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Authors: Timur Vermes
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the actors have the same bizarre quality as the Buffalo Bill lawyer. The general aim seemed to be to offer unadulterated daytime entertainment. Which surprised me. Of course, I too was delighted when in 1944
The Punch Bowl
was released, a wonderfully cheery film which enchanted and diverted the public at a particularly difficult time in the war. But this comedy had been consumed in the evenings, at least in the overwhelming majority of cases. How grievous the situation must now be, then, if the Volk was being offered up such a featherweight muse in the
mornings
. In shock, I continued my exploration of the device and was stopped dead in my tracks.
Before me now sat a man who was reading from a text, which in content appeared to be a news bulletin, but this was hard to say with absolute certainty. For while the man presented his reports, banners ran across the picture, some with figures, some with phrases, as if what the announcer was saying were so negligible that one might as well follow the banners instead, or vice-versa. What was certain was that one would suffer a stroke if one tried to follow everything. My eyes burning, I switched over again, only to find myself presented with a channel doing precisely the same, albeit with banners in another colour and a different announcer. Mobilising every last ounce of my inner strength, I spent several minutes attempting to grasp what was happening. A matter of some importance seemed to be the focus; the current German chancellor had obviously proclaimed, announced or decided something, but it was impossible to understand
what
. On the verge of despair, I crouched in front of the machine and tried to cover the inconsequential swarm of words with my hands so I could concentrate on the spoken word. But more gobbledygook was shifting, constantly, in almost every corner of the screen. The time, the stock prices, the price of the American dollar, the temperature of the remotest corners of the earth – oblivious to all this, the announcer carried on broadcasting news of world events. It was as if the information were being retrieved from a lunatic asylum.
And as if these nonsensical antics were not enough, interruptions for advertisements, as frequent as they were abrupt, declared where the cheapest holiday could be obtained, a claim, moreover, which a large number of shops made in exactly thesame way. No sane person would be capable of remembering the names of these outlets, but they all belonged to a group called W.W.W. My only hope was that this was nothing more than “Strength through Joy” in a modern guise. Mind you, it was inconceivable that a man as intelligent as Ley could have created something which sounded like a frozen runt clambering out of a lido with chattering teeth: W.W.W.
I do not recall how I was able to summon the strength to compose my own thoughts. And yet I was struck by a flash of inspiration: this organised lunacy was a sophisticated propaganda trick. It was plain to see – in the face of even the most dreadful news, the Volk would not lose heart, for the never-ending banners gave the reassuring message that it was legitimate to dismiss what had just been read by the announcer as insignificant, and concentrate on the sports headlines instead. I gave a nod of approval. In my time we could have used this technology to inform the Volk of many things parenthetically. Not Stalingrad, maybe, but definitely the Allied landing in Sicily. And conversely, when one’s Wehrmacht won great victories, one could promptly remove the text banners and announce from a static screen: TODAY, HEROIC GERMAN TROOPS GAVE THE DUCE BACK HIS FREEDOM !
What impact
that
would have had!
In need of a rest, I switched from this frenzied broadcasting and, out of curiosity, back to the fleshy mother. Had she sent her degenerate daughter to borstal? What did her husband look like? Was he one of those lukewarm supporters who hid himself away in the National Socialist Motor Corps?
The
The Punch Bowl
was released, a wonderfully cheery film which enchanted and diverted the public at a particularly difficult time in the war. But this comedy had been consumed in the evenings, at least in the overwhelming majority of cases. How grievous the situation must now be, then, if the Volk was being offered up such a featherweight muse in the
mornings
. In shock, I continued my exploration of the device and was stopped dead in my tracks.
Before me now sat a man who was reading from a text, which in content appeared to be a news bulletin, but this was hard to say with absolute certainty. For while the man presented his reports, banners ran across the picture, some with figures, some with phrases, as if what the announcer was saying were so negligible that one might as well follow the banners instead, or vice-versa. What was certain was that one would suffer a stroke if one tried to follow everything. My eyes burning, I switched over again, only to find myself presented with a channel doing precisely the same, albeit with banners in another colour and a different announcer. Mobilising every last ounce of my inner strength, I spent several minutes attempting to grasp what was happening. A matter of some importance seemed to be the focus; the current German chancellor had obviously proclaimed, announced or decided something, but it was impossible to understand
what
. On the verge of despair, I crouched in front of the machine and tried to cover the inconsequential swarm of words with my hands so I could concentrate on the spoken word. But more gobbledygook was shifting, constantly, in almost every corner of the screen. The time, the stock prices, the price of the American dollar, the temperature of the remotest corners of the earth – oblivious to all this, the announcer carried on broadcasting news of world events. It was as if the information were being retrieved from a lunatic asylum.
And as if these nonsensical antics were not enough, interruptions for advertisements, as frequent as they were abrupt, declared where the cheapest holiday could be obtained, a claim, moreover, which a large number of shops made in exactly thesame way. No sane person would be capable of remembering the names of these outlets, but they all belonged to a group called W.W.W. My only hope was that this was nothing more than “Strength through Joy” in a modern guise. Mind you, it was inconceivable that a man as intelligent as Ley could have created something which sounded like a frozen runt clambering out of a lido with chattering teeth: W.W.W.
I do not recall how I was able to summon the strength to compose my own thoughts. And yet I was struck by a flash of inspiration: this organised lunacy was a sophisticated propaganda trick. It was plain to see – in the face of even the most dreadful news, the Volk would not lose heart, for the never-ending banners gave the reassuring message that it was legitimate to dismiss what had just been read by the announcer as insignificant, and concentrate on the sports headlines instead. I gave a nod of approval. In my time we could have used this technology to inform the Volk of many things parenthetically. Not Stalingrad, maybe, but definitely the Allied landing in Sicily. And conversely, when one’s Wehrmacht won great victories, one could promptly remove the text banners and announce from a static screen: TODAY, HEROIC GERMAN TROOPS GAVE THE DUCE BACK HIS FREEDOM !
What impact
that
would have had!
In need of a rest, I switched from this frenzied broadcasting and, out of curiosity, back to the fleshy mother. Had she sent her degenerate daughter to borstal? What did her husband look like? Was he one of those lukewarm supporters who hid himself away in the National Socialist Motor Corps?
The
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