History programming is riddled with problems. One of the most blatant is that yesterday’s present is irretrievably lost. And using a camera to document something that no longer exists is impossible. Or is it?

Rudolph Herzog
Rudolph Herzog is an award-winning director, producer and writer. His BBC/ARD documentary on humour in Hitler's Third Reich sold internationally and his book DEAD FUNNY on the same subject was named a book of the year by THE ATLANTIC.

Well, documentary makers are cunning people and generations of them have developed refined methods for tackling this problem.

The single most obvious way to make the past come alive on screen is to use archive material. Luckily, film has been around for more than 100 years and legions of professionals and dabblers have used the medium to document everything imaginable, from the probable to the totally bizarre. In fact, the medium started out as purely “documentary”. Since film was so new and its visual impact so unprecedented, anything that was recorded was interesting to the viewer, even a train pulling into a station or workers leaving a factory. In the beginning, content hardly mattered: the novelty of the medium was the main attraction. Everyday situations, even the most banal, suddenly became interesting when brought alive on the screen. Back then, the director was a discreet, humble mechanic of the new medium. He wasn’t rushing around telling people what to do. He neither cut his films nor polluted them with his views. The director just recorded what he saw, purely for the sake of an uncanny effect. This was the medium’s age of innocence, and the visual documents brought forward to our day have the freshness and aura of truth.

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Sadly, archive material did not remain uncontaminated and soon lost its innocence. People started realising the new medium’s potential. Once the novelty effect had worn off, content became increasingly important. As a result, filmmakers started to come up with all sorts of narratives and antics to keep their audiences happy. If a subject didn’t deliver, then the directors twisted it to make it work. The most notorious of these distorters of truth was Flaherty, the father of documentary filmmaking. In the opening of Nanook of the North, six people pile out of a canoe that is barely large enough to hold a single person. The film has hardly started, and the audience is already confronted with a situation that’s blatantly fake. It’s a small, humorous sequence, but it tells us: don’t take everything at face value. Flaherty was a true gentleman, and he played with open cards.

Unfortunately, later generations of documentary makers ceased to be gentlemen or-women. They twisted everything as best as they could but claimed they were delivering the gospel truth. They started to abuse the medium for shady political and propaganda purposes. Later archive material, particularly films from the Third Reich, cannot be presented as a reliable source. It is poisoned with the director’s views.

Yet, by comparison, the director’s distorting viewpoint is a manageable problem. The trickier-and most obvious-one is that not every moment in history was covered. Filmmakers who choose subjects that took place before the 1900s have to scramble and improvise the most. Instead of being able to resort to archive footage, they have to capture visual traces of past eras on film, like Egyptian architecture, Renaissance paintings or a lost city in the jungle. Frequently, these images are flanked by interviews with experts, re-enactments and CGI to give the viewer at least a speculative idea of what the distant past looked like. These stratagems are time-tested, and, if executed well, they work. To some extent, they have also been applied to recent history. There’s some benefit in this, since 20th century archive footage is reminiscent of Grecian urns: there’s always a piece missing somewhere. Some of the most decisive moments were not recorded on film, but modern storytelling devices can provide the missing pieces.

The most extreme of them is undoubtedly put to use in Discovery’s The Secret Plot to Kill Hitler. In a nutshell, the film is the anatomy of a failed attempt on Hitler’s life on 20 July 1944, when Count Stauffenberg placed a bomb in a satchel under the Führer’s map table. The narrative jumps back and forth between the headquarters of the warring nations. Real archive material is mixed with ‘fake’ footage made by re-enacting historical sequences and then digitally changing the actors’ faces to look like those of Churchill, Roosevelt, Stalin and Hitler. As the drama of the failed coup unfolds, we are transported into the barracks where Stauffenberg’s bomb went off. We watch a computer-generated Hitler right up to the moment of the blast, and we see him afterwards, in tattered trousers and covered in dust.

Clips of the film were previewed at the Leipzig Documentary festival last year. In the rather emotional discussion after the screening, most people in the audience seemed to agree that creating fake archive was an ‘immoral’ act. The dominant argument was that computer-generated images make The Secret Plot to Kill Hitler a forgery, a false and distorted account of the past. The audience ignored the fact that the filmmakers were playing with open cards: a caption in the beginning of the film clearly states that CGIs are being used, and that “fake”footage was cut alongside real historical archive material. The film is billed as ‘virtual history’, of course, implying that it is merely a reconstruction of the past. The filmmakers are very frank about all this.

So, in other words, there is nothing immoral about the “virtual archive” in The Secret Plot to Kill Hitler. In criticising the fake footage, perhaps the Leipzig audience was merely trying to express their general uneasiness about the film. The documentary’s haste, its rush from one exclamation mark to the next, its nervous sensationalism-all this may make a film commercial television, but it doesn’t help us to gain insight into the darkest period of German history. The film is streamlined entertainment, spiced with a clever and undoubtedly novel gimmick. Moaning about the entertainment value of the piece seems rather pointless. After all, it can be no surprise that, if one looks at the past through a bright kaleidoscope, one won’t get an accurate picture, but a jumble of colours that’s pleasing to the eye.

Instead of going into endless discussions about morals, it would be more productive if filmmakers and viewers were all to admit that ‘truth’ is elusive when dealing with history, especially if one uses television as one’s medium. In all fairness, however, there are rare exceptions to this rule and Blind Spot: Hitler’s Secretary is one of them. This film uses the genre’s most powerful tool: instead of using unreliable propaganda footage or speculative re-creations, it relies entirely on the statements of a single eyewitness.

Blind Spot: Hitler’s Secretary

Traudl Junge became Hitler’s secretary in the later phase of the war. She lived in his headquarters in Poland and witnessed the regime’s downfall in Hitler’s bunker in Berlin. The film consists of a single interview with Junge. Admittedly, this is a risky way to tackle a subject, since pure interview can quickly become monotonous. But “Blind Spot: Hitler’s Secretary” draws the viewer in with nightmarish power. As Junge talks, events that took place over 60 years ago suddenly come to life through her words, gestures and facial expressions. She scolds the naïve girl, her young self, who saw no monster in Hitler, but a polite elderly man who happened to be her boss. Through Traudl Junge’s eyes, we get a glimpse of a villain who isn’t the screaming dictator of the newsreels, but a manipulative, neurotic, murderous individual brought to power not by some mysterious demonic force, but by the Germans themselves.

There are harrowing moments in the film when the interview is replayed for Traudl Junge and she watches herself talk on screen. In these instants, when her torment is written all over her face, we suddenly realize that she is a woman struggling for her soul, struggling for redemption. “Blind Spot: Hitler’s Secretary” is a stark, unsettling document. For the viewer, it becomes very difficult to push history away, to treat it as some sort of monolith that has nothing to do with our lives today. We realize that every movement in history is the result of actions by people of flesh and blood.

It is rare for history docs to instil such insight on an emotional level, just as much as on a rational one. Unfortunately, “Blind Spot: Hitler’s Secretary” doesn’t have a formula that will work for every historical subject. Every filmmaker will have to beat his or her own path from the past to the present. In essence, this is the never-ending challenge of the history genre.

 


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