Mephisto (1981) review

Nazis abound in this Hungarian-made film - this time, the question is: do you sell your soul for your art or sacrifice your art for your soul? Klaus Maria Brandauer's character ignorantly chooses the former, and then proceeds to actually devour the movie, frame by frame, pulling his hair out and yelling and clawing at his face: he's in torment, see, and it's tearing him apart (it's highly ironic, too, when he yells at his fellow actors for not living up to their potential: shouldn't he follow his own advice and not over-act?). It's more nonstop fascination with fascism as Hitler's minions stalk and kill dissenters; Szabó's belief that the central thesis (and lame Faust metaphor - watch as the devil and the Nazi General laugh it up in the balcony! The devil talking to the devil! Get it?) keeps the entire movie afloat is awfully presumptuous.