There are some wickedly dramatic concepts – and indeed some unnerving characterisations – that simply wouldn't be as pungent or as thought-provoking if flesh-and-blood actors replaced the cast of puppets.
There are some wickedly dramatic concepts – and indeed some unnerving characterisations – that simply wouldn't be as pungent or as thought-provoking if flesh-and-blood actors replaced the cast of puppets.
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Mary Brennan
Neville Tranter's Schicklgruber - Alias Adolf Hitler is a prime example. Here, a weasely, driven Goebbels is a half-torso propped up on a long crutch – a cartoon-caricature appearance that suggests his career path, even his large family, are conceived as proof of absolute manliness. Hitler himself is little more than a mustachio'd white face with glittering eyes and huge white hands – the salient accessories to the grandiose rhetoric he once delivered from behind a lectern. Now, however, those glory days are gone. What does remain is, in Tranter's grotesquely comedic script, exposed as unheroically trivial and self-absorbed.
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