Find showtimes, watch trailers, browse photos, track your Watchlist and rate your favorite movies and TV shows on your phone or tablet! IMDb More. Keep track of everything you watch; tell your friends. Full Cast and Crew. Release Dates. Official Sites. Company Credits. Technical Specs. Plot Summary. Plot Keywords. Parents Guide. External Sites. User Reviews. User Ratings. External Reviews. Metacritic Reviews. Photo Gallery. Trailers and Videos. Crazy Credits. Alternate Versions. Rate This. A humorous and deep look into why relationships fail to work from the point of view of a good black man.
It is part scripted and a series of interviews with real people from across the country. Director: Tim Alexander. Writer: Tim Alexander. Black movies to watch. M-- Black: For the Culture. Movie Collection. Use the HTML below.
You must be a registered user to use the IMDb rating plugin. Photos Add Image. James Paula Lema Tonya Tim Alexander Bridgette as Natasha M. Dixon Anika C. He lets the moment pass, realising too late the Nazi stranglehold on Germany.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. Original version published in Germany in by Burger Verlag under the title Tagebuch eines Verzweifelten. There is a common misappre- hension that Bavaria was the most enthusiastically Nazi part of Germany: not so.
The small Meistersinger towns of the roman- tische Strasse south of Wurzburg, which were preserved by geography from the otherwise shattering Allied bombings of —45, were indeed quite strongly Nazi, and were Protestant islands in a countryside that was a Catholic sea. But most of Bavaria voted for the Catholic party, not the Nazis. Reck-Malleczewen, like other educated, upper-class North Germans, was deeply mistrustful of the modern world.
The Nazis only confirmed his cynicism. But, living in Bavaria, his encounters are with Catholicism - not formally so, of course, but these diaries are an interesting literary testimony to something that, in Germany today, matters. For, in the Federal Republic, the wreckage of one Germany, largely Protestant and Prussian, was subsumed in another, dominated by Catholics from the south and west. This underlies what Reck-Malleczewen memorably confides to his diaries. It often happened that people who had been in Fascist jails went back into the same jails, now Communist, and guarded, often enough, by the same warders, who had turned coats.
This ignored an important element in modern German history: that anti-Fascists had quite often been men of the Right. In the winter of , when Reck- Malleczewen was arrested, for the second time, as we now learn with the inclusion of the recently discovered chapter, he was one among many. Indeed this moment is the most poignant part of the diary. The future Federal Republic - peaceful, allied with the West, democratic, and sometimes stuffily law-bound - owed much to these non-Communist anti-Nazi elements.
For them, Reck- Malleczewen speaks, and does so with powerful contempt. His diaries, translated very well in the United States some thirty years ago, are a fluent account of the disintegration of Germany in wartime by a highly intelligent conservative whose pessimism gave him qualities highly desirable in a writer - black humour, contempt and resilience. Graham Greene says somewhere that every writer should have a sliver of ice in his heart, which often makes writers rather unattractive characters. Reck-Malleczewen seems at times almost to gloat at the bombing of Germany - retribution, laced with surreal humour.
Celine is of course about Introduction 7 as politically incorrect as it is possible to be, though the modern reader now, guiltily, maybe finds his great set-pieces of black sur- realism they have been translated into Russian rather better to tuck up with than the old goody-goodies of the Front Popu era. Reck-Malleczewen is no Celine, of course. Reck-Malleczewen had an interesting background.
This was a certain Ernst von Heydebrand und der Lasa, one of those resonantly Teutonic names that stud the lists of the German conservative party before Graf von Arnim- Boitzenburg, Freiherr von Oldenburg-Januschau, Graf von Kanitz-Podangen, Graf zu Reventlow, Graf Westarp - not big arist- ocrats at all, but a samurai, what Frederich the Great had called the rocher de bronze on which the Hohenzollern monarchy stood.
