I am watching a very different Lubitsch film today. There's nothing lighthearted or comedic about this tale of war.
#29 Broken Lullaby
French soldier, Paul Renard, is overcome with guilt after killing a young German soldier, Walter Holderlin, during the First World War. He travels to Germany to visit the man's family, but can't bring himself to confess to murdering their son, allowing them to welcome him into their arms as someone who knew their son, which brings them some measure of comfort. When Walter's fiancée discovers that Paul was responsible for Walter's murder, she insists that he make a sacrifice.
"Who sent that young man out to kill Germans? Huh? And who sent my boy, and your boy, and your boy, and your two boys? Who gave them bullets and gas and bayonets? We, the fathers, here and on the other side. We're too old to fight but we're not too old to hate. We're responsible! When thousands of other men's sons were killed we called it victory and celebrated with beer. And when thousands of our sons were killed they called it victory and celebrated with wine. Fathers drink to the death of sons!"
War. What's it good for? Absolutely nothing. This is a tender movie with some beautiful, quiet shots that speak louder than words.
"9 million people got slaughtered and they're already talking about another war. And the next time there'll be 90 million! And the world calls that sane. Well then, I want to be insane!"