Original subtitles

A quarter century of Gerd Heidemann at Stern, ladies and gentlemen!

Bravo!

Konrad Kujau!

Hear, hear! It’s Miss Stöckel from “stitch and bitch”.

- Elisabeth. - Thomas.

Well, Gerd, you do sleep with Göring’s daughter on Göring’s yacht.

Were you in the Waffen-SS?

You owe me an answer!

I don’t have to put up with this. Not even from you!

I need a real scoop.

I think I’ll write a diary.

I kept one as a little girl.

No, I’m not writing a diary!

The diary of Adolf Hitler.

But that’s sensational!

This is the scoop, Edda.

This is the scoop I need right now.

Hitler’s diaries?

- What? - Here’s what my father used to say.

“The Führer needs three things to write.

“A sheet of paper, a pen, and someone who can write.”

He could barely write.

At least not with his hand, that’s a known fact.

Not before the Stauffenberg plot, and definitely not after.

- Which is why-- - That’s nonsense.

There are thousands of photographs and films

that show the Führer writing.

Spare me your silly jokes.

- I just think-- - Yes, you think.

But I don’t give a damn what you think.

The only thing that matters is what I know.

Well..

I’m just your fuck buddy, so what do I know?

But don’t forget that I’m your Nazi fuck buddy,

so I might know a thing or two.

Tell me, Gerd...

when we’re in bed together...

are you fucking me or my father?

What if she’s right and Hitler really didn’t write?

Then I should probably apologize.

Felix, do you know what I say when someone asks what I do for a living?

Hm?

I say I’m a journalist.

- Do you know why? - No.

Because I am one.

I don’t just believe things, I investigate.

I will prove that Hitler’s diaries exist.

Elisabeth.

I reacted badly yesterday.

I’m sorry.

Can we talk?

I was just taken aback.

And... well, I was...

I felt hurt.

Do you really believe that I was in the Waffen-SS?

Your name is on a member list.

Elisabeth...

When Hitler rose to power, I was seven.

My parents signed me up for the Hitler Youth when I was ten.

In 1943, the SS Panzer Division

“Hitler Youth” was founded.

It was also known as the “baby division”.

Many boys my age were enlisted there.

Or they were put to work at flak batteries or in the Wehrmacht.

You didn’t get to decide.

So you were in the SS?

Don’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you?

Even if I was in the SS, it wouldn’t have been by choice.

We were all kids, Elisabeth.

We were kids.

Some were sent here, some were sent there.

I was sent to a flak battery.

I was never with the Waffen-SS.

I was a little, scared flak helper,

who almost shat his pants in fear

every time those big guns fired.

Hello.

Mr. Fischer?

Who am I speaking with?

It’s Heidemann from Stern again.

Mr. Heidemann...

Listen. I don’t like you calling me all the time,

and I already told you that I have nothing for you.

I would like you to just leave me...

Do you hear that?

That rustling sound?

Do you know what that is?

Your phone bill?

It’s the sound of a 100 mark bill.

Now take a guess, Mr. Fischer,

how many 100 mark bills I’m carrying in my suitcase.

Here’s a clue,

the suitcase is filled to the brim.

What do you say, Mr. Fischer?

What I say to that?

I say that’s a tenner in your hand.

You’re good, Mr. Fischer! You’re really very good.

But the suitcase contains 100 mark bills.

Goodbye.

Shit.

Oh, well, if he’d said yes already, it wouldn’t be as much fun.

You know, I’m really beginning to warm up to his story.

Who was that on the phone?

That nutcase from Stern again.

Claims he has a suitcase full of hundreds.

A suitcase full of hundred... mark bills?

What do you think? How much is that?

Hard to say. Depends on the suitcase.

Two million, perhaps?

- What? - Mm-hm.

Agnes.

Forget about it.

The risk is much too great.

Besides, it’s a lot of work as well.

Okay.

And what are you doing today?

Taking a bath.

Don’t look at me like that.