A few had Polish names, Hutten-Czapski, Podbielski, for that matter Malleczewen, as a good part of Prussia had originally been Polish and Catholic, but in general these were arch-Prussians, whose dislikes were fairly comprehensive. Ernst von Heydebrand und der Lasa comes across, in the modern history of the Kaiserzeit , as rather a bogey-man: reac- tionary to the end. Their fathers had even been hostile to Bismarck, on the grounds that Bismarck, by fusing Protestant Prussia in partly Catholic Germany, was ruining her character. Upon unification in , Prussia, in fact, preserved a great part of her historic character.
Bismarck allowed universal male suffrage for the Reichstag that was set up for united Germany. But the Prussian parliament was not the Reichstag. It legislated for the two-thirds of Germany that was under Prussian control, and it did not like Catholics. There was only one Prussian Catholic minister in the entire Kaiserreich, and even he had married a Protestant, agreeing to bring up his children as such. Franz von Papen, the man who did most, later on, to bring Hitler to power, was the only Prussian guards officer of Catholic background: he came from an old Catholic family in Westphalia, and had married into quite serious money as it happens, the heiress of Villeroy and Bosch, the largest German manufacturer of lavatory pans.
The Prussian conservatives were utterly determined not to extend the vote. They could not quite deprive the masses of it - this was, after all, the nineteenth century - but they could make sure that each vote did not count for the same. The top third of tax-payers voted in one electoral group, for a third of the electoral college Wahlmanner who would actually elect the deputies, and the next-top third for another, and so on. The result was that the masses were effectively disenfranchised - a handful of social demo- cratic deputies, and far fewer Catholics than their numbers might have warranted.
There was some compensation, in that the upper chamber, the Herrenhaus , contained men appointed because of their office: professors, no less, and lord mayors Adenauer, much later on, remembered that house, of which, being Lord Mayor of Cologne, he was a member, as the most civilised parliamentary body he had ever known. But in general, the Prussian conserva- tives had things their own way in Prussia, and they were not very forthcoming as regards trade unions, social democrats, Catholics Introduction 9 and Poles.
Right to the very end of the First World War, when the Reich government itself was desperate to show the victorious Americans that Germany could be properly democratic, universal suffrage and all, the Prussian conservatives held out. In fact the Herrenhaus only passed an equal-suffrage law, even then with reservations, on the day the Kaiser abdicated. But the safely Prussian-conservative world which the three-class franchise was supposed to preserve was not in fact preserved at all.
The three-class franchise was subverted, because the Prussian conservatives were easily outweighed by new money, a great deal of it Jewish. In the very centre of Berlin, the constituency Vossstrasse , the top third of the tax-payers consisted indeed of one man - the Jewish owner of a vast department store, Wertheimer. Imperial Chancellors, chiefs of the General Staff and the like found themselves in the second class. True, the Prussian conserva- tives could always rely on a block of seats, about a third, because they could always summon the tenantry, with whom their relations were generally good.
But the future was not theirs, and where was a bright young sprig of the old rocher de bronze to turn? Others became ardent nationalists, dying in the First World War in enormous numbers. A few took up an au-dessus-de- la-melee aestheticism, and the poet Stephan George, who had been hugely influential among educated Prussians before , simply walked away from the nationalist passions of , for which he had been to some degree responsible, and went to Switzerland.
Later on, after the defeat in and the crash of old Prussia, this class began to disintegrate. One Reventlow became a Nazi; another joined the Communist party and fought in the Spanish Civil War; a Countess von Malzahn was the most resourceful helper of fugitive Jews during wartime Berlin that there was; one von der Schulenburg tried to blow up Hitler, and even in November most of the other von der Schulenburgs clubbed together to present to Hitler a fine vellum-and-velvet production containing all of their signatures on the occasion of his miraculous survival.
