What to Make of JOJO RABBIT
Last September, Green Book won the People’s Choice Award at Toronto International Film Festival, an accolade so dependably indicative of Oscar success—ten of the eleven winners since 2008 have netted Best Picture nominations, and four have taken home the trophy—that Universal, the film’s distributor, immediately started planning a fall campaign and domestic rollout. Never mind the botched wide release, when Green Book underperformed in about 1000 theaters; the film held on well during the holiday season and proved the Academy favorite in March.
Jojo Rabbit, the new Nazi satire from Taika Waititi, recently secured the same prize. And it is likely the film will see a similarly forceful marketing push from Fox Searchlight Pictures, the specialty branch of the now Disney-fied studio, throughout the next few months.
It is also likely that we will see the controversy which beset Green Book’s commercial run. That film withstood repeated accusations of ignorance, as well as revelations about gaffes made by its director (who discussed flashing coworkers in a decades-old interview) and one of its screenwriters (who posted Islamophobic tweets in 2015). Industry executives leak and dig like politicians.
The premise of Jojo Rabbit is more outwardly offensive than Green Book—Waititi plays a fantastical version of Hitler, and the title character is a prepubescent military fanatic with propaganda posters of the Führer hanging in his bedroom. Though Green Book was intimately concerned with the life of an African American musician, the film’s principal creative team was all white. For better or worse, Waititi will not face the same anger over representation. He identifies as Jewish, and has said in interviews that he crafted Jojo Rabbit as a personally rooted antidote to hate—the film’s plot revolves around Jojo’s discovery of a Jewish girl in his house, and the bond that develops between them.
The narratives shaping Jojo Rabbit and Green Book thus share historical circumstances defined by discrimination and persecution, and the problems present in both films stem from the way they sentimentalize these narratives, presenting relational dynamics in which one character teaches, and the other learns and accepts. Rather than investigating how acceptance might be complicated or obstructed by societal precedents or institutional influence, the films reinforce what the audience already knows—that prejudice is wrong and dangerous, and that the eras of German and American history in question should be recognized and condemned as such.
Jojo Rabbit is perhaps the more disappointing film, because I hoped for intelligent irreverence, and the film ended up a Sing-Street-adjacent coming-of-age story, not without its visual flair or intrigue, but ultimately insignificant. Waititi presents many ideas and personalities, and most of them are underdeveloped, from the implied romantic affair between Sam Rockwell’s Captain Klenzendorf and his underling, to the female military officer played by Rebel Wilson (who once again adheres to Pitch Perfect formula). Waititi’s Hitler, who functions as Jojo’s imaginary friend, fails because he does not justify himself: he appears to remind the audience of the audacity of his existence. And he’s not that funny. The film’s laughs are numerous, but categorically cheap—the biggest response in the packed theater where I saw the film came from a pun about German shepherds—and Hitler’s quips and insults elicited the fewest chuckles of any running gag.
This is not to say that I did not enjoy Jojo Rabbit. The film is in fact more successful than Green Book, and that distinction hinges on Rosie, Jojo’s mother, who is played by Scarlett Johannson. On Rosie and Jojo’s outings together, the film resembles a fairy tale, one less visually disciplined than Wes Anderson’s work but still reminiscent of it, and more soulful. Rosie imparts valuable lessons to her son, with grace and wit and melancholy. In a masterfully choreographed scene, Jojo irritably asks over supper when his father is coming home, and Rosie moves to the fireplace, crouches over it, and smears soot on her face, then assumes a masculine temperament, scolding Jojo for his lack of respect, only to apologize—in character—minutes later, after “consulting” Rosie herself. Then Rosie and Jojo dance, Jojo atop a dining chair, Rosie holding him close. Watching this, it became clear to me that Waititi has something to say, about subtle resilience, maybe, and the integrity of everyday compassion.
He just doesn’t have enough, or enough to say well. And that doesn’t work for a film with Jojo’s baggage. But TIFF attendees have already professed otherwise, and awards season will soon tell if the majority of moviegoers and Oscar voters feel the content in the film is worth rewarding.
Fergus Campbell is a Culture writer and sophomore in Columbia College.
