Philippe Sands Discusses His Extraordinary Fathers & Sons Documentary, My Nazi Legacy

'My quest to understand the unapologetic Nazis'

By Stephen Applebaum, November 5, 2015

Left to right: Horst von Wachter, Philippe Sands, Niklas Frank

When Philippe Sands was growing up, the Holocaust loomed silently over his world like an unwanted visitor who won't leave. “I've lived with it my whole life,” says the eminent barrister, when we meet to discuss his role in the thought-provoking new documentary, My Nazi Legacy.

“I grew up in a household in which we didn't have German things. My brother and I knew there were things that had happened, but like many families we never talked about it.”

Sands' mother was born in Vienna and survived the war as a “hidden child” in France. She claims to remember nothing before 1945. His grandfather, who was born in Lviv in western Ukraine, never spoke about the war or where he came from. Sands later discovered that he was the only survivor in a family of 80.

“So there was no talking about it, but it's there. And it's a big issue. And it informs and it affects you, and I'm sure it affected the career choices that I made.”

Last year, when filming the documentary with director David Evans, Sands found himself standing in a waterlogged field in Ukraine where the remains of most of his grandfather's family lie - among 3,500 people murdered, with a single bullet to the head, on March 25th, 1943 - to this day.

With him were Horst von Wachter and Niklas Frank, the sons of high-ranking Nazis Otto von Wachter and Hans Frank, whose implementation of the Final Solution wiped out the remaining Jewish population of Lviv and its surroundings.

The trio had already visited a former parliamentary chamber where Hans gave a speech in which he praised Otto for making many of Lviv's Jews disappear; and the imposing disused synagogue where Sands' family worshipped which the Nazis set on fire. Their next stop brought him face to face with current Ukrainian Nazi sympathisers at a chilling commemoration ceremony for the Waffen-SS Galicia Division – the first SS unit to enlist foreign fighters – created by Otto.

The men's lives converged after Sands became fascinated with Frank's father - “He was highly intelligent, highly educated; how could someone take the direction he had taken?” - while researching a book due for publication next year, East West Street: On the Origins of Genocide and Crimes Against Humanity. He wrote to Niklas after reading his acclaimed book about his father Hans, In the Shadow of the Reich, and they met in Hamburg, where they talked for hours. While Niklas bitterly distanced himself - psychologically, emotionally, morally – from Hans and his crimes, he told Sands: “You should meet my friend Horst. They're not all like me.”

Left to right: von Wachter, Sands, Frank

 

In the film, Niklas takes out a photograph of his father after he'd been hanged for mass murder at Nuremberg. (He keeps it as proof to himself that he really is dead, but also to remind Germans about what can happen when civil society breaks down.) Horst also shows Sands photographs, but the mood is different. Horst feels no anger towards his father, just love and devotion. It was the system that was wrong, he says, absolving Otto of any responsibility. Unlike Hans Frank, von Wachter was concealed with help from the Vatican, and died before he could be brought to justice. If he had gone to Nuremberg, he would have been acquitted, Horst insists. “Who would speak against him?” he asks Sands, rhetorically. “Only the Jews.”

When Sands visited Horst for the first time, the Austrian and his wife were living in three ground-floor rooms of their crumbling Gormenghast-like schloss. “It was bitterly cold, -2, -3 inside, and he's broke,” says Sands. Horst kept his father's library on the third floor, and the photograph albums he produced astonished and fascinated the lawyer. “You open them and there's Goering and Goebbels and Himmler and 'AH' [Adolf Hitler], and incredible images.”

One day, Horst took a black book down off a shelf. “It was Mein Kampf and it was inscribed by his mother - she'd bought it as an engagement present - 'For our struggle.' So he lives with it and he'll say: 'That's interesting. I didn't know that I had that.'”

Neither Horst nor Niklas hid anything from the film-makers, and even agreed to open up their dialogue to the public in a live discussion at the Purcell Room in London last year, which forms part of the documentary. “We thought there would be a huge explosion, that they wouldn't be talking to each other anymore, and that would be the end of the film,” reveals Sands.