Hitler was in fact the nemesis of that class. During the s, when Germany, rather at bayonet-point, tried democracy i. There is much background to this. Bismarck had felt he could manage Catholics. His conservative opponents in Prussia just did not want Catholics at all: they were prone to demagogy, bred like rabbits, ran up debts, and somehow understood democracy rather better than honest Lutherans did. Lutheran and Catholic were forced into alliance, after the Second Introduction 11 World War, and West Germany became increasingly Catholic- dominated as time went by, while Lutheranism shrivelled.
Another interesting thing is that, though in Prussia the only really active resistance to the Nazis came from the upper classes, the Catholic masses in southern Germany were, if not actively resistant, far less enthusiastic about the Nazis than the North German masses ever were. This, perhaps, takes some explaining.
Reck-Malleczewen, moving to wartime Bavaria where, there being a higher proportion of peasants than in the rest of Germany, and a great many tucked-away villages, you could, apart from anything else, eat rather better , knew, socially, quite a number of the local Catholic big-wigs. He refers even to the royal family, the Wittelsbachs - and they were always anti-Nazi, to the point of emigration to Hungary, which was safely Catholic conservative at the time. Prinz Rupprecht, who had commanded an army group against the British in France in , was a focus for resistance.
Catholics even preferred social democrats to the stiff-necked Protestant worthies who would otherwise have run things, and they did, locally, some interesting deals. When public transport was organised, the Catholics supplied the bus-conductors, the social democrats the drivers. Public offices, at a low level, could be shared out in the same way, and even unnecessarily multiplied.
Who paid? Why, the better-off urban Protestant tax-payer, of 12 Diary of a Man in Despair course. A form of municipal politics, which bedevilled many advanced countries in western Europe thereafter, and which led, in the case of this country, to the Poll Tax, thus emerged. Once finances and debts became fouled up with inflation and the loss of the First World War, Bavarian Protestants turned ugly. It was among them that Hitler took his Bavarian votes. Peculiarly enough, Hitler himself, and his propaganda minister, Goebbels, were lapsed Catholics.
The rest were overwhelmingly Protestant in origin, and throughout Germany Protestants were far more likely to vote Nazi than Catholics were. Reck-Malleczewen, a Prussian nobleman, has the attitudes of his class, despising the plebeian Nazis. Again and again, it is their vulgarity that repels him, and he must have made his attitudes perfectly plain, since the Gestapo arrested and executed him in the end. The newspapers lie, sweaty little men in brown shirts strut, and ghastly things happen though mainly off-stage in the diaries to the Jews. Reck-Malleczewen, who has taken his pessimism from the classics, transmitted via Spengler, despairs, but does so loudly.
He also notes something hopeful: that the Bavarian population around are not quite so loyally crazy as their Nazi masters would have liked. For instance, when the Allies landed in North Africa, in November , the Bavarians began to take stock. Reck-Malleczewen cheers, and notes the patriotic enthusiasms of the Bavarian to undergo change. People are already thinking of their post-war positions and repu- tation; they begin not to notice this, and to connive at that.
If you read the multi-volume series, The Resistance to National Socialism Introduction 13 in Bavaria, produced in the s, your first reaction is disbelief. German friends of mine have sniffed: just some tax-evasion, some illegal pig-slaughtering. In practice, the fate of the Scholls, brother and sister, executed in for launching anti-Nazi leaflets in Munich, was not as untypical as all that. Experience in other countries showed that sabotage to the Nazi war-effort was more effective than outright resistance, and the Bavarians were not keen Nazis, whatever their defects, other- wise.
Collaborating, as its elements did after , with other parties for the maintenance of the rule of law, it could have maintained German parliamentary democracy. A few people apart, it did not do so. It said: let democracy collapse, and we shall inherit. But Hitler speedily out-manoeu- vred them, and their party was closed down, in June , while von Papen narrowly escaped assassination. Germany did indeed rise again.
Some of the Right - academic, biirgerlich, types, for the most part - looked at the Nazis and saw in them a socialist, state-control affair. The answer for the next German state must therefore be of a free-marketing kind. Germany was exporting more than the British. But there were others who saw that economic formulae, however up-to-date and ingenious, were not enough. The free market would have to be underpinned, constitutionally, by protection for the basic things that mattered. Children must be properly looked after, and the family, therefore, given some guarantees.
