Fascism on Film Podcast

"Europa Europa" is a powerful film by Agnieszka Holland, that tells the true-life story of Solomon Perel, a Jewish boy in Nazi Germany who survives the war through a series of unbelievable twists and turns. The film demonstrates the masks one must wear to protect one's true identity in the face of an evil regime. James and Teal's look a fascism on film concludes with this brilliant film from 1990.

Swing heil! That's right, kids, in 1993, a little over six months before Steven Spielberg premiered "Schindler's List," Disney's short-live Hollywood Pictures came out with "Swing Kids," a film that attempts to tell the world something about fascism, but misses the mark. Still, for all its schmaltz, does "Swing Kids" have something to say? James and Teal examine a film that does have some effective moments.

"Sophie Scholl: The Final Days" is a devastating and tragic look at a true-life hero of the German resistance movement, The White Rose. To see the machinations of Nazism at work and its willingness to destroy its citizens who dare to resist tyranny is difficult to watch. This film is a powerhouse.

Jean-Pierre Melville's masterpiece, "Army of Shadows," is a gripping slow-burn look at the operations of the French Resistance during the Nazi occupation. Melville strips away the glamor and sentimentality of the resistance movement to show how unrewarding it can be to do ones duty when one's country is under occupation. The film avoids nearly all conventions of the typical spy thriller, and makes its audience work for clues and answers. It's a true gut-punch.

Bernhard Wicki’s powerful 1959 German anti-war film, "The Bridge" shows the tragedy and futility of following fascism to its final end. A group of high-school boys in a small German town during the final days of the war, can't wait to get into the fight for Germany, only to discover, far too late, that all they've been taught were lies. This week's film, "The Bridge" doesn't contain any shine, gloss, or dancing to David Bowie at the end. It's one of the most tragic looks at the destruction that fascism brings to its people.

Silly "JoJo Rabbit," fascism is for kids. Every National Socialist knows that the way to sustain a reign of 1,000 years is through the corruption of the little ones. In this week's episode, James and Teal look at 2019's Oscar-winning film for Best Adapted Screenplay, "JoJo Rabbit." Writer-director Taika Waititi moves the dramatic and controversial material of the book to a decidedly more comedic tone. But through the laughs, does "JoJo" have a lesson to teach?

Not even Sybil the Soothsayer could have predicted how much Paddy Chayefsky and Sidney Lumet's 1976 film "Network" would mirror today's world of infotainment and the corporatization of media. "Network" is a film that continues rewarding repeat viewing, as it offers up new ways to examine the U.S. population's fascination with realty television, and how the lines obscure between truth, fiction, and the vox populi. If you've never before seen "Network" there may never be a better time to watch this masterful look at the power of television and those behind-the-scenes willing to go to any length to corrupt it for the sake of ratings and stockholders.

"The Great Dictator" kicks off Season 3 of Fascism on Film. Charlie Chaplin takes on Hitler and the Nazi's in a biting satire that is noted today for its historical importance in cinema. But does it hold up as a farce or has time diminished its power. James Kent and Teal Minton examine how funny or unfunny fascism can be with this look at "The Great Dictator."

In a special one-off episode of Fascism on Film, we take a look at the pay-to-play Amazon-purchased documentary, "Melania" which fails as both documentary and as MAGA propaganda. It isn't sure of its subject or who its intended audience is for. James and Teal break down every inaugural dress measurement and bizarre soundtrack music cue for this dreadfully dull filmmaking undertaking. Watch "Melania" at your peril, or just listen to this podcast episode.

In the Season 2 finale of "Fascism on Film," James and Teal break down the 2024 film, "I'm Still Here." Walter Salles' look at Brazil under military dictatorship in the 1970s is a chilling reminder that what was once another nation's past, strikes an eerily similar note to what we've allowed ourselves to occur in the present. "I'm Still Here" tells the true story of one Brazilian family that seemingly has it all until one day, authoritarianism catches up with them. Enjoy this episode, and James and Teal will return in 2026 with an all new season.