Forgery is art,

not assembly-line work.

Stop it.

You’re just a lazy pig.

Yes.

That’s true.

At the end of the war, a plane with the Führer’s personal documents

crashed near Brammbach.

The Führer is said to have been furious

when he heard about the plane crash.

And you think that..

There’s a rumor that those personal documents included diaries.

Is there evidence of the plane crash?

Not yet.

Mm-hm.

Well, that means...

that means we have a plan.

Where do you think you’re going?

Going for my morning pint, sweetie.

Your morning pint? Sure!

While I’m off to go clean.

Hey, Elisabeth!

Where were you last night?

I waited for you.

Well...

it happens.

Pity.

We partied into my birthday.

Happy birthday.

Well, Elisabeth?

Flexible work times?

But you can make up for it.

This afternoon, with coffee and cake at Café Kronmeyer.

With grandmas, grandpas,

and the best apple strudel on earth.

Will they let us in without hair nets?

Sure. 4pm at Kronmeyer.

Mm-hm.

Right.

Shut the border, close the bar, welcome to the GDR.

Here. Ursel made it.

Take it.

Suspect western vehicle. Commencing pursuit.

Ah, my sweetie.

Konny, I’ll have to leave again soon.

A-ha. Where to?

I’m auditioning.

As an actress.

As actress?

Since when are you an actress?

Well, I’m becoming one.

Didn’t you say you wanted to be a singer?

I already am a singer.

Konny, you don’t get it.

You are what you do.

Ah!

I like that.

“You are what you do.”

You know what?

I think today I’m...

a millionaire.

Evi!

- Can we have a bottle of champagne? - Sure thing.

Great. No. Sorry. Make that two.

How about you, boys? Champagne?

Sure.

One glass, but then I really have to go.

More lists with names of SS soldiers.

- Great. - Great?

What’s so great? This gets us nowhere.

What have we got so far?

A couple of men who privately confirm that Tappert was in the SS,

but nobody wants to confirm it publicly.

If I’m lucky I’ll find Tappert in one of these photos.

Of course.

There is such a thing as beginner’s luck.

No, wait, that’s not how that saying goes.

How did it go again?

Did you find him?

Tappert?

Elisabeth!

Did you find Tappert in the photos?

No.

No, it’s not him.

That’s called beginner’s hard luck.

Oh, sure, I get it!

If you come late, you can leave early?

Come here.

When does a woman have PMS?

Three weeks before her period and one week after.

Stop! Stay there.

You came here to find out the truth,

so please listen to the truth.

Yes, I was in the SS.

The Waffen-SS.

I was 17 years old at the time.

Do you remember when you were 17 years old?

We let you dye your hair red.

You cycled to the swimming pool with a boy for the first time.

We went to see the Rolling Stones.

I gave you a ladies’ moped for your birthday.

When I was 17 years old...

we were in the sixth year of the war.

The Allies were bombing our cities.

We were starving. We were freezing.

For my birthday, I wished for a warm winter coat for my mother.

Everything I know about sincerity, honesty and upstanding behavior,

I learned from you.

Or at least that’s what I thought.

You did get that from me.

You lied to me.

You really lied to me.

You’ll come visit me tonight at eight o’clock.

Why?

I will ask questions and you will answer them.

No more stories, no more lies, and not your truth, either.

Only the actual truth.

KARL STROHMAIER PILOT

That’s him.

Karl Strohmaier.

He’s the pilot who crashed with Hitler’s diaries.

Really?

Even the dates of death match.

Take a photo.

Okay.

- Do I need to change anything? - No, it’s already set.

Okay, get ready.

Take another one, just to be sure.

Great.

Now we just need to find someone who’ll tell us where it crashed.

I’ll go ask around in the village, okay?

Good day.

Did you take a wrong turn?

No, I’m looking for a family member who is said to be buried here.

And what is your relative’s name?

Well, it’s not “Karl Marx”.

Come.

