The Tin DrumGrowing up is a choice, but it is an essential one; no one likes a petulant child...except for maybe other petulant children. The Tin Drum is about a young boy named Oskar Matzerath (David Bennent), who decides at the age of three to stop growing and remain a perennial child. His means to this end: throwing himself down a set of stairs to stunt his growth. (No, logic isn't the focus in this film.) And from birth, upon hearing that on his third birthday he will receive a tin drum as a gift, he fixates so utterly on it that it is ever present on his person after he receives it. And woe betide any who try to take it from him, because he can emit a shriek that shatters glass. In short, Oskar is a parent's nightmare made flesh.
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The Tin Drum actually begins on the eve of the 20th century, with Oskar's grandmother, a Kashubian potato farmer named Anna Bronski (Tina Engel), who hides a serial arsonist on the run from the police under her four petticoats. This man becomes Oskar's grandfather, Joseph (Roland Teubner), who leaps into a lake during a police chase and is never seen again after Oskar's mother, Agnes (Angela Winkler), is born. (He is, however, rumored to have made his millions in America selling fire insurance, of all things.) Agnes grows up and leads what is implied to be a somewhat licentious life, carrying on with two men in a "trinity" of parentage, as Oskar describes it. There is the man who is presumed to be Oskar's father, the jovial Alfred Matzerath (Mario Adorf)--a grocer by trade--and the soft-spoken Polish postal worker, Jan Bronski (Daniel Olbrychski), who is Agnes's first cousin. So from the earliest with Anna, there is a component of perversity in the family; Oskar is no different. It is while the young--yet surprisingly self-aware--Oskar becomes bored as his parents and their friends drink and play cards at his third birthday party that he acts out because he isn't the center of attention. So as the years roll on, he gets older, but perpetually looks like a child. So he gets away with acting like a child, and his parents indulge him thusly. There is a cruel--even sinister--streak in Oskar. After he discovers his preternatural talent to shatter glass with his voice (Mariah Carey, eat your heart out), he exploits this both for attention and to retaliate against those who he dislikes, such as a school teacher who he blinds by shattering her eyeglasses. (It's all a bit like that "Twilight Zone" episode with that kid who everyone's afraid of and who everyone placates because he can control reality.) Oskar lives in a world where there is little shielding him from adult pleasures, and The Tin Drum makes a strong claim for protecting children from sinful things as a result. When a family friend tries to teach Oskar the English alphabet, he grabs a pornographic book about Rasputin and compels her to read this to him instead, threatening to shatter her drinking glass if she doesn't. And when she does, Agnes comes into the room. Instead of being appalled, she sits down next to her friend, and the two women read together, visibly aroused. This is not an appropriate environment for a child, and so Oskar's worldview is perverted by the presence of vice in so many forms. In other words, he never really gets to be a child in the purest sense of the word, yet he outwardly exhibits the worst characteristics of childhood.
The Tin Drum marches on through the years, including depicting the events that led up to and after World War II. Oskar and his family live in Danzig, which is absorbed into Germany following Adolf Hitler's rise to power. It is fascinating how Oskar is--in many ways--an archon for the German people (and Hitler himself). He is almost never sympathetic. He is spoiled, conceited, and despite being bullied by kids who feed him some vile "soup" in one scene, he is himself a bully. And he is surrounded by people who have no moral direction; even Jan (who is probably Oskar's true father) is in an incestuous relationship with Agnes, and despite her marriage, she sneaks off on Thursdays to a seedy hotel to be with Jan. Agnes is conflicted, perhaps torn between the proverbial angel and devil on her shoulders, like how Oskar comments to be inspired both by Rasputin and Goethe. In one revealing scene, after the family has visited a beach where a fisherman plucks a horse's head from the sea, writhing with eels, she is mortified that Alfred had the audacity to buy some of the eels and make dinner for her out of them. She flees into her bedroom, and Jan goes to comfort her, but shortly thereafter begins molesting her. Her sobs turn to moaning, and she returns to the dinner table to eat all of the eels, joylessly. This is all very, very strange behavior. Some time later, she persists in compulsively eating raw fish, which turns out to be an act of suicide. After his grief has passed, Alfred introduces a sixteen year old girl named Maria (Katharina Thalbach) into their household, ostensibly as a cleaner and caretaker for Oskar (who is now her age), but in truth to become his lover then second wife. And Oskar, well into puberty, begins his own playful affair with Maria, until an incident makes them little more than enemies. When she gives birth to a child named Kurt, Oskar is convinced that the child is his, and history appears to repeat itself.