Into the Basic Law was written a provision, for instance, that no father of a family must be taxed to below the level at which he could decently keep his family. These, and similar, arguments amounted to a moral extension of the classical liberalism of the economists.
The men who had these things worked out - Wilhelm Ropke, Alexander Rontgen, Friedrich von Hayek and others - had their own journal, Ordo , which was extremely influential in the making of the German Federal Republic. Quite a number of them, out of disgust for the Nazis, though they were not Jewish or Communist, simply took the road into exile. Their influence in Turkey is still remembered with pride and affection. After the war, they were able to talk to Catholics of the generation that followed old Adenauer, in a way that, in the heyday of Prussian conservatism, would have been more or less unthinkable.
Reck-Malleczewen was not, of course, a classical liberal. But he himself was obviously coming round to the idea that, pessimistic though he might be, he had something in common with Bavarian Introduction 15 Catholics. His diaries are, if you like, a kind of black-humour and far-off counterpoint to the themes of the Ordoliberalen. What would he have made of the Germany of today, after unification, this time, at the hands of the Rhineland Catholic, Dr Kohl?
For that is the summation of his diaries, and not, despite the endless gloom which sometimes pervades Germans, altogether a bad outcome after all. It is, in the real sense of the word, living history, because it is the history of Germany in the Nazi period as was experienced by an extremely vital and aware man, Friedrich Percyval Reck- Malleczewen.
This is the accurate account of the forebodings of Reck- Malleczewen, who put his thoughts down as the only means of defending himself from a horror that finally engulfed him. Its entries cease with October , because Reck-Malleczewen was killed by a Genickschuss, a shot in the neck, the following 16 February, in the Dachau concentration camp.
When the author began this journal, he was fifty-two, and there- fore well into middle-age. And yet what is so extraordinary here is the power of the personality that emerges - his vitality, his immense passion. This is the real importance of the book: that a man who stood solidly on the soil of Bavaria looked on as millions of his fellow countrymen became automatons, moving and yelling and salivating to order, and set down what it was to be a full human being among these walking machines.
He set this down so well that we can feel it now, his horror and loneliness, and we know that his feeling is a feeling we ourselves have had, because it belongs to our time - it is the feeling of our 18 Diary of a Man in Despair time that Reck-Malleczewen is describing. And therein lies the true horror. Does it seem presumptuous to put Reck-Malleczewen among these other great men on the basis of a single journal, the only work of note he is known to have written, except, perhaps, for a half- completed philosophical work Das Ende der Termiten , - The End of the Termites?
One work is enough. Very simply, the problem Reck-Malleczewen faced is our problem - the problem of mass-man. But mass-man has gone on. He is with us today. Of course, Reck-Malleczewen could hardly have conceived this possibility. Mass-man had come to ascendancy in Nazi Germany in such instability, in such conditions of chaos and upheaval that he would certainly, Reck felt, burst like a boil or a bullfrog together with his Nazi state. Fritz Reck could not imagine that any world was fit for inhabiting in which any form of the mass species, fascist or democratic, was dominant. All the hope, the immense passion that underlie this book were based on this: that mass-man would go as the Nazis went.
The physical destruction happened, as he expected. He tells about some of it - the bombing of Hamburg, and of Munich, the sealed freight cars in the sun of a siding amidst the waving grass of Upper Bavaria, with the urine and faeces drip- ping down onto the track ties from the Russian prisoners of war stuffed inside, the burning, and the destruction.
But the Nazi mass- men never lost their heads. They killed to the end, ferociously, coldly, unbelievably. They remained incredible, and neither then nor afterward did they ever lose their tight hold on themselves. And so we did not have that emptying of a boil of corruption that Reck-Malleczewen looked to with such dread and with such hope to save his beloved Germany, and with it the rest of us.
