It would be impossible for me to describe the new Quentin Tarantino film Inglourious Basterds as anything other than cathartic. This movie was not comfort food for my Jewish soul, it was more like an anabolic cocktail.
In an odd way I somehow agonize over the horrors of a past that I was fortunate enough to not have been born into. I am disturbed at the idea that famous corporations of the German war machine are even more successful today. Far more distressing is the fact that many Jews purchase German goods. Garnered not merely for their perceived superior performance, these goods have been elevated to an intrisically perverse level.
The searing evil that the German people scorched the world with under the Third Reich is without equal. Tarantino's film fashions the perdition that the Nazis were able to elude.
A German status symbol should be an oxymoron, and in this Basterd world, it is.
