to assassinate Germany’s political leadership, with the help of her lover and projectionist, Marcel (played by Jacky Ido), by igniting highly flammable nitrate film during the showing, and thus burning the theater to the ground with Hitler, Goebbels, among other Nazi higher-ups, inside.

However, little does she know that a British Lt. Archie Hicox (played by Michael Fassbender) has been assigned to just the same mission in cooperation with the Basterds and an undercover agent Bridget von Hammersmark (played by Diane Kruger). They meet at a tavern in Germany, where in a very tense and drawn-out scene, they ultimately end up attracting the attention of a suspicious Sergeant and Gestapo Major due to Hicox’s unusual accent, and after Hicox unfortunately blows his cover, a shoot-out ensues which results in the death of everyone except Bridget, who Raine rescues and interrogates, and then makes arrangements with to continue the mission.

Surprisingly, the film turns out to be an alternate history in which both plans culminate in success, though Zoller forces his way into the projection room to talk to Shosanna during the screening, refusing to leave after she again rebuffs his advances. Shosanna eventually decides to shoot him when his back is turned, but with his dying breath, he manages to shoot and kill her, as well. Two of the Basterds then kill Hitler, Goebbels, and the rest of the Nazi high command, then shoot up the theater before dying themselves when the bombs they set up in the theater go off and they are unable to escape, due to Shosanna and Marcel having locked the doors of the cinema.

The intermediary character is SS Col. Hans Landa (played by Christoph Waltz), otherwise known as the “Jew Hunter,” a very charismatic, cunning, and seemingly cultured man who is introduced in another tense, drawn-out scene that opens the film, interrogating a French dairy farmer as to the whereabouts of a Jewish family that went missing in the area. Eventually, so that his own family will be allowed to live in peace, the farmer reveals that they are hidden beneath his floorboards, and they are all killed except Shosanna, who escapes. Landa turns up again as one of the Nazi officials attending the film premiere, where he discovers the Basterds’ plot, strangles Bridget to death, and then holds Raine and his Private Utivich in custody where he tells them he will allow their plan to succeed only if he is given full rewards and immunity from any and all war crimes he may have committed. The Basterds agree, but later double-cross him after the assassination attempt succeeds and Landa drives them into Allied territory. They kill Landa’s radio operator, and then carve a swastika into Landa’s forehead to show they still regard him as being little better than Hitler, even though he helped them end the war. The final line of the film comes from Raine, in what has been speculated to be Tarantino’s self-aware wink at the camera about his own work: “You know something, Utivich? I think this just might be my masterpiece.”

If this is in fact an expression of Tarantino’s own feelings about the film, how is the audience to determine whether this boast is well-founded or not? I am reminded of a quote from another great director, Howard Hawks, given when asked to define a great film: “Three great scenes, no bad ones.”

Inglourious Basterds is a film that contains many great scenes. The opening scene in and of itself is a masterpiece, opening so quietly and unassumingly we could almost forget we were watching a Tarantino movie. Christoph Waltz plays Landa masterfully, as a man who appears gentlemanly and companionable on the surface, but whose true self-serving, cruel nature is always evident. The actor who played the French farmer, Denis Ménochet, spoke almost no English, which is why most of his dialogue is made up of short sentences, but he still carries most of his performance simply through the look in his eyes and the expressions of fear, misery, and uncertainty that go through his face. Thus the tension is ratcheted up very slowly and carefully, and when we reach the payoff it is unsurprising and deeply sad.

The scene in the French bar is also a master-class in tension, executed differently as the conversation that begins it is so seemingly innocuous that it is not clear from the beginning where the scene is actually going. As it went on, however, my eyes were glued to the screen and my adrenaline was pumped up, yearning for a release. When said release finally comes, it is cathartic and shocking to watch. One feels few directors other than Tarantino would have had the audacity to massacre the entire bar, but so much tension has been building beneath the surface and for so long, that it feels like an effective way to resolve that. The real issue with this pay-off, though, is that it feels like pulp violence being played out, while the scene building up to it seems to come from a different movie altogether. I became so invested in the situation it is easy to forget we are reading subtitles, and when Hicox finally realizes and accepts he will never get out of this situation alive, lights a cigarette, and calmly lapses into English, it is a beautiful moment, and one feels so much respect for his courage that seeing him mowed down in the following wave of cartoony violence with the rest is a bit unsatisfying.