1977's "A Special Day" is a heartfelt romance of Hitler and Mussolini’s infamous cementing of their two nations culminated in a 24-hour Roman holiday. No, but it is set on the same day as that day-long event. However, in the Roman suburbs, we get a different meeting of two mismatched strangers, Marcello Mastroianni and Sophia Loren bring a story of humanity and heartbreak set amidst the backdrop of a political ideology that doesn’t allow homosexuality. "A Special Day" is a masterwork of cinema, and a dive into a world under fascism's rule.

In this episode, James and Teal tackle Ari Aster’s "Eddington," a dark, surprising film set in the earliest days of COVID—when fear, isolation, and conspiracy thinking were reshaping the country in real time. They discuss Joaquin Phoenix’s unraveling sheriff, the town’s descent into misinformation, and the chaotic final act that blurs the line between protest and false-flag operation. It’s one of Aster’s most unsettling films, and a direct reflection on the world we’re living in now.

Paul Thomas Anderson's "One Battle After Another" is both a thrilling action film, and a mirror-holding look at current American society. Baked into its absurdist right vs. leftist fantasy are truths about how each side views the other. Anderson doesn't let anyone off the hook, as he finds the humor in taking each side to a comical extreme. Make no mistake, through the humor of "One Battle After Another," it's clear who the villains are, and who pulls the strings. As we see our country move closer and closer to one ruled by a small number of wealthy white elites, some of the craziness that unfolds in this movie doesn't feel quite so far-fetched. Although filmed prior to the current administration, Anderson clearly knew where the country was headed, and he becomes one of the first filmmakers to tackle our current political situation head-on. This week we examine the first of two modern U.S. filmmaker takes on America today. We'll break down the other in our next episode.

Released just months after Hitler came to power, "Hans Westmar" stands as one of the earliest cinematic expressions of Nazi ideology. Ostensibly a biopic of Horst Wessel—the Sturmabteilung (SA) activist turned martyr whose death became a rallying cry for the Nazi movement—the film dramatizes the transformation of a young man from aimless nationalist to disciplined Nazi believer. But more than a tale of political awakening, "Hans Westmar" is a ritualized myth of sacrifice: a cinematic hymn to obedience, struggle, and death in the service of the Volk. This episode dissects the film’s calculated use of martyrdom, racialized othering, and aestheticized violence to forge the ideal fascist subject. What does it mean to “die for Germany”? Who is seen as the enemy within? And how does the myth of redemptive bloodshed sustain fascist ideology on screen?

Between 1933 and 1945, more than 1,000 feature films were produced under the Nazi regime—most of them not overtly propagandistic, but melodramas, musicals, comedies, and historical epics. Hitler’s Hollywood, a 2017 documentary by German critic Rüdiger Suchsland, explores this vast and often overlooked cinematic universe. Narrated by Udo Kier in haunted tones, the film argues that Nazi cinema was not just an arm of propaganda but a total fantasy system—an attempt to reprogram reality through spectacle, myth, and longing. This episode goes beyond the documentary to ask: How does a fascist regime use film not just to control, but to enchant? How do escapist romances and sentimental dramas reinforce authoritarian ideals? And what happens when a culture begins to dream fascist dreams?

Romance as Resistance: ‘Casablanca’ In this episode of Fascism on Film, we look at Michael Curtiz’s Casablanca (1942), one of Hollywood’s most enduring films and one of its quietest acts of persuasion. Beneath the romance and intrigue, Casablanca tells a story of political awakening—about a man, a city, and a country choosing between indifference and action against fascism. We discuss how Humphrey Bogart’s Rick Blaine, with his famous line that he “sticks his neck out for nobody,” becomes a stand-in for prewar America. The film’s emotional arc mirrors the nation’s own shift—from cynicism and self-interest to moral conviction. By the time Rick helps Victor Laszlo escape and sacrifices his own happiness, his personal redemption becomes a metaphor for America joining the fight for democracy. The film’s characters form a map of the moral landscape of World War II: Rick as the disillusioned American, Ilsa as a divided Europe, Laszlo as the conscience of the resistance, Renault as the opportunist, and Strasser as the face of authoritarian power. Casablanca’s brilliance lies in how emotion becomes politics—a love story turned into a lesson in courage. Behind the camera, many of the film’s cast and crew were refugees from fascism—Conrad Veidt, Peter Lorre, Madeleine Lebeau, and Curtiz himself. Their real experiences give the movie its emotional truth; the fear and displacement onscreen were lived, not imagined. We also explore the film’s mythmaking and legacy. From the Cross of Lorraine hidden in a smuggler’s ring to the swelling of “La Marseillaise” over “Die Wacht am Rhein,” Casablanca builds its resistance through symbols, songs, and small acts of defiance rather than overt politics. 80 years later, Casablanca still holds up a mirror to moments of moral hesitation and reminds us that neutrality is a choice, that romance can be resistance, and that even one person’s decision has meaning in a broken world.