Come along.

You saw it yourself?

No.

I heard the bang.

We first thought it was a bomb,

but then we saw the fire,

in the forest over there.

And where exactly did the plane come down?

Well, where...

Where did that plane come down?

That greedy old graveyard keeper

gave me the exact location of the crash site.

When it gets dark, we’ll go dig around

and if we’re lucky,

we might find a few parts of the wreckage.

Well, do you like the table?

The table?

Sure, it’s very nice.

The table.

Great.

We’re happy to hear that.

We know what you’re looking for.

How?

The cemetery gardener?

And now what?

Well...

why don’t you tell me?

Bautzen? Siberia?

Come on, gentlemen,

we’re basically colleagues.

You gather information, we gather information.

Perhaps...

we can help each other out?

What do you have to offer?

Hm?

Okay.

Konny, let’s just leave it be.

Sorry, I had a little too much champagne.

I think you’re just a little preoccupied.

Hm?

It’s obvious.

If you go ahead with those Hitler diaries

and with Stern Magazine,

then you’ll suddenly be famous.

No.

You’re wrong there, Gabi.

I need to stay out of view.

- Unfortunately. - Even then.

Everyone in Germany will read what you thought up.

Ah! Everyone in Germany?

You best believe the whole world will read it.

No, Gabi, it’s much too risky.

- Do you remember when we met? - No.

Carnival, three years ago.

You told me you were a famous painter

and I told you I was a famous singer.

Mm-hm.

And when two people brag, they cancel each other out.

You wanted to paint me.

You told me all about the Mona Lisa, and I got undressed.

That may have been my best painting.

Where is it today?

On some old Nazi bum’s wall.

Well, it sure was worth it, then.

You sound just like Agnes.

You should’ve seen her face when she heard about the money.

I don’t care about the money.

I also don’t care whether you do it or not.

Well, then.

I understand Agnes, though.

- First you promise her wealth... - I did not.

...and you promised me world fame.

What are you on about?

You’re fine, aren’t you?

I was fine before I knew you and I’ll be fine after too.

Gabi...

What do you want from me?

I want to be your muse.

Your Uschi Obermaier.

And I’m a really good Uschi.

But as I just found out, you’re no Mick Jagger.

You’re not even the backup bassist in the Spider Murphy Gang.

That’s enough.

You’ve got to be kidding.

You can all go to hell.

We also know Helmut Schmidt is a ladykiller.

Mm-hm.

But did you know that he took his lover to Bonn?

A young, pretty woman by the name of Helga.

She left her husband and children

and now she writes his speeches.

Would you like to try one?

You too?

Why don’t your newspapers report that?

If we printed that,

we’d never get an interview with anyone anymore.

And...

without interviews, the magazine won’t sell.

You know what?

Our systems really aren’t all that different.

I’ll drink to that.

And perhaps eat something too?

Gerda?

Another round of beer? And schnapps!

Yes, I’m on it.

And something to eat for him.

I’m Gerd.

I’m Michael.

Felix.

Michael.

Hello.

- Hello, Elisabeth. - Come in.

Sit down.

Where’s your roommate?

She’s visiting her parents.

May 12, 1981.

Law professor Hans Stöckel on his past in the SS.

Elisabeth, what is this? Are you writing an article?

I want to record the truth

on this tape.

Fine. No questions?

Why were you in the SS?

Because my parents wanted it that way.

Grandma said she didn’t care about politics.

Of course, nobody cares about politics,

Nazis were always other people.

Were there other reasons to join the SS?

Yes, my...

my best friend Michael went too.

We played war games as little boys.

A few years later we suddenly found ourselves in a real war.

Did you kill anyone?

I don’t know.

I shot.

We all shot.

Were you involved in a war crime?

Yes, I...

I was involved in a war crime.

Two weeks before the war ended, Michael was hit.

Shot in the stomach.

He bled out in my arms.

He cried and screamed.

He was shaking with cold.