The whole storyline involving Shosanna and Zoller’s relationship suffers from the same issues, as well, but particularly in the payoff. For most of their interactions, it’s difficult to classify what genre their scenes seem to belong to. It cannot be romance, since Shosanna has nothing but contempt for Zoller and discourages his advances right from their first meeting, but Tarantino himself has said of their relationship: “…..there was something about Zoller. He really liked her. Everything Zoller did that ended up fucking her up and putting her in this situation, he did with good intentions. His biggest crime was liking her. I think of that scene as a romantic scene. It’s Romeo and Juliet. Those bullets? That’s them consummating their relationship. In any other time in the 20th century, they could have been in love. Except for that one time.”

Though by modern standards Zoller is certainly a stalker, it is difficult to truly dislike him until his last scene where he breaks into Shosanna’s projection room and tells her off for daring to spurn his affections. There is always something earnest and schoolboyish about him, even after we learn he killed over 200 men in the war, and Tarantino even gives him a moment of real humanity when he confesses to Shosanna: “And in this case, my military exploits consisted of killing many men. Consequently, the part of the film that’s playing now… I don’t like watching this part.”

How rare is it that any character in a Tarantino film expresses true regret for taking another human being’s life? And truly, even though Zoller’s storyline ends with violence, it does not feel like violence in a Tarantino movie, but rather the sad climax of a European opera: as we watch Shosanna’s flailing body blown backwards through the air as it is torn apart by bullets to the notes of Ennio Morricone’s “Un Amico,” there is a real element of tragedy to it. It seems to belong not only to a different film, but to a different dimension from the one the Basterds inhabit, and when we shift back to them preparing their implausible murder of Hitler it is, again, jarring.

Of course, the violence that the Basterds commit against the Germans is worth discussing because it is far more graphic and realistic than in any other Tarantino film I have seen. In the second part of the film (which is divided into 5 chapters), we see multiple scalpings and the throat of a Gestapo guard being slashed, and in the final scene, the camera lingers on Landa’s forehead being slowly carved open as he screams in agony. We know Landa is a selfish, sociopathic murderer, but when one watches this kind of suffering there is still a visceral reaction that no one deserves this.

What is stranger still is the question of whether we are supposed to enjoy any of this brutality. For all the film’s ambitions, all its grand heights of tension and for some of the great characters it does create (Hicox and Landa, for example, or Shosana and Zoller) and for how well the movie does tie all of its disparate groups of characters together (regardless of whether the tone of their stories fit), there is still the fact that all this 2-hour and 33-minute epic war film, Tarantino’s self-proclaimed “masterpiece in the making” amounts to in the end is a pulp revenge fantasy about World War II in which, as Roger Ebert put it, “for once the basterds get what’s coming to them.” Yet there are several strange hints, in fact, that we aren’t even supposed to enjoy the violence at all. One Nazi who is bludgeoned to death by a baseball bat shows genuine bravery, in refusing to give up information to the Basterds and steadfastly resigning himself to his death rather than betray the Nazi cause. There is even a strange scene in the climax where Hitler laughs at soldiers on our side getting killed in the fictional propaganda film right before the moment when he and his followers are killed in a moment Tarantino presumably expects us to be laughing our asses off at. It seems as if Tarantino assumed the audience would enjoy the Nazis getting killed so much that they wouldn’t mind how disturbing and bloody the violent was. Is he trying to suggest that the Basterds are no better than the Nazis for enjoying the slaughter of their side as much as they relished the slaughtering of the Jews? This makes sense, when it comes to the death and scarring of the German soldiers, since many were only soldiers and not even members of the Nazi party themselves, and our rational side knows that killing off random soldiers who were not responsible for the start of the Holocaust themselves will do nothing to save Jews or assuage their suffering, and that’s what keeps the revenge fantasy aspect of the film from working, apart from how disturbing the violence can be – but it’s hard not to get behind the idea of Hitler and Goebbels getting knocked off, since this will have a definite effect in ending the war and thus saving more innocent lives. But the real question is: If we’re not supposed to enjoy the Basterds’ killing after all and we are supposed to see them as no better than Nazis, then well, what the fuck is the point of all this, anyway? To shame us for enjoying movie violence Tarantino himself created? There is a word for that, and it is – bullshit.

