The Unreliable Narrator of History: Why 'I Is Another' Feels Disturbingly Timely
What if the most dangerous lies aren't told by villains, but by charming, well-dressed men who genuinely believe their own fabrications? This is the unsettling question at the heart of I Is Another, a film that uses the forgotten story of Felix Kersten—a Nazi-era manipulator who reinvented himself as a humanitarian—to hold up a mirror to our current era of alternative facts and curated truths. Personally, I think director Felix Randau has done something far more provocative than retelling a historical footnote: he's weaponized the very techniques of deception to make us complicit in questioning our own perceptions.
The Art of Self-Mythology
Claes Bang's Kersten isn't just a liar—he's a performance artist of the highest order. Watch how he adjusts his posture when demanding to be called "Medical Councilor," or how his smile tightens when recounting wartime negotiations with Himmler. What makes this portrayal fascinating isn't the obvious villainy (though it's there), but the meticulous construction of identity. This man doesn't merely tell stories; he inhabits them. His immaculate suits and rehearsed anecdotes aren't just vanity—they're armor. In my opinion, Bang's greatest achievement is making us understand why someone would need to become a living fiction: because the alternative, confronting complicity in unspeakable horror, would be unbearable.
The Journalist as Unreliable Truthseeker
Valerie Pachner's Hedda Wohmann initially appears to be our moral compass, but here's where Randau gets clever. By giving the journalist her own secrets and ambitions, the film refuses easy binaries. One thing that immediately stands out is how both characters weaponize narrative control—Kersten through grandiose self-mythology, Hedda through selective exposure. It's not just a battle between truth and lies, but between competing survival strategies. What many people don't realize is that Hedda's pursuit of redemption through exposé journalism might be just another form of self-deception. Aren't we all curating our legacies these days through carefully filtered stories?
Marriage as a Microcosm of History
The strained relationships between both protagonists and their spouses reveal more than personal failures—they mirror society's complicity in mythmaking. When Kersten's wife recounts their past differently than him, it's not just marital discord; it's a masterclass in how history gets sanitized. Susanne Wuest's silent stares convey generations of women trained to document but never disrupt. Meanwhile, Hedda's husband's wartime confession isn't just dramatic fodder—it's a reminder that ordinary people become accessories to evil through the mundane act of silence. From my perspective, these domestic tensions are the film's most chilling aspect: they suggest that every great historical lie requires a chorus of smaller personal compromises.
Why This Story Matters Now
Let's be honest: Felix Kersten would thrive on today's internet. His blend of charisma, strategic document-dumping, and victimhood narratives would make him a TikTok sensation. What this really suggests is that our current crisis of truth isn't new—it's just more democratized. The film's 1952 setting becomes ironically prescient: both Kersten and Hedda use the Nobel Prize as a validation currency, much like modern figures chase viral moments or influencer endorsements. If you take a step back and think about it, the battle between these two isn't about facts—it's about who gets to anoint the next cultural saint or scapegoat.
The Deception We All Participate In
Here's the uncomfortable truth I Is Another forced me to confront: we're all Felix Kersten in our own way. We edit our pasts on LinkedIn profiles, polish our narratives in memoirs, and craft heroic arcs in therapy sessions. The director's decision to base the story on real historical debates (Finnish filmmaker Arto Koskinen made a documentary questioning Kersten's claims!) adds another layer: even the film itself becomes part of the disinformation ecosystem it critiques. This raises a deeper question—are we watching a expose, a cautionary tale, or inadvertently amplifying Kersten's myth by telling his story yet again?
Final Verdict: The Mirror in the Smoke
I walked away from I Is Another not with answers, but with a profound unease about the stories we accept—both historically and personally. The film's tight train compartments and claustrophobic flashbacks aren't just aesthetic choices; they're metaphors for the suffocating nature of living inside someone else's narrative. As we hurtle toward an age of deepfakes and AI-generated history, Randau's work serves as a vital reminder: the most dangerous manipulators won't announce themselves with mustaches and monocles. They'll be impeccably dressed, fluent in five languages, and absolutely convinced of their own heroism. And frankly? That's the version of evil that keeps me up at night.
