For the past several months, I’ve been voraciously interested in the contrast between the idealism of Nazi rhetoric and the horror that it obscured. One of the fascinating/problematic elements of Inglourious Basterds is that Quentin’s cartoonish glee in depicting Nazi attrocities done onto Nazis almost makes you forget that this stuff actually happened, that Germans tried to conquer the world by actually filling buildings with people they didn’t like and setting them on fire. (Another film that screened in New York this weekend, the 80s Russian epic Come and See, depicts such a scene with gut-churning viscera).

Anyway, last night I was talking about this stuff, and I couldn’t quite remember where this fascination started. Then today, I remembered going to see Slavoj Zizek present Nazi melodramas in Telluride, and now I think that was probably it.