Michael Kloft, “Television Under The Swastika” (1999)

“I’m very happy that everything is so harmonious today. Granted there are a few sour notes and people playing out of tune. And maybe some that would like to march to a different drum… We don’t beat around the bush with them, do we? They’re sent to concert camps for their further education.”

That’s a speech from the state-run German television that aired in 1936. The host, who’s unnamed in the footage, looks like a clone of Dr. Strangelove — the archetype of the mad scientist. His speech and actions are extreme, he becomes so visibly excited at the thought of the concentration camps that he sneers at the camera, banging his hands together in glee.

It’s a moment where fact is bizarre enough to seem like satirical comedy, like Charlie Chaplin in “The Great Dictator.” But this isn’t Chaplin or Peter Sellers pretending, its an inside look at the Nazi regime from a new documentary called “Television Under the Swastika,” by German filmmaker Michael Kloft. (Above is just a snippet; you can see the whole documentary online).

The film provides a unique insight into daily life under the Third Reich, a regime where TV hosts joyfully hint at what’s being done to the Jews. These disturbing images are a historic moment in television history. They were the first regular broadcasts in the world. Eager to beat out the Americans and the British, Hitler invested heavily in television technology. As a result, Germany began regular programming in 1935, more than a decade before the US.

Most of the shows were done live, with documentary footage, interviews and variety shows. Every moment is rich in propaganda, as entertainment and music softens a more insidious message. We see vaudeville, where folk performers strum mandolins and sing odes to the uniforms of the SS. In another scene, amputees hop around obstacles to demonstrate their enduring physical agility in the face of adversity.

What we don’t hear is how these poor people feel about being made to hop through an almost impossible course, whether they are in pain and who made them perform in front of the television cameras. Instead, we hear the announcer comparing them to animals, saying they move “like weasels.” It’s macabre and sickening, and in today’s media-saturated environment, it’s so shocking that it almost seems surreal.

- Alexandra Shimo

Ben Kingsley, “Ozymandias” (for USB, 1996)

Today, bankers are collectively referred to as “debt-fuelled and gluttonous” — they are seen as a group of greedy has-beens, the moneyed scum of society. But it wasn’t always like this. Once upon a time, banks could advertise with unwavering confidence, boosting their lifelong hegemony. They could afford to hire some of the greatest Shakespearean actors of the 20th century like John Geilgud and Ben Kingsley to put out their message. The could champion themselves as timeless, without people wondering which government would need to prop them up. They could link themselves to greatness without appearing like foolish parody.

This commercial for Union Bank of Switzerland is a charming tribute to those times. Everything about it says aloof, unchanging institution, a message that banks today would likely studiously strive to avoid. The closer “Here today, Here Tomorrow,” is sweetly anachronous; what bank today would claim a definite, hegemonic future?

You could argue, like those who commented on YouTube, that the bank has missed Shelley’s point. The poem “Ozymandias” pours scorn on our desire for vainglory, claiming that immortality is a fruitless dream. What’s here today is usually gone by tomorrow, especially if your financial advisor is anything like mine.

And yet, even after the financial crash, USB and Ozymandias live on. The bank and its advertisements are still here, and I write about them because they are good enough to deserve commentary. Shelley’s poem lives on too; and it’s read brilliantly by Ben Kingsley. Even Ozymandias is with us, albeit as a character in The Watchmen — a Spandex-wearing, effete actor with a messed up sense of morality. That’s worthy of greatness, isn’t it?

- Alexandra Shimo