Schtonk!

1

This is German National Radio

And here I am.

The Fuehrer is in our midst again.

Speaking now:
the Fuehrer.

(Hitler samples)

(and then you get used to it)

(and you understand)

(it's not the end of the world)

(even if it looks gray sometimes)

(one day it will be full of colors again)

(one day it'll be blue as the sky again)

(if things go topsy-turvy)

(and our hair's going gray)

(it's not the end of the world)

(it's still needed it after all)

(it's not the end of the world)

(even if it looks gray sometimes)

(one day it will be full of colors again)

(one day it will be blue as the sky again)

(if things go topsy-turvy)

(and our hair's going gray)

(it's not the end of the world)

(it's still needed after all)

(it's not the end of the world)

(it is still needed after all)

He won't burn.

Reporting as ordered. He won't burn, Sir.

Who won't burn?

The Fuehrer, Mr. Obersturmbannfuehrer.

And Mrs. Fuehrer, Mrs. Braun, not either, Sir.

Pour some gas on 'em and they'll burn.

Gas? On the Fuehrer?

Mr. Obersturmbannfuehrer, Sir.

There's no more Fuehrer.

And don't call me that you ignoramus.

Yes, Mr. Obersturmbannfuehrer, Sir.

My god.

The ashes of the world's greatest

commander had barely cooled

when a large demand for memorabilia

from our 'Millennial Reich' arose.

I was 9 at the time and

had only just begun trading antiques.

But I already specialized.

The Fuehrer's personal items

achieved the highest prices.

The more personal, the better.

Preferably close to the skin.

We had lots of foreign guests at the time.

The Fuehrer was especially popular

with our American friends.

These were skeptical by nature

and only bought authentic goods.

Preferably certified.

This is my Sunday hat. Signed, A.Hitler.

I looked back at my debut product

with a certain professional pride.

I was determined not to put my rise

to an artistic all-rounder at risk.

Especially not by real work...

.. in the bourgeois sense of the word.

In the Fifties most Germans were busy

producing the 'economic miracle'.

And did not want to be reminded

of their most recent past.

Not only that Nazis couldn't be found anywhere

there never had been any. Not even sympathizers.

Business was bad.

That's why I knew right away

when I looked into Bigi's eyes

that I had found the love of my life.

I introduced myself to my future wife

as Professor Dr. Fritz Knobel.

Produced the necessary documents

and together with her left the hectic city.

Biggi opened a small cleaning business

and I fully dedicated myself

to my artistic inclinations.

[years later in Swabia]

Don't make such a fuss.

Take your clothes off.

I won't.

Biggi, dear, you've got such a great body.

Flowing hips, an elegant nuchal line,

hot breasts.

Breasts, breasts, forget it.

Just like with that French brothel picture.

And what did I look like?

Like an old, drunk whore!

So?

Here, look. No!

Sorry dear, I can't help the

way Toulouse-Lautrec painted.

I can't change his style

only so that you look better!

It's different with Hitler,

he was a much worse painter.

What?

I mean better, much better!

He made people look better than in reality,

healthy, natural, beautiful.

Especially the women.

Please, darling, undress and I'll paint you

as Eva Braun. More beautiful than ever.

I won't pose nude for

somebody who f***ed Hitler.

He didn't. He couldn't!

It's a historic fact that sexually he

wasn't really... Darling!

Darling, don't make such a fuss.

Find someone else.

But who? Biggi. Darling.

Only once. The deadline's tomorrow.

It's a fixed job. Thousands of Deutschmarks.

My marriage had been in crisis for a while.

My business failures where mostly to blame.

Predominantly in the area of French

impressionism, surrealism, and dadaism.

But this time I had a legitimate assignment.

My customer was a passionate collector

of .. ehm .. nazi realism.

I was ordered to get him an authentic

nude of Eva Braun, painted by Hitler.

Not a problem for me.

I knew the Fuehrer's companion's face.

I only needed to find a matching body.

Knobel, Prof. Dr. Fritz Knobel.

I am the official painter of the

prime minister of Baden-Wrttemberg.

I've been commissioned by the

government to paint oil portraits

the most beautiful women

of our Swabian home country.

I'm not from Swabia.

I am from Bergisches Land.

You are so beautiful.

And I will depict you as silent.

I see.

Had I only left my hands off brush and woman.

I would have avoided a lot of trouble.

At the same time in Hamburg the "Carin II",

a rotten old boat was dry-docked.

An equally seedy Journalist named Hermann Willi

had just bought it under great financial strain

from Hermann Gring's estate.

Willi was a muckraker

with a phenomenal talent for marketing.

He would make my modest artistic talents

bloom in a catastrophic way.

Hermann, getting that thing out now?

That'll cost another fortune.

Wasn't it OK there in the water?

No, not OK, we sunk.

Some good advice if I may:

Sell it, before you're completely ruined.

Can you spare a hundred?

I promised the guys Champagne.

Dear highly esteemed Madam, ...

..high madam... highly honored madam...

I'm at the end of my rope, financially.

No,no.

I am the proud owner of your uncle's yacht.

I am ecstatic to be meeting our honored

Marshal of the Reich's niece in person.

Sitting, uh, standing in front of her.

I am guessing you are...

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