February 7 2024
Say this for the Jews: they are clannish, they stick together through thick and thin, they recognize that blood is thicker than water, and they fight like bastards for the only cause they care about: themselves. They also own the media lock stock and barrel and so can churn out the maudlin propaganda on behalf of themselves year after year until the tears pile up like the shoes and the hair behind glass. That the effort of late is growing a bit threadbare and thin is apparent to anyone who has not undergone an ideological prefrontal lobotomy. The problem is the numbers who fit in that category are still way too small.
The big new movie called The Zone Of Interest (Jews nominated themselves for an Academy Award for this tripe!) has been received in rapturous Jew terms: a brilliant examination of human complicity, unblinking masterpiece, devastating, hits with sledgehammer urgency, like an alarm going off. Then they satirize the hardworking National Socialists who were creating a longed for and perfect future and White Utopia by sarcastically saying: it’s about wanting what’s best for your children, following the rules and working hard, and feeling that you deserve the best in life, all of that of course entwined with the unspeakable. I for one don’t really see what is so very wrong about working for your children’s future but apparently some Jews were inconvenienced and that alone is enough to pitch a world historical hissy fit.
What the movie really is is a rather predictable slander. They think that showing some National Socialists doing their level best to establish a decent home for their children while as the crows fly a scream or two is overheard and some gunshots go off is enough to take down the most noble dream ever devised by the mind of man. It’s not. As always in these matters, however, the German looks tough, aggressive and impeccable and the haircuts are irreproachable. Anyone with those aforementioned two good eyes and a mind freed of shibboleths would have to wonder who is kidding who here—and on whose behalf the propaganda is really working.
The once commandant of Auschwitz Rudolf Hoss is said to be the first real Holocaust historian, he laid the groundwork for millions of lies trying to save his own skin and escape by the skin of his teeth by talking about the gold teeth extracted from dead Jews. He “fessed up” and gave some disgusting boo hooing to the Jews in the hopes they might pardon him from death’s door but sure as rain is right they hung him and did it right at the camp itself just to be sure everybody got the point. From his overwrought mea culpa it seems that he figured he fucked around and found out; he said that he had sinned gravely against humanity, spoke of the cruel plans of the Third Reich, that he and his cohorts had inflicted terrible wound on humanity. If this makes you want to stick your finger down your throat you are not alone. And this from the mouth of an Old Fighter too, not one of those March Violets who were a combination of Hans come lately, opportunists, and fair-weathered friends. After he was captured he wrote an autobiography in which he outlined how Mengele once bestrode the ramparts like a Golden God death dealing as he went, how the Jews (and humanity!) were wronged, and how the Germans fell afoul of the Golden Rule. Then a million Jews and their historian camp followers took his hint and ran with it and created the lie of the ages. Or such is my reading of the relevant texts.
Always with the shoes these Jews: always with the shoes. Toward the end of the movie the director shows Rudolf Hoss retching in a foyer and intersperses it with picture of cleaning ladies at a modern Holocaust Museum walking by a glass case of a pile of shoes. It’s supposed to be deep and profound and the moviegoer is supposed to feel the creepy and evil chill run down his spine. You get it? Of course you do as the director hits you over the head and subtlety was never a strong suit The premise of this movie is that it is a story of German domesticity happening right next to where Shecky Greenstein is breathing his last and meeting his maker as he wafts up towards his God in a plume of smoke. How hard hearted do you have to be to enjoy a sweet home life right next to where the Jews are being gassed into oblivion? How cold-blooded you need to be to picnic by a lake while they scratch and claw their last? Well, that’s a tall tale to be begin with but either way life goes on, right? To live and breathe in victory don’t you have to just step over the bodies? A few squeaks from the Jews was never anything to give up the future over.