But a lot of the film’s problems are in the characters, as well. As I said before, Tarantino has created some genuinely great characters. Landa in particular Tarantino himself claimed might be “the greatest character he has ever written”, but suspected may have been “unplayable” were it not for the talents of Christoph Waltz. We know now Waltz, though a gifted actor, can fall back on the same performance style, but this was the first film most Americans saw him in, and he truly is impressive. He perfectly captures the contradictions of Landa’s character – his charm, his intelligence, his sophistication, and then his cruelty, brutality, and opportunistic sociopathy. But the script itself betrays Landa’s character in ways that cannot be easily justified. When he murders Bridget in cold blood, it is a moment designed mostly for pure shock value, and to reaffirm that he is a vile, contemptible man who is not to be liked or sympathized with. At first, it appears he is acting to punish her for betraying her country, but when he proceeds to betray his own government in assisting the Basterds’ mission, this obviously is not the case, and in any case the moment seems to come out of nowhere. This could be excused, though. Bridget no longer serves any purpose in the plot, and it could be seen as Landa’s attempt to punish her for attempting to outsmart him in the way he cannot punish the Basterds, since he is about to make a deal with them, but what cannot be excused is the ending. Landa definitely deserves the swastika in the forehead, and it is effective poetic justice, but one thing that has been proven is that, while he is violent and brutal, he is also deeply intelligent in ways the Basterds, though equally brutal, are not. He knows who the Basterds are, says himself that he met and interviewed every survivor they scarred, and sees through their plan in the first place, not to mention he figures out where the Jews are hiding in La Padite’s house before he is ever told. There is simply no way he would not have seen this dirty trick coming and taken some precaution against it, particularly when it came to turning himself and his weapons over to them at the crucial juncture. While it’s satisfying to watch his confidence and control of the situation finally evaporate, it’s not real. Raine is a charming character in his own right, played well by Brad Pitt, but basically brainless, and the Hans Landa we’ve grown to know would never allow himself to be outsmarted and mutilated by some stupid Americans who only speak one language, for God’s sake.

The film originally was intended as a TV mini-series, but a friend convinced Tarantino to change it to a feature film, instead, so much of the story’s plot and backstories were cut, and one can tell. There is a strange inconsistency in how some characters get so much development – for example, Hicox, whose past and character the audience gets to know remarkably well for a character who is introduced midway through the film only so he can be killed off less than half an hour after we meet him – and yet the titular Basterds get next to no personalities at all, only one getting a backstory, and the motivations Raine himself has for leading this group and hating the Nazis so much are only hinted at through vague details such as his scars and comparisons of his battle plan to “an Apache resistance”.

There are things to like about the film, though. In addition to the things I’ve mentioned already, it has an interesting structure and it can be refreshing simply to see a film that is so different, but in the end, I believe the film does not come together as a whole, and while the film may have many great scenes, these scenes do not form a great movie. Inglourious Basterds feels as if it is Tarantino’s attempt to make a great movie that will define his legacy, but in my opinion, Django Unchained is much more skillfully made, simply in its simplicity. The movie has no grand pretense, but tells a story of slavery in a way that had not been done before and that next to no other white directors would dare tell. It is a simple revenge fantasy where we are supposed to root for the black hero and enjoy the slave-owners getting killed, but this is more justified in the movie’s simplicity, how Tarantino creates most of the antagonists as people Django has personal reason to hate and kill in his own right, rather than to somehow avenge the cost of slavery as a whole. True, the movie’s answer to whether we are supposed to enjoy the revenge fantasy-themed violence is a simple one (yes), but at least, it does answer the question well, and makes sure we are where Tarantino wants us to be in regards to enjoying it. It may just be a violent revenge fantasy, but it’s violent revenge fantasy done well and my favorite of Tarantino’s films, as well as being among my all-time favorites.

Inglourious Basterds might be worth watching simply for some of the spell-binding tension and some of the other good things I have mentioned, but in the end, the film is simply pretentious. There is no better word for it than that.


I know it’s been a while, but I will try to return to The Book Thief as soon as possible. In a sidenote: The website IHateFilm.com no longer exists, but Inglourious Basterds and Toy Story 3 were the only two films given five stars by the site’s creator. Really makes me look like an asshole, doesn’t it? 😦