Germany lost the war, but mass-man remained. He is still with us. Look around you. Look into yourself. A few sections in this book seem inordinately difficult to follow. The phrasing - which could not, I felt, be rendered into simpler English without losing some of the quality of the original - becomes difficult at times.
The Diary of a Man of Fifty
There are references to people and events immediately recognisable only to the highly educated German. When a feeling of overwhelming helplessness strikes a man, as it must often have struck Reck-Malleczewen, he is likely to vent his rage - if he has the vast culture of this man - in turgid phrasing, in obscure and nearly private references. These matters have been explained wherever it was possible to do so, and when this was impossible - the obscurity was left as it is. The book and therefore Reck-Malleczewen, and therefore Germany and what happened to it, can be understood only as a whole, with all the contrarities, confusions, and even spitefulness of the living organism.
Reference to this journal - first published in in Germany and reissued there in - by Hannah Arendt in her Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil brought me to read, and then to translate into English for the first time, this book. I thank my wife, Donna Rubens, my sister, Mary Lou Kallman, and my friend Paul Nardi for their great help to me in completing this book.
And just as a deceased maharajah has the right to have all his retainers buried with him, this preponderant personality was, a few days later, followed in death by Albers, who had handled his work at the Beck publishing firm. Albers died in a truly grisly fashion. He threw himself under the wheels of the Starnberg train, and his bloody corpse was found on the tracks, legs severed at the thighs.
As usual, he had been attired in expensive tweeds. As usual, too, his brow had been dark, and his tone angry; his deep hurt and thirst for revenge on those who had hurt him emerged in a series of striking prognoses. I still remember our first meeting, when Albers brought him to my house.
On the little carriage which carried him from the station, and which was hardly built with such loads in mind, sat a massive figure who appeared even more enormous by virtue of the thick overcoat he wore. Everything about him had the effect of extraordinary permanence and solidity: the deep bass voice; the tweed jacket, already, at that time, almost habitual; the appetite at dinner; and at night, the truly Cyclopean snoring, loud as a series of buzz saws, which frightened the other guests at my Chiemgau country house out of their peaceful slumbers.
This was at a time when he was not really successful, and before he had done an about-face and marched into the camp of the oligarchy of industrial magnates, a retreat which determined his 22 Diary of a Man in Despair life from then on. It was a time when he was still capable of being gay and unpreoccupied, and when he could sometimes even be persuaded to venture forth in all his dignity for a swim in the river.
Later, of course, it was unthinkable that he expose himself in his bathing suit before ploughing peasants and farmhands, or that he climb, a huffing and puffing Triton, back onto the river bank in their presence! He was the strangest amalgam of truly human greatness and small and large frailties that I have ever encountered.
If I recall the latter now, it is part of my taking leave of him, and so I am sure it will not be held against me. He was the kind of man who likes to eat alone - a melancholy-eyed feaster at a great orgy of eating. With a certain amusement, I recall one evening when he joined Albers and me for a light supper. But, discoursing and declaiming the whole time, Spengler finished an entire goose without leaving us, his table companions, so much as a bite.
His passion for huge dinners the check for which was later picked up by his industrial Maecenas was not his only diverting attribute. After I had met him, still before his first major success, he asked me not to come to visit him at his little apartment I believe it was on Agnesstrasse, 2 in Munich. The reason he gave was that his apartment was too confined, and he wanted to show me his library in surroundings appropriate to its monumental scope. Then, in , after he had found his way to the mighty rulers of heavy industry 3 and had moved to expensive Widenmayerstrasse on the banks of the Isar, he did, indeed, invite me to see the succession of huge rooms in his apartment there.
He showed me his carpets and paintings, and even his bed - which was truly worth seeing, because it looked more like a catafalque - but he became visibly disconcerted when I said that I was still looking forward to seeing the library. After overcoming his reluctance to May 23 show it to me, I found myself in a rather small room. But I have never known a man with so little sense of humour and such sensitivity to even the smallest criticism.