Instead, the men respectfully held their positions without any major fireworks. And it wasn't until near the end of the debate, when Horst proudly revealed that his father is venerated in Ukraine, that the filmmakers knew where to go next. 

“After the Purcell Room, Horst said, 'Well, if we're going to go to the Ukraine, let's go on commemoration weekend and I'll introduce you to all these lovely people.'”

During the trip, Sands becomes increasingly impatient with Horst's refusal to recognise his father's guilt. In a key scene, he presents him with a document proving Otto's involvement in mass murder and is rebuffed. “His reaction, let's just say, irritates me,” says Sands, “and I lose my rag.” He admits he's “uncomfortable” with the scene. As a barrister you're “trained: don't show your emotion, stay cool, be balanced.” But, he adds, “I'm a lawyer and I'm a human being and there are points where one can no longer be excluded with the other.”

Although he never succeeded in eliciting an acknowledgement from Horst, it was important to him to keep trying because “there's a concern that in failing to acknowledge you effectively take ownership of what has happened, and that really bothered me.”

Their last destination, where newly unearthed remains of fallen Waffen SS soldiers were being buried in a ceremony attended by men in Nazi uniforms, is the most troubling. Throughout the film there is a strong sense of the past pressing against and informing the present, and nowhere was this more explicit. “My big theme in this is if you suppress stuff, it will come back,” says Sands. “It doesn't go away. It's my own family story of my grandfather and mum not wanting to talk about these things and nevertheless it comes back. And I think that you see that in the fields in Ukraine.”

The commemoration ceremony was “as shocking a day as I have ever had,” he says. Horst, on the other hand, couldn't have been happier. The inner conflict he sometimes seems to be experiencing up until that point appears too resolve itself as his belief in his father's decency is vindicated by Ukrainian military veterans and younger swastika-wearing attendees. Niklas is disgusted. He tells Sands he believes Horst is a full-blown Nazi and vows to break off contact with him.

“I'm pretty careful who I throw that label at,” says Sands, who regards both men as victims, “and I say in the film I don't think he's a Nazi . . . But he's an apologist, and that's really bad.”

Does he think, at a time when antisemitism is increasing, that the film is a warning?

“Yes, the film is an expression of my own greater consciousness of the seriousness of issues that are out there for the Jewish community but also for other communities. Xenophobia and racism are on the rise, and antisemitism is part of that.

“I think David and I felt very strongly that those scenes in the Ukraine were incredibly important. But I think the heart of it is this sense that it's showing that what happened then is very alive today. Things that are deeply buried don't disappear and we have to be constantly vigilant.”

A slightly edited version of this story appeared in The Jewish Chronicle, November 6th, 2015

Come back soon for a full transcript of my fascinating interview with Philippe Sands 

Al Pacino: Manglehorn

Screen legend Al Pacino talks Manglehorn, fatherhood, feeling young at heart and the physical realities of ageing. 

David Gordon Green, the writer-director of Manglehorn, said he wanted to make a projection of you. Is the film about you? 

“I don't think he got into my private life, if that's what you mean. I think he has his own, I won't call them issues, but he has a torn kind of relationship with his dad and his family. I guess that moves him and he wants to talk about it. That's all I can think. I don't have that.” 

You're a dad like Manglehorn. Has having kids changed you? 

“I think it's affected my desire to work. As a matter of fact, I preferred being with them for a period of time. And I still do. However, I would say that I'm drawn to the work when I feel that need.” 

Your kids live in LA, don't they? 

“Yeah and I have been there for a long time. I moved there from New York because their mother lives there, and I rent a house and see them 50% of the time. So I've been more or less a hands on dad. I'm not necessarily an advocate for that, but I see that my being there has helped.” 

Your dad moved out when you were two? 

“I never really knew my dad. I had a grandmother and grandfather and my mother, and so that gave a dynamic to the family life that I always enjoyed. I have fond memories of that. Feeling like I was a part of something. But the kids grew up in this split home, which they got used to early on.” 

You're ageing well and still really seem to be enjoying life and work. 

