I haven't yet read Kurt Vonnegut's Mother Night (though I've read other books of his, all outstanding pieces of satire and game-changing novel pieces). After seeing Keith Gordon's film adaptation of his book, it will be an immediate must-read in the near future. It's the kind of material that I'm sure if it wasn't made in 1995/96 as a film, it would be picked up right away today in the time period when many period post/present-Holocaust/WW2 movies are quite popular. Except that this is much darker, though even more resonant, about the nature of playing roles and the real underlying horror of living with life after war than say The Reader. It's about the very real danger of pretending in wartime, which is what being a spy in WW2 is really all about.<br /><br />It would be one thing if Mother Night had a script with a lot of emotional depth and complexity about the moral choice and constant role- even after the war ends- for Howard W. Cambpell (Nick Nolte), which is does. But it's also just a really strong feat of cinematic technique. Keith Gordon is not someone I usually think of as a director of really strong material (more-so I think back to him as an actor, oddly enough featured briefly with Vonnegut himself in Back to School), but this is a revelation. He takes the story of Campbell as a story of a fractured life: a German propaganda master (the "only American left in Berlin"), who is actually a spy for the Americans but can never have his identity revealed, and was before a playwright who really belonged to "a nation of two", himself and his wife (Sheryl Lee). It follows him from his prison cell, awaiting trial in Israel in 1961, as he writes his memoir and tells of his disillusionment about being a 'pretend' Nazi, and then in 1960 in semi-hiding in a New York apartment, which is where the bulk of the film takes place.<br /><br />Mother Night can be quite heavy, like on a level one might associate with the Pianist, but on another more emotional-cerebral level than the stark poetry of that film. Gordon, by way of Vonnegut, is trying to give us a strong look at a man who has nothing, except the memory (and then later a weird transposition) of his long lost love in a "sister" who has come back to him in NYC, so he's left to his own devices when he befriends a painter (Alan Arkin, very very good here), and then is found out as a Nazi-in-hiding by a white supremacist newsletter, leading wackos to his apartment. On the surface this should be just a straightforward spy story, but not a thing is straightforward. The 'something' of this man's life is staggering, but it's ultimately of his own choosing. Campbell is one of those characters that could be analyzed for hours on end, but the same conclusions might be reached (and, in a way, mirrors the line Goebbels said): the bigger the lie, the more people believe it. That is except for the select few who started the lie and know its secret and power.<br /><br />But oh, it would be one thing if it were just a wonderful and tragic-comic tale, or another if it were featuring some really fantastic performances (which is does: Nolte is at his very best here, and Sheryl Lee, who we might remember from Twin Peaks as Laura Palmer, stuns in multiple roles, especially in the scene when she reveals she's not 'really' Helga). It's also a gorgeously shot film, with brilliant lighting and shots that reflect the state of mind of the character, or just the starkness or sickening colors of the time (watch the scene where an old Campbell watches a film of his younger self spouting out a rant, the juxtaposition of faces is great). And the music selections rise the level of tragedy. It could be argued some of the music is too much, but at other times it elevates the material past its own usual dramatic dimensions and makes it operatic, solemn about human nature.<br /><br />It's not always an easy film to take emotionally, and some of the twists do have that tinge of "whoa" as in any spy story. But it's the subversion from Vonnegut that sticks through, the way of taking appearance and performance, of life imitating art imitating life imitating death, and making it into something worth remembering. I have no idea just yet if the book is better than the film (or the other way around), but at the moment it's hard for me not to recommend this to anyone looking for a masterpiece of post WW2/holocaust storytelling.