The Disturbing Allure of Moral Ambiguity in I Is Another
What if the most dangerous lies are the ones we tell ourselves to sleep at night? This haunting question lingers after watching I Is Another, a film that transforms a WWII footnote into a chilling psychological puzzle. Claes Bang’s portrayal of Felix Kersten—a real-life masseur to Heinrich Himmler—doesn’t just interrogate history; it forces us to confront our own complicity in mythmaking. In an era where facts bend like reeds in the wind, this movie feels less like a historical drama and more like a funhouse mirror reflecting our current obsession with self-justification.
The Illusion of Heroism
Felix Kersten claims he saved thousands by manipulating Himmler through massages. Personally, I think this narrative is as slippery as a greased eel. Bang’s performance masterfully oscillates between charm and menace, embodying the paradox of a man who might be either a cunning savior or a master manipulator. What makes this fascinating isn’t just Kersten’s ambiguity, but how the film weaponizes our desperation to categorize people as heroes or villains. We want a clear verdict, but history rarely obliges.
The White Buses operation—credited to Swedish diplomat Folke Bernadotte—is here reframed through Kersten’s contested diary entries. This isn’t just creative license; it’s a provocation. By suggesting Kersten might’ve orchestrated a PR coup to steal Bernadotte’s thunder, the film asks: When does self-aggrandizement become historical revisionism? The answer, unsettlingly, might depend on who’s holding the pen.
A Dance of Deception
Enter Valerie Pachner’s Hedda, a journalist with her own skeletons. Their train-cabin confrontations aren’t mere cat-and-mouse games—they’re existential cage matches. One thing that immediately stands out is how both characters weaponize vulnerability. Hedda’s ‘Rosalind Russell chic’ isn’t just stylish; it’s armor. Meanwhile, Kersten’s linguistic prowess (Bang’s multilingualism is no accident) becomes a metaphor for the seductive power of narrative control.
What many people don’t realize is that Hedda’s moral compromises mirror Kersten’s. Both are survivors reshaping their pasts to survive the present. This symmetry isn’t accidental—it’s a commentary on how truth becomes collateral in the war for self-preservation. When Kersten threatens violence, it’s not just a tantrum; it’s the collapse of civility in the face of existential exposure.
The Theatrics of Truth
Felix Randau’s decision to frame the story as a 1952 train journey is genius. Trapped in claustrophobic cabins, the characters embody postwar Europe’s psychological suffocation. The flashbacks aren’t just exposition—they’re battlegrounds where memory and manipulation collide. From my perspective, the film’s theatricality isn’t a limitation but a feature. Like a Beckett play, the confined space amplifies the existential stakes.
The editing rhythm—jumping between 1945 and 1952—mirrors our own fractured relationship with truth. We’re conditioned to expect resolution, but Randau denies us one. Why? Because in the ‘post-truth’ era, certainty is the ultimate illusion. The real horror isn’t Himmler’s atrocities, but the way survivors—individual and national—curate their legacies to avoid reckoning.
Why This Matters Now
Let’s get real: I Is Another isn’t about WWII footnotes. It’s about the TikTok influencer sanitizing their past, the CEO rewriting their bankruptcy as a ‘pivot,’ the governments whitewashing scandals. What this really suggests is that moral ambiguity isn’t new—our collective denial of it is. The film’s power lies in its refusal to comfort. When Kersten roars, “I saved thousands!” we’re forced to ask: Would the truth even matter if he did?
The final scene—a quiet moment of Hedda listening to Kersten’s tape—left me gutted. Not because we get answers, but because we witness complicity. She, like us, becomes an accomplice in perpetuating the myth. In the end, the movie’s greatest trick isn’t questioning Kersten’s story—it’s making us wonder how many self-serving fictions we’ve internalized to navigate our own messy realities.