It is a long time before Oskar begins to show any suggestion of restraint or maturity, and even this is debatable. Oskar finds some kinship with a circus midget/ringmaster named Bebra (Fritz Hakl). The senior dwarf encourages Oskar's talents, even though he is ignorant of the calamities the stunted boy has caused as a result of them. The two reunite after Danzig has fallen completely under Nazi sway, and after the whole town--especially Alfred--has embraced the Third Reich with little debate. When he was younger, Oskar snuck into a Nazi rally and hid beneath the bleachers, playing his tin drum. Subsequently, the rally turned into a mass waltz, much to the befuddlement of the party leaders and its absurd speaker, who ends up giving his Nazi salute to a bunch of dancers...even sticking around after a downpour drives everyone else away. This is essentially a prank on Oskar's part, but after Bebra invites him to join his troupe--who perform for Nazi soldiers while wearing tiny Nazi uniforms--Oskar agrees to join. This doesn't come from any interest in their fascist ideology, but from both a sense of alienation by Maria at home and an attraction to Bebra's co-performer, a dwarf woman named Roswina (Mariella Oliveri). Oskar lacks direction, but during his time in service, he comes to understand the devastating effects of the war when Roswina--in a moment of arbitrary stupidity--goes back during a bombing run for coffee, and is killed. Is this the turning point for Oskar? Is it when the Russians "liberate" Danzig, and subsequently murder Alfred in the basement of his own shop while raping their neighbor (and another brief lover of Oskar's), Lina Greff (Andréa Ferréol)? It is at Alfred's makeshift funeral when he relinquishes his grip on the tin drum that has hung around his neck like an albatross. After an accidental blow to the head by Kurt, he is said to have begun "growing" again, although we never see it. (And this claim is spurious because it comes from the town fool.) But whether Oskar physically grows or not, the eponymous tin drum becomes a symbol of childhood, and all of the limitations that come with it. There is freedom in letting go.
A common read of The Tin Drum is that it is an indictment of Germany and of the rise of the Third Reich. Oskar is unequivocally a spoiled brat. He believes that he is entitled to have what he wants despite the circumstances, and resorts to violence when he doesn't get it. In a sense, the depiction of the Germans in The Tin Drum--primarily Alfred--are of a greedy, indulgent people who bemoan the Versailles Treaty for their sorry economy, yet do nothing but drink, gamble, and have affairs instead of doing something meaningful. (Yes, Germany's economy was in the toilet after World War I, and many Germans were suffering under these living conditions, but the moral imperative of The Tin Drum prefers this otherwise.) Such a liberal environment is a prime breeding ground for tyrants who can promise the world to you...so long as you commit yourselves wholly to their cause, and that means bullying whoever the party doesn't like. Oskar should have a moment of revelation when the Nazis destroy the shop of the man who supplies his tin drums, a kind man named Sigismund Markus (Charles Aznavour) who happens to be a Jew (even if he claims that he has been baptized). Oskar should see how wrong the Nazis are here...but he lets this horrible act fade into memory, just as it was with the German people under Hitler. Little by little, they let go of their values in favor of political acquiescence because they value their creature comforts so much. The tin drum becomes a symbol for these comforts. When the Germans literally lay siege to Jan's post office--resulting in a full blown firefight--Oskar's priority instead is a tin drum on a shelf. The foolish boy runs through a hail of bullets to try to claim it, and throws such a tantrum because he cannot reach it that another Polish postal worker named Kobyella (Mieczysław Czechowicz) gets blasted by debris from an artillery shell in the attempt to get it for the whining child. Oskar is fourteen years old here, but because he's never been properly disciplined, he continues to get away with this kind of inappropriate behavior, and others suffer as a result. Oskar is no different than the kinds of self-important, vitriolic trolls who find a home on places like Twitter, spewing rage and nonsense into the world. And so even today, a movie like The Tin Drum resonates. The phrase "beat a tin drum" describes how people will create a disturbance solely to draw attention to a cause. How is this different from the myriad riots and protests that flood the media with stories about people who misuse phrases and buzzwords like "social justice" or "equity" to provoke others into a reaction? The problem with Nazi Germany was that someone like Adolf Hitler responded to these kinds of protestations and brought a once proud nation to downfall. From this interpretation, a movie like The Tin Drum is a cautionary tale, a story with a message to the world: "Grow up".