There was nothing he abhorred so much as humbug; yet along with all the magnificent deductions in The Decline of the West, he allowed a host of inaccuracies, inadvertencies, and actual errors to stand uncorrected - such as that Dostoyevsky came into the world in St Petersburg rather than in Moscow, and that Duke Bernhard of Weimar died before Wallenstein was assassinated - and important conclusions were drawn from these errors. Mistakes like these could happen to anyone; but woe to the man who dared make Spengler aware of them!
I remember a delightful scene which took place at my house, when, as was his custom after dinner, he fell to lecturing and preaching at the same time that he catechised a follower of his who was present. Spengler, the Master, might well have been pleased, and he certainly should have been able to laugh at this incident. Instead, he was deeply hurt, and would have nothing to do with the culprit thereafter.
To repeat, he was truly the most humourless man I have ever met; in this respect, he is surpassed only by Herr Hitler and his Nazis, who have every prospect of dying of a wretchedness compounded by their own deep-rooted humourlessness and the dreary monotony of public life which, under their domination, has taken on the rigidity of a corpse and is now in its fourth year of 24 Diary of a Man in Despair suffocating us to death. But he who believes that I want to do Spengler an injury by recounting his many weaknesses is in error. I need not cite his indispensable early work on Theocrates, 4 nor the fact that he gave form at last to the presentiments of an entire generation.
Whoever has met him knows about the nimbus of the significant that attached to him and that was not dissipated even in his off-guard moments; knows that in him lived on the represen- tation of the best in humanist pedagogy; knows about his countenance, which reflected the same stoicism found in busts of the late Roman period. For it was his destiny that midway in his course he fell into dependency on the heavy-industry oligarchy, and this dependency began in time to have an effect on his thinking.
I, at least, with the best will in the world, do not otherwise know how to reconcile the truly magnif- icent prophesying of the approaching Dostoyevskian Christianity, made in in the second volume of Decline , with the techno- cratic rhetoric which fills his later work. It was his tragedy that a highly intellectualised, and I might say, a seedy-teacher kind of negativity, kept him from believing in the gods, much less in God. His followers began to leave him around , when he made his peace with contemporary Germany - not with the Nazis, for I know of no one who hated them as he did, on lying down, in sleep- ing, and in rising up!
The surging power of his mind, to which we owe the vision of his early works, was cut off from the time the ravens - not those of St Anthony, but those of the Messrs May 25 Thyssen and Hosch - began to supply his table with good burgundies. Thus was he betrayed by his own epicurean inclinations and his passion for the rich sauces and incomparable culinary skill of his sisters, who kept house for him.
The Nazis - in their so-called newspapers edited by such people as one-time schoolteachers with peculiar records and army lieutenants of the First World War who have done nothing since - are exulting over the fact that Spengler supposedly came around to their way of thinking; they are also saying that, one by one, the same thing is happening to the rest of the opposition. July From Munich - now appearing almost foreign - from Prussian- occupied Munich, comes an amusing tale.
It concerns Herr Esser, 6 the Minister of Transport, who, in view of his known activities, should really be called the Minister of Sexual Transports. This Esser had an affair with the daughter of the owner of a tavern, and was so badly beaten by the father that he could neither go out nor, compromised as he was, remain in Munich. In accordance with the style of this regime, which has simply discarded decency as so much excess baggage, he was promoted shortly thereafter to a much higher post in Berlin.
We have, there- fore, every prospect of losing whatever remains of our freedom of movement, and of thus becoming completely the prisoners of this horde of vicious apes who three years ago seized power over us. I had a most enlightening talk recently with a man about the Nazis, and how they had come to power.
He said that this so- called German Revolution 7 is really based on simple blackmail. This is his story. Old Hindenburg had always been a poor man. He decided near the end to change that situation, and he had his son, Oskar, take over his business affairs. Oskar speculated on the stock exchange, and when the crash came suddenly, owed 13 million marks. To make this back, Oskar then let himself get involved in the Eastern Relief manipulations - I do not believe his father knew - and the July 27 Nazis found out in The fall of the Briining Cabinet is very likely connected.