And he begged me, because he was so thirsty.

That was the war crime I was involved in.

And I only survived because my best friend

was standing to my right

and the bullet...

the bullet came from the right.

Why did you keep that a secret all those years?

The Nazis robbed me of my childhood.

I didn’t want to give them my new life too.

Our lives.

And now?

Now I know the truth, if you didn’t lie to me.

What will you do with that?

Elisabeth, please.

I think you should leave.

Elisabeth, if this comes out, I’m finished.

Don’t condemn me.

Help me.

After the pilgrims’ mass has ended and relic blessings are given,

the processional banners of the parish

are brought to the statue of the holy St. Adelaide.

So, Konny, she’s not sending me her regards?

Listen, Agnes, leave it be.

I’m really tired, okay?

I see. Was it that exhausting?

You know I’m willing to compromise as far as that’s concerned.

But I have my needs too.

I want to be provided for.

I want a nice house, my own garden,

and a car that drives in winter too.

Sure.

But one thing is definitely not going to happen, Konny.

That’s me cleaning while you’re out screwing.

As you’ll surely continue screwing in the future,

you better make sure I don’t have to go clean anymore.

And best be quick about it, or I’ll be gone.

On Sunday morning, the market is...

And when I’m gone, Konny, let me assure you,

your salad days will be over.

Please leave me alone!

Okay.

Thomas?

You stood me up again.

Café Kronmeyer, 4pm?

Is there a reason?

The Nazis robbed me of my childhood.

I didn’t want to give them my new life too.

Our lives.

Wow.

You really put him to the test.

What do you mean?

Well, he’s your father, isn’t he?

Precisely.

I don’t know, I don’t think I’d have wanted to know.

Are you serious?

We weren’t there.

We have no idea how it was.

But that’s why I ask.

But you don’t have to ask.

It’s still my birthday, okay?

That’s why I get to make a wish.

And I wish...

for us both to go celebrate together tonight.

Celebrate and forget.

To forget for one evening.

Tell me, what kind of guy are you?

A dancer, or someone who stands at the bar all night nodding his head?

One Grüne Witwe, please.

Thank you.

Another one, please.

What did I do to deserve that?

Let’s go dance. Come on!

Oh, everything’s empty again?

Thank you!

Be honest now.

If you could prevent it,

you wouldn’t let that Lindenberg perform either.

You’re absolutely right.

We’d toss him over the wall if we could.

My best friend was hit two weeks before the war ended.

He bled out in my arms.

That was the war crime I was involved in.

Don’t condemn me.

Help me.

Hello, Dad.

You asked me to help you.

I’ll help you.

You’d have made a good journalist, Micha.

If you ever want to switch sides..

Or the other way around.

We can use people like you at the firm.

Lend me a hand here.

So the story is true.

Unbelievable. That plane really crashed here!

Look! Here!

No.

No sign of the chests, though.

The plane was likely looted right after it crashed.

Even then, those chests probably just contained old junk.

Old junk...

or the Führer’s personal documents.

Old fascist junk, then.

Well, they won’t have contained Stalin’s old love letters.

Well, if you ever get a hold of those, please get in touch.

Thank you.

I’ll inform my colleagues at the border,

so you won’t have any trouble.

And, Gerd, think about it.

We have more West German journalists on our pay slip than you think.

Mr. Strunz?

Dr. Fischer, to what do we owe the honor?

Mr. Strunz, I don’t feel comfortable asking you this,

but we need to talk about that book again.

If this is about the money,

we can go to the bank right now and you’ll get your 5,000 marks.

No, no. I just changed my mind.

What’s that supposed to mean?

You can’t change your mind now.

Or is someone else offering more?

Come on, forget that one book, Herbert.

We’ll just get the other diaries.

The other books?

This book ends in June 1932.

Hm?

If we make the conservative assumption

that the Führer began writing in 1932

and they’re all half-yearly volumes,

then there should be a total of 27 diaries.