Recommended for: Fans of a fable-like exploration of Germany through the first half of the 20th century by way of a snotty and selfish child, perhaps meant to represent the mindset of the nation during this time. The Tin Drum was controversial for many reasons upon release, so I believe that the movie is intended to shock audiences into seeing how disgusting Oskar's upbringing has been, and what it has made of him as a result. This reinforces the interpretation that the film is ultimately meant to indict Germany for allowing the likes of Hitler and his ilk to flourish, like toxic weeds in fecund soil.
The Tin Drum marches on through the years, including depicting the events that led up to and after World War II. Oskar and his family live in Danzig, which is absorbed into Germany following Adolf Hitler's rise to power. It is fascinating how Oskar is--in many ways--an archon for the German people (and Hitler himself). He is almost never sympathetic. He is spoiled, conceited, and despite being bullied by kids who feed him some vile "soup" in one scene, he is himself a bully. And he is surrounded by people who have no moral direction; even Jan (who is probably Oskar's true father) is in an incestuous relationship with Agnes, and despite her marriage, she sneaks off on Thursdays to a seedy hotel to be with Jan. Agnes is conflicted, perhaps torn between the proverbial angel and devil on her shoulders, like how Oskar comments to be inspired both by Rasputin and Goethe. In one revealing scene, after the family has visited a beach where a fisherman plucks a horse's head from the sea, writhing with eels, she is mortified that Alfred had the audacity to buy some of the eels and make dinner for her out of them. She flees into her bedroom, and Jan goes to comfort her, but shortly thereafter begins molesting her. Her sobs turn to moaning, and she returns to the dinner table to eat all of the eels, joylessly. This is all very, very strange behavior. Some time later, she persists in compulsively eating raw fish, which turns out to be an act of suicide. After his grief has passed, Alfred introduces a sixteen year old girl named Maria (Katharina Thalbach) into their household, ostensibly as a cleaner and caretaker for Oskar (who is now her age), but in truth to become his lover then second wife. And Oskar, well into puberty, begins his own playful affair with Maria, until an incident makes them little more than enemies. When she gives birth to a child named Kurt, Oskar is convinced that the child is his, and history appears to repeat itself.
It is a long time before Oskar begins to show any suggestion of restraint or maturity, and even this is debatable. Oskar finds some kinship with a circus midget/ringmaster named Bebra (Fritz Hakl). The senior dwarf encourages Oskar's talents, even though he is ignorant of the calamities the stunted boy has caused as a result of them. The two reunite after Danzig has fallen completely under Nazi sway, and after the whole town--especially Alfred--has embraced the Third Reich with little debate. When he was younger, Oskar snuck into a Nazi rally and hid beneath the bleachers, playing his tin drum. Subsequently, the rally turned into a mass waltz, much to the befuddlement of the party leaders and its absurd speaker, who ends up giving his Nazi salute to a bunch of dancers...even sticking around after a downpour drives everyone else away. This is essentially a prank on Oskar's part, but after Bebra invites him to join his troupe--who perform for Nazi soldiers while wearing tiny Nazi uniforms--Oskar agrees to join. This doesn't come from any interest in their fascist ideology, but from both a sense of alienation by Maria at home and an attraction to Bebra's co-performer, a dwarf woman named Roswina (Mariella Oliveri). Oskar lacks direction, but during his time in service, he comes to understand the devastating effects of the war when Roswina--in a moment of arbitrary stupidity--goes back during a bombing run for coffee, and is killed. Is this the turning point for Oskar? Is it when the Russians "liberate" Danzig, and subsequently murder Alfred in the basement of his own shop while raping their neighbor (and another brief lover of Oskar's), Lina Greff (Andréa Ferréol)? It is at Alfred's makeshift funeral when he relinquishes his grip on the tin drum that has hung around his neck like an albatross. After an accidental blow to the head by Kurt, he is said to have begun "growing" again, although we never see it. (And this claim is spurious because it comes from the town fool.) But whether Oskar physically grows or not, the eponymous tin drum becomes a symbol of childhood, and all of the limitations that come with it. There is freedom in letting go.
A common read of The Tin Drum is that it is an indictment of Germany and of the rise of the Third Reich. Oskar is unequivocally a spoiled brat. He believes that he is entitled to have what he wants despite the circumstances, and resorts to violence when he doesn't get it. In a sense, the depiction of the Germans in The Tin Drum--primarily Alfred--are of a greedy, indulgent people who bemoan the Versailles Treaty for their sorry economy, yet do nothing but drink, gamble, and have affairs instead of doing something meaningful. (Yes, Germany's economy was in the toilet after World War I, and many Germans were suffering under these living conditions, but the moral imperative of The Tin Drum prefers this otherwise.) Such a liberal environment is a prime breeding ground for tyrants who can promise the world to you...so long as you commit yourselves wholly to their cause, and that means bullying whoever the party doesn't like. Oskar should have a moment of revelation when the Nazis destroy the shop of the man who supplies his tin drums, a kind man named Sigismund Markus (Charles Aznavour) who happens to be a Jew (even if he claims that he has been baptized). Oskar should see how wrong the Nazis are here...but he lets this horrible act fade into memory, just as it was with the German people under Hitler. Little by little, they let go of their values in favor of political acquiescence because they value their creature comforts so much. The tin drum becomes a symbol for these comforts. When the Germans literally lay siege to Jan's post office--resulting in a full blown firefight--Oskar's priority instead is a tin drum on a shelf. The foolish boy runs through a hail of bullets to try to claim it, and throws such a tantrum because he cannot reach it that another Polish postal worker named Kobyella (Mieczysław Czechowicz) gets blasted by debris from an artillery shell in the attempt to get it for the whining child. Oskar is fourteen years old here, but because he's never been properly disciplined, he continues to get away with this kind of inappropriate behavior, and others suffer as a result. Oskar is no different than the kinds of self-important, vitriolic trolls who find a home on places like Twitter, spewing rage and nonsense into the world. And so even today, a movie like The Tin Drum resonates. The phrase "beat a tin drum" describes how people will create a disturbance solely to draw attention to a cause. How is this different from the myriad riots and protests that flood the media with stories about people who misuse phrases and buzzwords like "social justice" or "equity" to provoke others into a reaction? The problem with Nazi Germany was that someone like Adolf Hitler responded to these kinds of protestations and brought a once proud nation to downfall. From this interpretation, a movie like The Tin Drum is a cautionary tale, a story with a message to the world: "Grow up".
Recommended for: Fans of a fable-like exploration of Germany through the first half of the 20th century by way of a snotty and selfish child, perhaps meant to represent the mindset of the nation during this time. The Tin Drum was controversial for many reasons upon release, so I believe that the movie is intended to shock audiences into seeing how disgusting Oskar's upbringing has been, and what it has made of him as a result. This reinforces the interpretation that the film is ultimately meant to indict Germany for allowing the likes of Hitler and his ilk to flourish, like toxic weeds in fecund soil.