The Masseur, the Nazi, and the Truth: Unraveling the Enigma of 'I Is Another'
There’s something deeply unsettling about a story where the line between hero and charlatan blurs into obscurity. I Is Another (Ich ist ein Anderer) isn’t just a film—it’s a psychological chess match wrapped in historical ambiguity. Personally, I think what makes this film particularly fascinating is how it dares to ask: Can a man who consorted with one of history’s greatest villains ever be redeemed? And more importantly, does the truth even matter if it’s buried under layers of self-delusion and manipulation?
A Train Ride Through Moral Grey Areas
The film’s setting is as claustrophobic as its moral dilemmas. Most of the action unfolds on a train bound for Oslo in 1952, a confined space that mirrors the characters’ trapped consciences. Claes Bang, with his commanding presence and linguistic prowess, embodies Felix Kersten, a masseur who claims to have swayed Heinrich Himmler into sparing Jewish lives. But here’s the kicker: history isn’t so sure. What many people don’t realize is that Kersten’s story, while tantalizing, remains one of World War II’s most disputed footnotes.
What this really suggests is that the film isn’t just about Kersten’s alleged heroism—it’s about the human tendency to rewrite our own narratives. From my perspective, the train becomes a metaphor for the journey we all take to justify our pasts. Kersten’s wife, Irmgard, chirpy and bird-like, seems almost oblivious to the weight of her husband’s claims. Or is she? A detail that I find especially interesting is how her character serves as a foil, highlighting Kersten’s ego while also questioning whether she’s complicit in his delusions.
The Journalist and the Game of Cat-and-Mouse
Enter Hedda, the East German journalist played by Valerie Pachner. Her character is no saint—she’s a woman with her own skeletons, exiled from Berlin after a scandal. What makes her particularly intriguing is her duality: she’s both hunter and hunted. Hedda’s pursuit of Kersten’s truth is as much about her own redemption as it is about exposing him.
One thing that immediately stands out is the power dynamic between these two characters. When Kersten catches Hedda rummaging through his luggage, he doesn’t just confront her—he hands her his diary, daring her to judge him. This raises a deeper question: Is he confident in his innocence, or is he manipulating her into believing his version of events? If you take a step back and think about it, this moment encapsulates the film’s central theme: truth is a weapon, and everyone wields it differently.
History’s Footnote or Forgotten Hero?
The White Buses incident, where Scandinavian prisoners were freed in 1945, is often credited to Folke Bernadotte of the Swedish Red Cross. Kersten’s claim to have played a pivotal role is, at best, controversial. In 1952, he published a letter allegedly written by Bernadotte, painting himself as the unsung hero. The film incorporates this plot point, but with a twist—it’s not entirely accurate.
In my opinion, this historical inaccuracy isn’t a flaw; it’s a feature. Director Felix Randau isn’t interested in retelling history—he’s interested in deconstructing it. By blurring the lines between fact and fiction, he forces us to question how we remember the past. What this really suggests is that history isn’t just written by the victors—it’s rewritten by those who survive.
The Theater of Deception
The film’s structure, a series of two-handers, gives it a theatrical quality. Some might find this distracting, but I think it’s deliberate. The train cabins become stages, and the characters, performers in their own morality plays. Bang and Pachner’s chemistry is electric, their interactions crackling with tension. When Kersten slams his fist on the table, you feel the weight of his rage—and the fragility of his ego.
What many people don’t realize is that this theatricality mirrors the characters’ lives. Kersten, with his five languages and urbane charm, is a man who’s always performing. Hedda, too, is playing a role, hoping a scoop will redeem her career. Even Winfried, Hedda’s alcoholic photographer husband, is haunted by his own wartime atrocities. The film doesn’t just explore deception—it immerses us in it.
Post-Truth Echoes in a WWII Story
What makes I Is Another eerily relevant is its commentary on our “post-truth” era. Kersten’s story isn’t just disputed—it’s a Rorschach test for how we consume history. Do we believe him because we want to? Or do we dismiss him because it’s easier? From my perspective, the film doesn’t provide answers—it forces us to ask questions.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how Randau uses the characters’ flaws to reflect broader societal issues. Kersten’s ego, Hedda’s ambition, Winfried’s guilt—these aren’t just personal failings; they’re symptoms of a world struggling to come to terms with its past. If you take a step back and think about it, the film isn’t just about WWII—it’s about how we’re still grappling with its legacy today.
Final Thoughts: The Weight of Uncertainty
I Is Another is a film that lingers long after the credits roll. It’s not a comfortable watch, nor is it meant to be. Personally, I think its greatest strength is its refusal to provide easy answers. Kersten’s story remains as elusive as ever, a reminder that truth is often a matter of perspective.
What this really suggests is that the film isn’t just about one man’s claim to heroism—it’s about the stories we tell ourselves to make sense of the world. In a time where facts are increasingly malleable, I Is Another serves as a cautionary tale. It’s a weighty meditation on history, morality, and the human capacity for self-deception. And honestly? That’s what makes it unforgettable.
