I inadvertently borrowed two movies last week about fraud and prison (and both true stories). I watched I Love You Phillip Morris on Saturday, and The Counterfeiters on Sunday. Apart from the themes of fraud and prison, though, these two were nothing alike.
This is a brutal film. It's the story of Operation Bernhard, the largest counterfeiting operation in history, in which the Nazis attempted to flood foreign economies with counterfeit currency. They used prisoners to forge British pounds and US dollars ("But why are they using Jews?" - "I presume they will just shoot us when the war is over") and the film follows the story of Salomon 'Sally' Sorowitsch. Most of it is set in 1944-45.
On the one hand, this is a cushy gig. All the prisoners have been in other camps before this one, and are relieved by the soft beds, water in the showers, food to eat, and morale-boosting attempted by the man in charge of the top-secret operation (Herzog). To use their skills, instead of being forced into hard labour, is a blessing. However, by accepting this comfort, they are helping the Nazi campaign - and prolonging the war and all that that entails. They successfully forge the pound, but then one of the group (once a Communist printer) refuses to help the Nazis anymore, and sabotages his part of the dollar forgery. [Spoiler: this delays the counterfeit dollar, and once they actually do perfect the forgery, the war is over.]
This moral dilemma is the dramatic crux of the film. The communist is set on sabotage, but the others are keen to do as they are told (which really is a matter of life and death). In one scene, the doctor says to the printer: "So you decide that we get ourselves shot?" "It's the principle" replies the printer. "Nobody's prepared to die for a principle" - "That's why the Nazis' system works!" I found myself wanting them to succeed in their tasks (there is enough death as it is, before you get to the execution on principles) - but also wanting the printer to somehow win.
Without going through all my notes from watching this, I'll mention a few points. There were times I had to stop and cry, and I could hardly finish the coffee I'd started with the film. When Sorowitsch is arrested near the start (in 1936), you know it is the beginning of horror for him. And in all the scenes in the first part (also 1939), it is horrible watching - they had no idea what was in store for them, yet we know the history. Like Titanic, we know what's going to happen; like The Passion of the Christ, it doesn't shy away from the brutality of what happened. By the time the prisoners arrive in Sachsenhausen in 1944, they too know the horrors that may await them.
As we see so often, power in the wrong hands is terrible. But surviving the war was a matter of adaptation. This is apparent for nearly every character. You see the simple grin on an oafish face of an officer watching another beat a starving prisoner. You find out Herzog was formerly in the Communist party. You shut the windows in your building so you can't hear the atrocities occurring outside. You provide forged documents for your boss in return for medication for a fellow inmate.
The power of juxtaposition. I suspect partly this was a mind-game on the part of the Nazis, and sometimes you can see the confusion on the Jews' faces. The threat of being shot is followed immediately by the promise of a night's entertainment. Especially glaring though was the contrast seen by Sorowitsch when he visit's Herzog's house outside the camp. We leave the bleakness and misery of one setting and see the rural elegance outside the gates. For all that we know about the camps, sometimes we forget that those in the villages surrounding them had no idea what was going on. Herzog's wife wanted 'certain East Coast circles in America' to see him - "You've no idea of the dreadful propaganda being circulated about the camps!"
The power of words. This has actually come up a few times this week. If you tell someone they are unworthy, filthy, scum, lower class, an animal, so often they begin to believe it themselves. The words 'filthy Jew' were uttered so many times, it would be hard not to take note, hard not to begin to believe it. And if you hear that on a daily basis, and see slogans in large letters wherever you are, and are belittled in so many different ways by those who hold power over you, how could you fail to believe it?
The power of music. Music was the only thing that brought everyone, officers and prisoners, together. For 'Carnival 1945' the jokes all got laughs, but when a prisoner sang an aria from an Italian opera, it brought everyone (including me) to tears. And when the camp is being liberated, the counterfeiters put on a record, and one cadaverous man stops, listens, smiles - "We could hear your music sometimes" - so wistful, like this was the only joy he'd had for several years.
A horrifying time in our history. Yet seeing even the smallest acts of kindness in such a time - this gives me hope.
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