Kitsch, Death, and Chaplin
I have never cried at a movie before. Not entirely sure why. It might be that I'm better at distancing myself from the events that happen on the television screen than others are. Maybe it's my comparative emotional detachment, that according to some makes me very practical and efficient, but also completely tonedeaf at times. Maybe it's the testosterone that's making my hairline retreat to the back of my head. Who knows.
The final speech of Chaplin's The Great Dictator is the first time a movie has made me cry. It was beautiful, it was touching, and even if you haven't watched the movie I cannot recommend this 4 minute monologue enough.
However, the aspect of the movie that impacted me the most was its representation of the fascists - The Nazis, in the form of the fictional country Tomania, and Mussolini, in the form of the fictional Benzino Napaloni. I believe that this movie is the most intelligent and combative representation of the Nazis up to date, and is one of the only pieces of media that combats the core of fascist ideology: its messaging and mythologizing.
As part of my university studies, we have read and discussed Saul Friedlander's book "Kitsch and Death", where he discusses the dual imagery the Nazis have and are still presented with. He states that the Nazi party very intentionally crafted a duel narrative for itself, creating a contrast that gave them (and modern fascism as a whole) their trademark magical appeal:
Kitsch, the injection of beautiful yet shallow imagery. Its focus on roman statues and architecture, on the beauty of the Aryan race, how Hitler and his contemporaries would be described as friendly, sometimes pitiable, but fundamentally human.
and Death. The mythologizing of the Nazis (and especially Hitler) as this domineering, unstoppable force of nature, bent on consuming the world. This one needs less explanation than the previous one, but it's still important to highlight - how Hitler would go on rants describing how he'd see London in flames, the many recordings of giant, faceless crowds chanting "Hail Hitler" in unison.
The coexistence of these two images is what created the Nazis' persisting appeal. Death would make the Nazis into larger than life; a mythical figure to be worshipped and feared, and Kitsch would turn them back into a human ideal of beauty and care. These two images were contradictory, but each one only benefited the other. You can see how this imagery persists nowadays in fascist circles and in greater representations of fascism: They're powerful harbingers of doom, and yet they're often accompanied by peaceful images. Images of beauty, of art, of love.
To be clear, when I said "the Nazis' persisting appeal," I was not merely talking about the appeal presented to other fascists. I was talking about the appeal within you, the reader. Whether we like it or not, the image of the Nazis has some sort of magnetism to it, both to repeal and attract. People react much more harshly to images of a swastika than they do to the hammer and sickle, despite the USSR having brought upon millions of more dead. Mention Mao Zedong's name, and you'll get people rolling their eyes but generally just accept that this is where the conversation is now. Merely say the name Adolf, and you'll get people who aren't even in the conversation to turn their heads and start eavesdropping. The Nazis created something powerful, something everlasting, and it is not combated by standard antifascist ideology nor imagery.
This is because most media depicting the Nazis still fundamentally buys into their propaganda: of Kitsch, and of Death. Most often death. The word "Nazi" has been turned into a generic insult that signifies total inhumanity, the name "Hitler" a synonym for the devil. The nations of the world, in doing so, have given fascism the mythology it so desperately needed to survive - their image of harbingers of doom. It's understandable, of course, I can't expect someone to go into a concentration camp and go "oh boy, just another day at work," but we must understand that this runs counter to any successful attempt at neutralizing the Nazis' strength. If they're not depicted as monsters, the wheel often turns in the complete opposite direction - the Nazis are humanized into innocents. Into people who merely did the wrong thing, who just fell on bad times, fundamentally good people. Kitsch. Still buying into their myth.
Which is why I was so astonished when The Great Dictator did neither of these. The Great Dictator takes a third approach - Clownery. The Nazis are presented as clowns; as a babble of incompetent, distant, and pretentious fools. They still have strength via their numbers, their military, and their position, but none of the Nazis presented aren't strong because they're Nazis. The ones who hold power hold power despite being a Nazi. There are only two actually competent members in Hinkel's entire ranks (Hinkel is the movie's Hitler equivalent), and one of the two is fired for daring to say something sensible. They reject the Nazi idea of Death, and still do not fall into the idea of Kitsch: the Nazis aren't beautiful or larger than life or classical, they're self absorbed, foolish. There's an argument to be made that the comical aspect of the movie still functions as the Kitschy element, but fundamentally the movie refuses to present them as mere nice people - in the movie's world, they're a bunch of idiots.
I cannot criticize historical retellings for buying into the Nazi myths, like Maus (Death) or Downfall (Kitsch), because... that's just what happened. Regardless of how we want to rationalize it now, these things are just what occurred in real life. But even entirely fictional stories that claim to be anti-nazi, like Inglorious Bastards, still respects the Nazis' power and myths. In order for beating the Nazis to remain an act of glory and worship, the Nazis themselves must be a powerful monster to conquer. Chaplin made the intelligent choice of refusing to accept the propaganda machine and what it stood for, and creating a sincerely powerful act of resistance at a time where such a statement was radical and controversial - his movie was banned from screening in many places, including some US states!
In 1964, Chaplin stated that he couldn't have made the movie as he did if he had known the extent of the horrors of the concentration camps, and it's noticeable in the movie that the truth was still unknown: some of the Jews in the ghetto fantasize about escaping to the country life of "Osterlich" (Auschwitz), a statement that would sound insane to us knowing what we do in retrospect. Despite that, I think this movie's direction was perfect. For a movie coming out while many countries were still at peace with Germany, he could not afford giving them any more propaganda. He could not let them be presented as the legendary destroyers that they so desperately wanted to.
To beat the Nazis, Chaplin had to mock them. He had to show them as silly, as incompetents, as nothing more than a band of bullies whose time must eventually come to an end.
And he did so spectacularly.
The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish.