In Memoriam: Adolf Hitler

Since Adolf Hitler died seventy-six years ago, most of my friends have said things like "Good: I hope he rots in hell.", "He got what he asked for, really...", and "Another famous junkie dead, then.".
And to tell you the truth, it's hard to blame them.
What, with the press coverage he got while he was alive, portraying him as some sort of mad drug addict who lived in a bunker, courted the press, and did crazy things like occupy the Rhineland, invade Poland, and dance a jig after the surrender of France.

But I urge those who feel this way to look at the state of Germany before he came to power, and see a visionary ahead of his time; a man who cared deeply about others - even if he couldn't help but hurt some people during his life...
I feel his ultimate decline to a genocidal drug addict residing in a bunker, and pushing imaginary armies around a map, epitomises how destructive being non-neurotypical can be without the right support – even when you have, seemingly, the world at your feet and all the cash you need to burn.

We have to remember that being neurologically untypical, in the framework of 1930s and 40s Germany, was no walk in the park - there were no support systems, and the mentally ill were persecuted as a matter of State policy.
That's why it makes me so angry to hear people say "He shouldn't have killed all them Jews.", "He chose to break the Treaty of Versailles in 1938 by invading Austria and declaring Anschluss. What do you expect?!", and "Hitler was evil."; yes - he chose to do these things, but only in the same way that Amy Winehouse chose to make all those mediocre songs, or David Cameron cosied up to Rupert Murdoch before - and after - the last election.

It's not a matter of a choice, for free, adult human beings who have the right and power and ability to choose...it's about wanting to do things, and doing them because we want to do them.

Hitler was a man; he was an architect; he was a visionary; a patriot; an artist; a son; a husband (for less than forty hours); and a human being, like everyone on Twitter except the spambots.

He was also some other things - but even without verifiable proof, and because it conforms to a comfortable, pre-conceived narrative which I adhere to, I am claiming that this wasn't his fault.

Society: this one's for you...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rb7FgSzeGqg

Little Fockers: the Death-Knell of a Once-Promising Series

Film-making: serious business...

Along with Christmas Day with my family, I have another 'holiday' tradition: a trip to the cinema on Boxing Day.
Previous choices have included I am Legend (I am Worthless), and Sherlock Holmes (I'll have a think about a suitably derisive play on 'Sherlock Holmes', and if I come up with one: add it; check back for updates...), so it's an ignoble tradition.

Following in those inauspicious footsteps was Little Fockers...not only because it was the best of a bad bunch (I couldn't bear to see anything else on offer), but because my friend and I are fans of Meet the Parents, and the best line of Robert De Niro's acting career:


'I have nipples Greg...could you milk me?'

We knew that to expect another line of such unadulterated brilliance was folly - so didn't dare hope for one; hence, we approached the film with modest expectations: a cautious optimism.
There had been a few alarm bells that had dampened our enthusiasm in the run-up to Boxing Day: various reports about the film being a disaster, and requiring last minute 'reshoots' from Dustin Hoffman to rescue it...and the presence of Jessica Alba among the cast; and if i'm honest, the world being what it is, I was quite pessimistic, and sceptical as I went to see it.
Open-minded - but dubious.

As I walked out of the cinema - some one hour and fifteen minutes later - I observed that my well-honed pessimism was right, yet again: the film was a disgrace.
There were no laughs in this film - no cohesion, no purpose...all the film-makers have done is put these familiar characters on the screen, had them do something typical of them (De Niro's character calls for an ambulance, and gives a very specific time...), and said: 'My work here is done.'.
Things happen - as if an automated machine has dictated that they should - and the audience - as if it is an automated machine... - is expected to laugh.
It's insulting.
I've seen better sequels in the Friday trilogy (not an insult, by the way: although Next Friday was somewhat weak, it had its moments - and Mike Epps' performance in Friday After Next was excellent...).

What these jerk-offs seem to have done, is based a comedy film around an overly complicated plot (i've seen David Lynch films that were easier to follow) - the kids, and Stiller and De Niro's wives don't even register: I still don't know what the actress who plays Stiller's wife is called, let alone the character - and thrown in various 'star names' in lieu of actual good jokes and performances: before I walked out - well before the end - Robert De Niro, Ben Stiller, Dustin Hoffman, Barbra Streisand, Harvey Keitel, Jessica Alba, and Owen Wilson had all made appearances.
Why? - It wasn't to make the audience laugh, and that's supposed to be the reason why this film was made.
When you watch the film, though, and consider that Hoffman was reportedly paid $7.5m for five days' work, and Stiller and De Niro $20m a piece, you cease to wonder why these evil bastards made an appearance: it was to take something from people, and give them nothing in return - save a lack of belief in the human race. That's kind of like what thieves do, isn't it...?

So where once the performances, characters, and writing in this series were somewhat refreshing, innocent, and contained some measure of artistic input, and pride, now they are cynically self-aware, like the words of Cheryl Cole, or Tony Blair.
But maybe that appeals to you...if so, check out the new series of Peep Show: you'll love that.

The tension of the previous films - which is the cause of the audience maintaining an interest - was derived from the fact that Ben Stiller (Gay Focker - 'lol') was a put-upon nice guy: he had 'balls in the air' that he desperately wanted to avoid dropping, for fear that his carefully laid, precarious plans, would be ruined.
Now the balls are in his mouth, and he's sucking them.

Good day.