Some who object to the existence of Jojo Rabbit have branded it as an offensive take on a traumatic piece of history; many in favour have argued back that it is a biting piece of satire that exposes the hypocrisy and stupidity of intolerance. Though Waititi’s humour mostly hits the mark, I don’t really think it has the teeth to be either.
There is certainly power in dark humour – much of the force behind manipulative, prejudicial ideologies lies in their ability to stir fear, and by denouncing that fear as baseless stupidity their influence can be weakened. On this level, Jojo Rabbit succeeds. Taika Waititi’s control of comic timing in both his performance and direction is only paralleled by his mastery over dramatic tension and release, and both are often used to make anti-Semitism the butt of the joke. But for much of the film, he maintains a relatively safe distance from the brutal realities of Nazi Germany, letting its focus drift around the edges of the culture a little too much for it to be considered truly cutting in its satire. Rather than directly providing broader context to the matter, he colours the setting in with his own distinct shades of absurdity that ‘What We Do In The Shadows’ made use of so effectively, retaining the violence of the central monsters while turning them into stupid, grinning chumps.
After ten-year-old Nazi fanatic Jojo Betzler fails his military training and discovers a Jewish girl hiding in his home, he starts to question his beliefs, while dealing with the interventions of his imaginary friend, Adolf Hitler. Judging from the film’s marketing, one might expect Waititi’s Hitler to play a much more significant role than he actually does. The scarcity of his appearances is perhaps for the best – though Waititi’s fanciful Hitler allows some levity during Jojo’s personal struggles, he is not the heart of the film. In fact, it isn’t until his final scenes that he provides a challenging counterpoint to Jojo’s emotional arc, and although it comes a little late, the final development of his character is able to justify his inclusion in the film beyond comic relief.
The real warmth of Jojo Rabbit comes from the titular character’s bond with the two most important women in his life – his mother, played by Scarlett Johannson, who provides a moral centre to the film, and Elsa, played with smarts and endearing wit by Thomasin McKenzie. The latter isn’t the cowering mouse one might expect her to be in a less inventive film, but she instead presents a sarcastic, sisterly foil to Jojo’s insecurity.
It is in its final act that Jojo Rabbit finally starts to feel of consequence, eventually addressing at least some of the loaded implications that come with setting a film in 1940’s Germany. There are a handful of hard-hitting moments that see Jojo confronted with traces of the Third Reich’s true terror, and when they arrive they cut deep into both Jojo’s innocence and our comfortable complacency. But for the most part, Jojo Rabbit isn’t quite sharp enough in its focus on Nazi Germany to be branded as a merciless, reasoned takedown. It simply works more effectively as a cathartic mockery of fanaticism and bigotry.