The Hitlerites got photostats of the incrimi- nating documents, and from then on had the whip hand. Hindenburg had always before that kept Hitler away. But by the summer of , he was no longer a free agent. Otherwise how could he, the Chief of State, have said absolutely nothing when Hitler had the effrontery to send a telegram congratulating the Nazi murderers at Potempa? The Hindenburg group began to be very worried. Hitler felt that he could now press to be named Chancellor. The story dovetails perfectly with information I have from other sources.
Gregor Strasser, 11 who was killed in the Rohm Putsch, hinted something of the same thing to me in November And this explains, finally, the report, which keeps cropping up despite every denial, that von Schleicher, 13 who was on the other side in this intrigue, had Oskar von Hindenburg arrested at the Friedrichstrasse railroad station, and held overnight, following the break with the old President.
General von Bredow, who was killed along with Schleicher in the Rohm Putsch a year and a half later, reportedly was the arresting officer. So it seems that we owe the unutterable misery into which we have come to blackmail and to a financial lapse of Paul von Hindenburg. I consider that his lack of decision when the monarchy was threatened, on 9 November , was treason to the Crown. The story about his deathbed encounter 14 with Hitler has given me a great deal of food for thought. Hindenburg refused to have Hitler come to his bedside. But Hitler was not to be put off that way: his prestige was at stake.
He forced his way in, and got his blessing. Hindenburg had never forgiven himself for his betrayal of the Kaiser sixteen years before. He evidently confused Hitler with the Kaiser, stroked his hand, and begged him to forgive him. If even a small part of all this is true, the truth, when it emerges, will shake the country. I do not believe he was capable of doing anything wrong, with all his faculties. General Hoffmann 15 was an aide, and his widow recently showed me a letter her husband had written her in the fall of , just before the German advance through northern Poland.
We will have to tell the General what to think. He does not even know where his troops are stationed. Hindenburg did not have the stature for the position he was given. He was also too old, and very likely too sick to handle it. But the stupidity of an entire people in agreeing to this combination of corruption and inadequacy in its leadership is something else again. The cabinet system is responsible, too: as long as this country agrees to that July 29 political institution, it will have to bear the confusion, convulsions, and political mayhem which accompany it.
No, the Germans as they now are need a master. And by this I most certainly do not mean that forelocked gypsy type we have been given to lead us in our hour of need. Rohm died bravely, as a soldier should, after registering a complaint about the quality of the coffee served in prison. The version disseminated by Goebbels and his underlings, that he hid under the bed, is one more lie, the kind of vicious, cowardly slander of a man no longer alive to answer it, in which they specialise.
It will come back on their own heads some day, all of it. Then, there is the case of Willi Schmid , 16 the music critic for a Munich newspaper, who was killed in the Putsch through over- sight - you might say, unfortunate confusion of identity. It seems that the Nazis, looking for their Schmid in the telephone book, killed a whole column of Schmids before they got to the one they wanted. Seventy- two-year-old Gustav von Kahr 17 was not shot; he was trampled to death by the SS in the courtyard of the Hotel Marienbad.
The whole thing, the entire Rohm Putsch, is strange, full of unfathomable ramifications; when the whole truth comes out some day, it will make people shudder I understand that Hitler himself took on the job of killing some of his enemies in the course of his Apache-style raid on Bad Wiessee , 18 and that one of his intended victims fought back. Bellowing with rage, brandishing his pistol, he chased his Fiihrer downstairs to the basement, where Hitler finally found refuge behind an iron-sheathed door.
Lovely Hamlet-like beginning for our new regime, promising all kinds of pleasantness to follow! I have been working on my book about the Munster city-state 1 1 August 31 set up by the Anabaptist heretics in the sixteenth century. In every respect, down to the most ridiculous details, that was a forerunner of what we are now enduring.
