The Boy in the striped pyjamas

My wife and I saw The Boy in the striped pyjamas last night.

We left in silence at the film's end. But we carried different kinds of silences. Her's was a silence waiting to be broken, once her grappling of her emotional response found its expression. Mine was a silence borne out of something else entirely. Much later, she said

I don't know why I'm so disturbed by the film. The different perspectives of people, influences, how cruel life can be. Injustice, brutality, peace

I said

That's how I feel and bring into most days

Post-script:

Better still, read Rochenko's short piece on Fascism & Representation over at Smokewriting.

If you're still hungry, there is also Matthew Crowder's The Holocaust and Melancholia over at Saving The World

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