[8.9/10] War corrupts. Hateful ideology corrupts. And despite that, goodness persists. That is, perhaps, a tough idea to hold in one’s head these days, in which it feels like the world is constantly on fire literally and figuratively.
*Jojo Rabbit* is about that corruption and how propaganda and societal norms twist the minds of young boys even in the shadow of the horrifying and the ridiculous. But it’s also about the goodness that peaks through all of that, the heart and care and humanity that cannot be staunched by hate alone, no matter how prevalent or prominent it may be.
It’s also an absurd, ballsy, heartfelt comedy. It takes plenty of, well, chutzpah to try to wring laughs from the story of a ten-year-old member of the Hitler Youth whose imaginary friend is der fuhrer himself, but writer-director Taika Waititi zeroes in on both the sweet and the silly of that setup in a way that is nigh-miraculous. His film is a peculiar cross between *Life Is Beautiful* and *Moonrise Kingdom*, channeling the goofiness mixed with poignance of the former, with the coming-of-age tweeness of the latter.
Part of that comes from the Wes Anderson-esque approach to the look and tone of the film. *Jojo Rabbit* sports bright primary colors, mundane or outsized activities scored to sixties hits (albeit in German), and a particular brand of restrained yet exaggerated cuteness to nearly everything that makes the movie charming and approachable despite its Third Reich setting. Anderson would be proud of the way Waititi roots all of this in a child’s perspective, heightening the ridiculousness, the terror, and the horror of these events by depicting them through the eyes of a ten-year-old.
Part of it comes from the bonds of loved ones and the kindness of strangers that sees a young man through that horror. *Jojo Rabbit* is founded on the title characters relationships with those around him, which change and affect him. His mother, Rosie, playfully ribs her son and tries to rid him of his caricatured Nazi views. Elsa, a young Jewish girl Jojo’s mom hides in the walls of their home, verbally (and occasionally physically) scraps with the boy about his antisemitic views. Captain Klenzendorf, the local, outsized military leader du jour, goes out of his way to look after Jojo when he doesn't have to. And Yorki, the Milhouse to Jojo’s Bart, hugs and encourages his pal through thick and thin.
Oh yeah, and then there’s Hitler! One of the best things about *Jojo Rabbit* is the way it invokes a Mel Brooks-esque level of bumbling absurdity for the Nazis. Waititi himself plays “Adolf” as, appropriately for his mustache, as a nutty combination of the fuhrer mixed with Charlie Chaplin. There’s a flounciness to Waiti’s take on Hitler, one that feels both subversive but also just straight up funny, when one of history’s greatest monsters is reduced to the exaggerated, swim-class attending, unicorn-eating imaginary friend of a ten-year-old boy.
At the same time, the film depicts the local Nazi leaders and functionaries as largely a pack of buffooons. That too feels transgressive and Brooksian, declaring victory over your aggressors by reducing them to objects of goofy derision. The absurdity of their cartoonish beliefs about Jews and Russians and “anyone who doesn't look like you” serves the eminently laugh-worthy satire, but also to expose the absurdity of those beliefs that underlies their perniciousness.
That is the root of the film -- an effort to point out how contrary to sense those ideas are, how dangerous they remain nonetheless, and how our shared humanity can still survive them. As much as the show wants to point out how amusingly insane it is that these nudniks are still running around, spewing “Heil Hitler”s like they’re blowing bubbles, and preparing for a future that their declining fortunes say will never come, it also wants to get real with it. The shift from comedy and tragedy makes both more potent, especially since Waititi never completely loosens his grasp on one or the other.
As amusing as it is to see Jojo given the business by his mother or his budding friend, it’s downright terrifying when the ever-heiling gestapo comes to his house in search of agitators. The doesn't let the audience forget the stakes or the tension. It’s heart-rending when Jojo sees a particular pair of shoes dangling in the air, a reminder that all this public bloviating for a dying would-be empire is not costless. The sacrifice of a man in a silly costume hits home when he strips Jojo of his. *Jojo Rabbit* spends much of its runtime setting up the outsized world its characters occupy, and then lets the bitter reality seep in to greater effect.
That comes through when the cinematography shifts from an Anderson-like sense of a lovely diorama to a sad, senseless depiction of war. Images of children, pensioners, civilians, tossed into this futile fight that turns their beautiful city to dust conveys that sense of corruption behind all of this. This isn’t just the joke of a group of duplicitous buffoons; it’s something that gets regular, good people killed, and killed for no reason.
Despite that, *Jojo Rabbit* is a strangely hopeful movie. Much of that comes from the talent and warmth of the performances. Scarlett Johanssen gives one of her most mannered and even quirky performances ever, and it’s delightful and chock full of heart and whimsy at every turn. Sam Rockwell sells the out there nature of his demoted Nazi captain, but also knows how to turn on the quietly moving realness beneath it when it’s called for. And in Roman Griffin Davis, Thomasin McKenzie, and Archie Yates, Waititi and casting directors Des Hamilton and Maya Kvetny found a remarkable trio of child actors, who can carry the humor and emotional weight of each scene at a level beyond their years.
That’s important, because the deepest rot *Jojo Rabbit* worries about is the one in the soul of a ten-year-old boy. It posits that this type of cancerous growth can be overcome, swept away, through love and through a realization of humanity in personal interactions that belie the stereotypes and horror stories traded as currency. Jojo misses his father, and so replaces him with the man who put the “fuhrer” in fatherland. It’s a debilitating influence that threatens to stifle an inherent goodness within the young boy.
But the movie suggests that goodness cannot be stamped out so easily. Jojo refuses to kill an innocent rabbit. He loves and needs his mother despite his natural prepubescent attempts at rebellion. And when confronted with a real live Jew, one who needs his help and protection and ultimately, his understanding, he cannot deny her humanity, or eventually his courtly love.
There is something noble, something tender, within Jojo that is fostered by the people in his life who come to love and care about him. It’s a spirit he carries on from his mother in any number of echoing scenes of tied shoe-laces. It’s an appreciation for the need for freedom, a desire to grow up and have your own life that Elsa and her preteen attacker-turned-protector realize in the joy of dancing. It’s an innate decency that Jojo tries to reject in himself but in the end, realizes means more to him that the armband he once so gleefully put on.
Therein lies the beauty of this film. It weakens the power of that hateful ideology by depicting it as the beliefs of bumbling fools, while acknowledging the insidious effect it has in the hearts and minds of decent townsfolk and a good little boy. And at the same time, it suggests that type of corruption can be overcome, that empathy can win out, and understanding and even love can emerge from the ashes of such unspeakable things. Anne Frank once wrote, “In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good.” With *Jojo Rabbit*, Taika Waititi seems to agree.
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