Like the Germany of today, the Munster city-state for years separated itself from the civilised world; like Nazi Germany, it was hugely successful over a long period of time, and appeared invincible. And then, suddenly, against all expectation and over a comparative trifle it collapsed As in our case, a misbegotten failure conceived, so to speak, in the gutter, became the great prophet, and the opposition simply disintegrated, while the rest of the world looked on in astonish- ment and incomprehension.
As with us for in Berchtesgaden, recently, crazed women swallowed the gravel on which our hand- some gypsy of a leader had set his foot , hysterical females, schoolmasters, renegade priests, the dregs and outsiders from everywhere formed the main supports of the regime. I have to delete some of the parallels in order not to jeopardise myself any more than I already have. A thin sauce of ideology covered lewd- ness, greed, sadism, and fathomless lust for power, in Munster, too, and whoever would not completely accept the new teaching was turned over to the executioner.
The same role of official murderer played by Hitler in the Rohm Putsch was acted by Bockelson in Munster. As with us, Spartan laws were promulgated to control the misera plebs , but these did not apply to him and his followers. Bockelson also surrounded himself with bodyguards, and was beyond the reach of any would-be assassin.
Diary of a Man in Despair
Exactly as Nazi Germany has done, Munster sent its fifth columns and prophets forth to undermine neighbouring states. The fact that the Munster propaganda chief, Dusentschnur, limped 32 Diary of a Man in Despair like Goebbels is a joke which history spent four hundred years preparing: a fact which I, familiar as I am with the vindictiveness of our Minister of Lies, have most advisedly omitted in my book.
It threatened all the established world - Kaiser, nobility, and all the old relationships. And it was all designed to still the hunger for mastery of a couple of power-mad thugs. A few things have yet to happen to complete the parallel. In the besieged Munster of , the people were driven to swallow their own excrement, to eat their own children. Chow once again calls up Chi Hung to his aid, taking the risk crossing over to Chow's room by climbing out his.
The plan was an epic failure; with Chow being fooled by his pretended to drunk wives and tied up on bed, where both Sally and Joey taking their own sweet time teaching their man a lesson which includes him being slapped, beaten by thugs, squeezing an orange to his mouth, strips him naked and lighting up the hotel room's fire distinguishing system; making him cold and wet before both of them sadly leaving him for good. After a failed attempt to woo back his wives, Chow decided to chase them back from leaving Hong Kong.
The wives didn't left but instead, optimistically discussed among themselves who should be Chow's one and only love as he could only choose one by the right of law. Coincidentally unaware that the police forces led by Inspector Cheng are having a tactical strike out against two criminals, with one being Shing Fui-On , the arrival of Chow and his wives near the location they first met alerted the criminals who later on held both wives as hostages under the police's surroundings.
The wives exaggeratedly gone rage and beats up the two criminals after witnessing that their husband is being shot in the arm which the incident includes the ladies purportedly snatching off the criminals' pistols and clumsily pulling the triggers at them - with bullets hilariously missing them in the process. Afraid to lose their lives under the ladies mere clumsiness, the criminals then voluntarily and willingly surrendered themselves to the police, which the coincidental accident has unpredictably eased up the inspector and his team. Before the film ends, Chow apologizes to wives under a heavy rain and stated that it is better for them to live on without him; thus, sending them home by calling a taxi, with both of them sadly looking at him before he walks away from the rain.
The post credit scene shows Chow Ting-fat chanting ancient prayers seemingly in Middle Eastern attire and together with him are two women who turns out to be Sally and Joey in their respective Middle Eastern traditional attires as well. It is purportedly believed that Chow and his wives had converted into Middle Eastern religion, which explains that they are happily married.
Diary of a Tired Black Man () - IMDb
Chi-hung then appears in business suit, bringing four of his wives with one being a funny upset looking Ka-lai as his fourth wife before the film ends entirely. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Diary of a Big Man Film poster. Cinema City Company Film Workshop.