I often say it would be nice to have some series and films about Jews that aren’t all about the Shoah, but from the moment I saw the trailer for Peacock’s The Tattooist of Auschwitz, I knew I needed to watch this series. And these six brutal, horrific, gut-wrenching, heartbreaking and — ultimately, in the modern day scenes, relatable — hours did not disappoint. That seems like a terrible thing to say, that watching yet another show about Auschwitz-Birkenau, the compound now synonymous with the worst of the nazi atrocities themselves “did not disappoint.” As if it was somehow fulfilling. That part was not and never will be. But there’s more to the story of Lali Sokolov’s story(z’l). And it’s the “more” that the adaptation, in many ways I won’t even be able to fully explain here, delivers on.
The interview
Perhaps we should start with the “relatable” bit and what made me want to view this series to begin with. I’ve told this story before, but I can’t tell it enough. And so, here we are again.
20 years ago, much like Heather Morris (Melanie Lynskey) does in The Tattooist of Auschwitz, I interviewed a Holocaust survivor with the express mission of being able to carry on telling his story when he no longer could. Unlike Morris, I had some training and a heads up on what to expect. (Mind you, the training was by no means extensive, but it was valuable in ways that…well. That’s not actually the point here.) And unlike Lali, Rubin Sztajer (z’l) had told his story many times by the time we sat down. Not just that but he was meticulous about his notes, about his facts and dates wherever he could verify them. Because too many antisemites were then, and are even now, all too willing to jump on any tiny discrepancy and use it as “gotcha” to invalidate the whole story.
…but it’s the ways the modern-day scenes in this series echo my own experience that matter. As an elderly Lali who knows he’s near the end of his life tells his story to Heather, he is (quite literally) haunted by the past. Although the series is able to bring the viewer in and show us those ghosts in the corner, it’s not as if we actually need them. Not really, at least. There’s something in Harvey Keitel’s performance that jumps out, some indefinable expression he wears that tells us what it costs this man to revisit these memories, these nightmares, that hell the human imagination can not — should never — grasp. Even in the moments where Lali jokes with Heather about not being Jewish, or when he mentions some sports event that will be on the TV soon, his ghosts are in the room with him.
The hauntings are endless.
And when Lali looks back, when he lets those ghosts in, that darkness, that faraway, empty expression…Keitel manages to nail it. I don’t know how. He just does. It’s like sitting in that living room with Rubin again, only not quite. Because his hauntings, while similar, are not identical. For all the terrible places he found himself, Auschwitz was never actually one of them. And yet…and yet. I have seen that before.
Even the way The Tattooist of Auschwitz weaves those bright, beautiful sunny days, where Heather and Lali go for walks or sit on an outdoor bench, into the episodes resonates. By some strange stroke of luck, we had one of the most gorgeous spring days I can remember — vividly — in the Towson area on the day we relived Rubin’s darkest memories with him. That contrast will stay with me forever. Hopefully, for those viewers who watch this series, that blending of light, freedom, and just…normalcy with all that dark and evil in the camp will stick with them as well.
Then, there’s Lynskey’s role in all this. As Heather, she needs to keep a tight handle on her emotions. Heather can’t — won’t — center herself during her interviews with Lali. At the same time, she can’t exactly come across as cold either — especially not to an audience that may not be familiar with this delicate act of sitting with someone’s grief. Allowing the emotions in, letting the story affect you, is vital. So, there’s a very specific type of balance to meet. As Lynskey generally tends to be in anything she does, she’s brilliant at pulling this off. Her pain and empathy throughout are understated, yet there for the grasping. And when Heather finally does let loose…that, too, is familiar. Familiar, and spot on.
Inside the Memories of The Tattooist of Auschwitz
With all of that being said, the true stars of The Tattooist of Auschwitz are Jonah Hauer-King who plays a young Lali, and Anna Próchniak (young Gita). They have the unbearable task of trying to connect with what it must have been like and making it believable for audiences who think they’ve heard it all before. All of this must be done with humanity and care, not anything approaching the sensational. Both actors are, in a word, brilliant. (Same goes for every single one of their cast mates who portrays a prisoner in that hell.)
Because this is Lali and Gita’s love story in spite of all else, we have to believe these two people were really each other’s light in that dark place. The actors must, secretly and with only their eyes, portray what it is to fall in love at first sight. And not just any love, no. Love that is enough to survive, love that is not just a reason — but a rebellion. And it’s there, from the start. With ease.
For his part, Hauer-King has yet another task. As Lali, he is not just any prisoner at Auschwitz. He is also a tattooist. With that job comes an infinite well of guilt, a constant struggle. This is portrayed in subtle, heart-wrenching ways. But, of all things, that which may stick with viewers the most is when he levels his accusatory, disgusted stare at his guard, Stefan Baretzki (Jonas Nay) in the rare moments when he is just reckless enough to do so. There’s one thing Baretzki says to Lali toward the end of the series that receives an “if looks could kill” kind of glance from Hauer-King in response…
Let’s just say that look is everything.
Jews were not the lambs to the slaughter many have been led to believe. Had that been the case, the nazis would have won. They did not. Sometimes, resistance was falling in love like in the case of Lali and Gita. Others, it was simply waking up another day. Perhaps sharing prayers, words or gestures of comfort, memories of loved ones now lost, or even material things.
The Tattooist of Auschwitz does an admirable job of showing those smaller acts of resistance for what they are — brave, human resistance — as well as the savage way the nazis put down any more overt attempt at fighting back. One scene shows the last, desperate attempt at survival from the Sinti and Roma as their camp was liquidated. That moment in time may fit the more general idea of what it means to resist. But it can’t be said enough: Sometimes, just staying human — grappling with that guilt, making human connections, and so many other things we take for granted — is the most powerful, most radical, resistance of all anyway.
Memory as an unreliable narrator
Back to Lali Sokolov.
When The Tattooist of Auschwitz was first released as a book, it sparked some controversy due to a number of historical inaccuracies. Peacock’s adaptation is honest, and upfront, in that the story is based on Lali Sokolov’s memories. There are even some compelling places, here and there, where Lali tells one version of events…then admits things were different. Or he has nightmares that feel very much like it’s just another scene where he’s telling Heather his story, only for us to wake up, alone, in the dark with him.
Unless you are meticulous about your notes like my friend Rubin, memory is always going to be clouded. (And, even then, certain images are always going to stand out most, while others may be lost forever.) By the lies we tell ourselves to survive, by the lies we tell others because we can’t bear the guilt that comes with telling the full truth. Even, perhaps, by holding back because the storyteller is convinced the listener will not believe him. Does this invalidate the entire story, much less make the Shoah “not that special” or a complete lie? Absolutely not. But we do have to be careful.
Every single story, of every single victim and survivor, is a precious thing. And how we tell those stories matters. That The Tattooist of Auschwitz is honest about being based on memory — not a historical document — matters. The way we get to go inside that camp, along with the awful journey of memory, also matters. It allows the series to be unflinching in portraying the nazi horrors. And yet, for all the trauma the series forces us to witness, it does not come across as trauma porn. There’s something like respect, mixed in with all that devastation. It’s unquantifiable, yet there. But such is memory itself. We can’t always grasp onto what exactly it is…but it’s there with us, nonetheless.
But that’s another piece that’s…probably impossible to put into words, really.
The bottom line: Watch The Tattooist of Auschwitz. If it makes you sick, good. And if it is too difficult to bear witness, too bad. Keep going. It’s the least we can all do. And it’s still, somehow, one of the greatest gifts we have left to give to both the dead and the (increasingly fewer) living. Yet another might be to stand up against injustice — all of it — whenever, wherever, it exists.