The Nazi hordes, spurred on by their diabolical leader Adolf Hitler, committed horrid atrocities in the hunting and extermination of the Jews.
The National Socialists (yes, that's what "Nazi" means) reigned through terror and wickedness, and as our schoolbooks and popular culture reinforce over and over again, the Nazis were the real "bad guys" in history, likely the last enemies of the U.S. that today's politically correct gatekeepers allow to be treated as "the bad guys."
Perhaps that's why the college students around me laughed and clapped when Nazis were beaten, tortured and executed in gory, blood-bathing detail in "Inglourious Basterds."
Perhaps that's why they said, "Awesome," and, "Cool," when a Nazi's head, clubbed by a baseball bat, exploded onscreen like an overripe watermelon.
More stunning, however, than the celebration of violence and vengeance in the theater or the amazingly surreal gore of "Inglourious Basterds" – even more stunning than Quentin Tarantino's brilliant direction in the film (and I'm not a Tarantino fan, but, admittedly, this was an incredible piece of work) – was the reaction of an elderly woman who walked, silent, out of the theater.
She and her husband held hands as they left "Inglourious Basterds" with grim and stoic faces trying in vain to mask an undercurrent of emotion that swelled strong within them.
I thought perhaps they were offended by the brutality of the film or the constant mocking of others' suffering … but I was wrong.
When her husband slipped off to use the restroom, I stopped and asked what her reaction was to a film that showed Nazis being stabbed, shot, scalped and carved up before her eyes. Her answer has haunted me ever since:
"My eyes were riveted," she said with an intense gaze holding back tears. "We would have loved for it to have really been that way, being as I was born in 1941."
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