One of the great ironies of history is that the man who said only vanquishing the Jews could lead to the cleansing of being (Martin Heidegger) once had an affair with a Jewish student named Hannah Arendt. Some third a century on this old Jewish bat and bag planted herself in the seats at the trial of Adolf Eichmann and gave the world the phrase it would remember: the banality of evil. What a pregnant elocution, eh? The idea spawned a million more. You see they all told us that we are not to see these “Nazis” as one-off psychopaths, though they assure us they had a few, very possibly more than their share. No: the Nazis were just like you and me, just ensconced in a rotten system. They went home to their children just like you and me, they imbibed sonatas of Beethoven just like you and me, and they read Hansel and Gretel to their adorable children just like you and me. So don’t go thinking (they tell us) that it could not happen here. Because it did happen here, or a place very much like here. And it could happen again. That is the putative message told for the umpteenth time but as you yawn your way out of the theater the real message becomes crystal clear: is there anything more banal than a dead Jew?
The plot is simplicity itself. Rudolf Hoss is the master of all he surveys with a wife and young children; they like to picnic down by the river; sure there is gunfire and screams coming from over yonder over the walls of their garden but being right thinking cold blooded Germans they pay it no mind; what is a dead Jew anyway in the face of pure domestic bliss? The wife is made up to look like a bitter shrew and hausfrau, a real Hilda, and a selfish greedy bitch; the Jews are being burnt to a crisp in the crisper right across the way but she wants her husband to take to her Italy again to that awesome spa where they pamper her like a princess; she prances and preens in front of a mirror in a fur coat stolen from a Jewess who currently weighed about 40 pounds and was forced to do juggling tricks for the guards for their sport; when her husband is relocated she begs to stay on in the home so she can continue in her living space in the East; Rudolf himself is a hardworking man who likes to sample the sexual favors of a Jewess on the side and then discreetly washes his manhood off at a basin sink lest the wifey catch a scent of his infidelity; he is a man’s man who performs at the leisure of his Fuhrer and is doing the hard and death dealing work necessary to create a White future free of plague people; the mother in law shows up but she’s a squeamish old crone and the intermittent squawks from the Jews next door are too rich for her thin blood so she absconds but not before leaving a letter of explanation; when her daughter finds it she is appalled and puts it in an oven to burn it (did I mention that subtlety was never the Jew strong suit?). The boys of the family are shown to be a cruel lot, they pour in fascination over some teeth they find; then one of them locks the other in an atrium and smiles as he watches the other panic, gratuitous German cruelty being a byword among the Jews. Blonde young German girls sign a guest book saying that they will always remember National Socialist hospitality; and a young boy in a foyer says Heil Hitler which is (they say) as ominous as it gets. And interpolated with all this is when Hoss reads Grimm’s (Grimm!) Fairy Tales to his children and cartoons come on replete with sounds of a monster and a girl doing things like (you guessed it) putting a witch in an oven. And then we have the coda of Hoss retching and it fades to (what else) black. Very, deep, moving, and disturbing and the viewer goes home with his heart in his boots.
More than enough, really, for the Jew Academy to elevate this run of the mill off the rack movie to the lofty heights. It’s up against two other putrid Jew films, Maestro and Oppenheimer; you have to figure that one of them will for sure will take the palm. And maybe they’ll figure that the other two have got their day in the sun so they will pip this squeak to stardom because every new person who puts their backside in a seat is another gull on the line; but as always in these matters maybe one or two not yet rotten in the brain somewhere will take objective measure of another scene; a spare and Spartan one but one that speaks volumes. They say that when the Wehrmacht was sweeping into Russia they had a communication system that was simplicity itself. There was no roger and no over and no over and out. Rather person A would say the message, person B would repeat it verbatim, then person A would say it back once more. That’s it. For when time comes calling the word is all you have and you best not break it and you best understand it and you best keep it. The tableau in question is when Hoss is standing face to face with his superior who asks him a series of questions to which Hoss responds in clipped and curtailed yeses or nos. He almost lilts the words as his face remains attentive and impassive. Finally his boss gives him the green light on the new job and he smiles a faint smile for the first time and thanks him for his trust in him. It’s the most human of scenes and it reminds you that it was that kind of time and that kind of place; when National Socialist correctness was valued and revered; for not was the living spacious and the hospitality gracious and not only were the haircuts irreproachable; so were the people and the race.
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