“I am young in spirit and having children sort of supports that because I just love it. And I knew I would. My first child was a little different because she wasn't planned. Turned out to be great, though.” 

You recently played a Jagger-like rock star in Danny Collins. Did you ever think you'd both still be grooving in your 70s? 

“I like being compared to Mick Jagger. You said the right thing! Let's have a drink afterwards.” 

Do you ever worry about ageing? 

“I try not to think about it because you're not in control of it. Things happen and best thing is to just keep going. One morning I get up and I can't move my neck. The next morning I get up and I'm just fine. It's sort of like the drinking days. So you learn to take aspirin before you go to sleep when you've had a night's drinking. I recommend it. But I don't drink any more, and haven't for decades.” 

You started to really drink when you became famous after The Godfather. Was it a new reality that you found hard adjusting to? 

“Naturally. I also think it was sort of a different world then. Almost 59 years ago, believe it or not. But the tone was different in the media, in the world, in terms of this whole idea of fame. It wasn't a part of our vocabulary as it is today. Now it's a more natural thing. It's what people aspire to.” 

But now you're an icon and can presumably do whatever you want. That must be great? 

“Well that is an extremely complicated idea when you think about it. I don't think about it much, but it's there. It's informed a lot of my life. So you get the great perks from it, but there's a dark side to it too. So you work with the balance as you go along. As somebody once said, it's a double-edged sword. And you're very grateful and you have what a lot of people want, and you also have a knowledge they don't have about it.” 

How do you adjust to everyone having preconceptions about you? 

“Hey, that's okay. Because what happens is I try to maintain an anonymity. That's one of the reasons early on why I wasn't so accessible to the press, because I always thought that knowing the character I am playing is more important to everything. To reality. To sanity. You know, I could have gone into a life of repertory somewhere, like other actors have, but I was lucky to be in these projects that took me this way. And so you say, 'The play is the thing.'” 

What has helped you keep your feet on the ground?

 “My kids. When I come home from any outing, whether it's a movie or some film festival stuff, I open the door and walk in and it's not about you any more. And there's a real relief to that. At first you're a little stunned like, 'Hey, wait a minute?!' Then you get back to reality.” 

Do you ever look back at your career, at films like The Godfather, Serpico and Dog Day Afternoon, and just think, 'Wow!'? 

“Well I don't have a real memory of the 70s. But things were happening, right?” 

Clearly. 

“But no, I don't look back and I would imagine that might be a blessing. I thank God for it. But you know what I like? I like when I meet someone and they say to me, 'Gee, I met you 10 years ago,' and then go, 'You were so nice to me.' I think, 'Oh, wow!' It's like seeing a biography of yourself and you say, 'Oh, I'm not a bad guy.'” 

Manglehorn is released on DVD in the UK on November 2

Al Pacino - "Go With The Glow"

Erik Greenberg Anjou - Deli Man

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From The Vault: Thomas Vinterberg - The Hunt

Climate of fear: Thomas Vinterberg has returned to form, revisiting child abuse, the subject of his breakthrough film

When Thomas Vinterberg achieved instant success with Festen, at Cannes in 1998, it was both a blessing and a curse. 

Praised for its energy, stripped-down aesthetic, powerful acting, and serious, hard-hitting child abuse theme, the film was obviously the work of an exciting new talent, and everyone wanted to see what the 28-year-old Dane would do next. 

But Vinterberg, who co-founded the Dogme movement with Lars von Trier, had a problem. Everything about Dogme – the emphasis on actors, the use of hand-held cameras, the communal nature of the filmmaking – was such a reflection of him, personally and creatively, that the young director felt he’d reached the end of a road with Festen. Even as he basked in the adulation, he worried about the future.

“It was the ultimate film for me at that time and I couldn’t come further,” he recalls when we meet at the London Film Festival. “I felt like I was finished. So it brought me into a new era of my life where I had to start over, and that was very painful… I was floating. I didn’t know where to go.”

He followed Festen with It’s All About Love, a poetic sci-fi romance that turned Dogme on its head. Many critics found it puzzling and half-baked, but Vinterberg, while acknowledging some flaws, says: “For me, it’s still the most important film I did… and still something I am very proud of.”