Am I right?

That’s... That’s quite possible, but...

- Then you’d have to know where-- - Brammbach.

Major Strohmaier crashed in Brammbach.

It’s all in Hitler’s chief pilot’s autobiography.

Well, then...

have fun in Brammbach,

but this is mine.

Jeez, Konny, I should’ve been at the town hall two hours ago.

- Agnes? - What?

Stop.

You’re not going cleaning anymore.

What’s that?

Konny?

Never again.

Fine.

Yes, hello, this is Fischer.

I’d like to talk to Mr. Heidemann.

He’s expecting my call.

On the car phone?

Please leave me his number.

Mm-hm.

Oh, I’m on it. I’m on it.

Here.

Yes?

Mr. Heidemann?

Mr. Fischer?

Yes.

Yes.

Well, it’s quite possible that I can help you.

Really?

Mm-hm. Yes.

Yes.

Is that so?

Yes, it is. Yes.

But the offer with the suitcase still stands, right?

But...

we are talking about several books here, aren’t we?

Yes, my offer still stands, but...

I might need some proof that you know what we’re talking about.

Ah, yes! Sure.

If you need that, then you probably need it.

Where do the books in question actually come from?

Well, the thing is...

I personally obtained them in the GDR.

In Brammbach, to be precise.

Brammbach?

Mr. Fischer, I’ll be in touch.

Well, then...

all we have to do now is fill up your suitcase, right?

While you were sleeping off your hangover,

I scheduled a meeting with Michaelis and Dreier.

What? Dreier? Why Dreier?

The two million must come from somewhere.

Well, I have to say...

this story would be extremely interesting for the publisher.

- A Hitler diary? - Yes.

Gerd has even read part of it already.

What I read there...

was unbelievable.

Okay. What do you think a book like that costs, Mr. Heidemann?

Well, they’re not cheap.

Let’s say 100,000 per book.

Or 250,000, for all I care. It’s small change for us.

We can fire from all cylinders.

One special edition, another special edition.

We double the circulation and the advertising prices.

Financially speaking, it sounds like a woman with three tits.

But in terms of content, it sounds like a huge pile of shit.

I assure you, Mr. Michaelis,

this material turns our image of Hitler upside-down.

It’s..

It’s a different Hitler.

There is no other Hitler!

There is only one Hitler

and he murdered millions of people.

That’s all that matters!

As long as I am responsible for the content,

no Hitler diaries will be printed in Stern.

Well, the publisher has a small say in the matter, too.

You don’t even get to whisper in this matter.

Take care of your fucking ads and let me make my paper in peace.

I warned you before, Heidemann,

all this Nazi shit

will sooner or later cost you your career.

Saint Michaelis.

Right.

Well, gentlemen,

that’s the nice thing about having two bosses.

Yes.

When one boss says, “no”,

or rather, yells, “no”,

the other one can still whisper, “yes”.

Yes, I want the diaries to be published.

Get me the books, and I will make you rich.

Not just a little rich.

Not “I have a yacht” rich,

but “I have seven yachts” rich.

A yacht for each day of the week.

And you can use that old Nazi steamer as a shithouse.

Of course, Michaelis can’t find out about it.

Nobody in the Stern editorial team should know.

Go.

I’m flying to Stuttgart tomorrow to meet Mr. Fischer.

Hello?

When is he coming?

He should be here any minute.

You thought it was too risky before.

Well, now I don’t find it too risky.

What changed?

You know, Agnes...

I think that up until now...

I sold myself short.

I sold us...

short.

Heidemann.

Mr. Fischer?

Yes.

What is that?

A small courtesy

to mark the beginning of our cooperation.

From the private collection of Edda Göring,

the daughter of the Reichsmarschall.

My goodness.

And a small advance, of course.

Come on in.

Well...

here we are.

I hope it’s okay if I barge in like this.

Oh.

Cheers.

I’m Gerd.

My pleasure, Gerd, I’m Konny.