This week, we take aim at Nazis as pop-culture film villains and the tropes associated with them in a discussion on Quentin Tarantino’s "Inglourious Basterds," in which the auteur shakes up World War II history with his revisionist caper war film. He makes an audience hungry for Nazi revenge, questioning how far one must go along in the journey to experience catharsis in foiling the Nazis. And in the ultimate act of revenge, Tarantino gives the masses something they always wanted to see, and Hitler gets his comeuppance. This film, shaped by a director with a history of fascist propaganda movies and WW2 films at his disposal, creates a Nazi-revenge, blood-soaked, brain-splattered pop culture sensation in a culture where sex gets you an NC-17 rating, and violence gets you Oscar nominations.

François Truffaut’s "The Last Metro" is a deceptively quiet film about survival, resistance, and performance under Nazi occupation. Set in a Parisian theater during the German occupation of France, the story revolves around a company that tries to continue producing art while hiding the theater’s Jewish director in the basement. Beneath its surface—a war-era romance and backstage drama—is a nuanced meditation on repression, complicity, and cultural resistance. The title refers not just to the curfew imposed by the occupying forces (forcing audiences and actors alike to catch “the last metro” home) but also to a kind of societal and moral deadline. Everyone must choose whether to act, to pretend, or to disappear. "The Last Metro" is often read as a metaphor for how artists and intellectuals maneuvered under occupation, and how repression forces performance in every sphere of life. For Truffaut, born in 1932 and whose family had complex wartime allegiances, the film is also a personal reckoning with French memory—how heroism, compromise, and fear intermingle beneath the surface of everyday life.

"The Testament of Dr. Mabuse" is Fritz Lang's 1933 German detective thriller that arrived on the heels of Hilter coming to power, making it the regime's first official 'banned' movie. The film is a fascinating look at how an evil ideology spreads beyond one man when that man make it his mission to make evil the rule of law. "Mabuse" is a semi-sequel to Lang's masterpiece, "M," and it packs a punch visually and through its innovative use of audio. Our discussion hits on its fascist interpretations, some of the misunderstandings about the movie, and the film's place in time when it was created under one set of rules, and ready for release under another.

In this episode of the Fascism on Film Podcast, we look at Mr. Klein (1976), Joseph Losey’s haunting story of identity, complicity, and erasure in Nazi-occupied France. Alain Delon plays Robert Klein, a Paris art dealer who lives comfortably off the desperation of others, buying paintings and possessions from Jewish families needing to flee persecution. He’s charming, detached, and perfectly suited to the opportunism of wartime Paris until the day a Jewish newspaper arrives in his mail, addressed to “Mr. Klein.” Trying to prove he is not that Mr. Klein, he enters a maze of bureaucracy that slowly consumes him. What begins as a misunderstanding becomes an obsession and, finally, a collapse of identity. Losey’s film moves between realism and dream. Mirrored rooms double Klein’s reflection, a grotesque cabaret mocking Jewish caricatures, and the quiet efficiency of the French police preparing for the 1942 Vel’ d’Hiv roundup. Beneath the surface elegance lies what we call the “machinery of murder” a portrait of fascism carried out through paperwork, compliance, and silence. We discuss how Mr. Klein reveals fascism not as spectacle but as routine, and how easily a society can lose its moral center when categorizing people for persecution becomes routine bureaucracy. Watching it today, the parallels are chilling. Join us as we unpack Mr. Klein, a story that asks what happens when the system decides who you are and how easily anyone can disappear inside it.