Other movies, including an entertaining von Trier collaboration, Dear Wendy, about a young man and his love for his gun, ensued, but none escaped the shadow of his powerful breakthrough.

Artistically he was adrift. “Kubrick died around the same time I did Festen, and I saw von Trier a lot, and they were both re-inventing their form every time they made a movie. I thought I should be doing the same thing and I found out that’s not where my thing is. I’m occupied with human fragility, and for me the highest goal is to create characters that stand up. So I’m the opposite of what for some years I thought I was.”

This realisation led to his triumphant return to the Cannes competition in May this year, with The Hunt. Vinterberg’s second take on child abuse, the film is a searing reminder of why people got so excited about him in the first place.

The film’s London premiere coincided with the eruption of the Jimmy Savile scandal. It’s a weird time to be talking about a movie in which a mild-mannered kindergarten teacher, memorably played by a cast-against-type Mads Mikkelsen, in a small Danish town, finds himself at the centre of a witch hunt after his best friend’s five-year-old daughter falsely accuses him of sexual abuse.

Meanwhile, the BBC has been gnawing at its own innards, Gary Glitter, Freddie Starr and Dave Lee Travis have been arrested over allegations of sexual misconduct. And in the ensuing controversy, Lord McAlpine has been wrongly identified as a paedophile, while his accuser, Steve Messham – who was abused by someone – has been backed into making a humiliating and painful public apology.

Some in the UK might wonder whether The Hunt is the right film for now, while others will hold the opposite view. Either way, real-life events have added a queasy layer of timeliness to the viewing experience.

Vinterberg says the film has its roots in case files handed to him by a psychiatrist in the wake of Festen. “They showed me another kind of victim, which is, in a sense, children being victims of their own lies. Unfortunately, in the case of men or women being innocently accused, the child again is the most vulnerable victim, because they grow up with an illusion that something bad happened to them.

“Because of the lie, this huge theatre appears in front of them: mothers crying. Fathers going to prison. People are fighting. They’re going to the gynaecologist. They’re being interrogated. They end up believing it’s true – it’s what they call ‘added memory’ – so, of course, they have sexual problems, and, you know, they’re victimised.”

Mikkelsen’s character is also a victim, of course, and the film makes clear that a false accusation of paedophilia leaves a stain that is difficult if not impossible to erase completely. There will always be suspicion.

The fearful world of The Hunt contrasts dramatically with Vinterberg’s own upbringing in a commune in the 1970s, where, he laughs, he was “surrounded by genitals”. “I was this high,” he says, indicating groin height, “so it 
was right in front of me. In 
my garden, sometimes even in the kitchen, there would be a big bush coming by. It 
was fine, it was not problematic. And when grown-ups wanted to show love to the children, they touched them, non-sexually. It was love. But we lost all that, and there’s a reason why: we know now that a lot of children suffer from abuse… So they have reasons to be fearful. And, for me, that’s really sad.”

Apparently, Mikkelsen’s character’s experience has reminded some people of von Trier’s treatment in Cannes last year, when the arch provocateur was declared persona non grata after making some ill-advised wisecracks about being a Nazi. It was “an absurd, almost unreal situation”, Vinterberg says, but not entirely unexpected. “Lars has always been pushing boundaries, he’s always been teasing the grown-ups.” He smiles. “I think he may have come to some kind of peace, finally. Although I’m not sure he agrees.”

It is possible that with The Hunt, and the rediscovery of his filmmaking mojo, Vinterberg has slain some of his own dragons after being “humbled over the last 14 years”.

Now that people are excited again, will he seek work outside his home again? The question of where he wants to make films is on his mind daily, he says.

“Because Denmark is very small and claustrophobic and clean, somehow when I make these very small movies in a kindergarten, in bad weather, Denmark is where people pay attention to it. But I’m also being offered films from abroad. It’s work for hire, and I’m attracted to it, but at the same time I find it less important.”

Whatever he chooses to do, The Hunt should mean that at least people will be watching his next move with interest.

Originally published in The Scotsman,  25 November 2012