Schtonk!

This is German National Radio

And here I am.

The Fuehrer is in our midst again.

Speaking now: the Fuehrer.

He won't burn.

Reporting as ordered. He won't burn, Sir.

Who won't burn?

The Fuehrer, Mr. Obersturmbannfuehrer.

And Mrs. Fuehrer, Mrs. Braun, not either, Sir.

Pour some gas on 'em and they'll burn.

Gas? On the Fuehrer?

Mr. Obersturmbannfuehrer, Sir.

There's no more Fuehrer.

And don't call me that you ignoramus.

Yes, Mr. Obersturmbannfuehrer, Sir.

My god.

The ashes of the world's greatest commander had barely cooled

when a large demand for memorabilia from our 'Millennial Reich' arose.

I was 9 at the time and had only just begun trading antiques.

But I already specialized.

The Fuehrer's personal items achieved the highest prices.

The more personal, the better.

Preferably close to the skin.

We had lots of foreign guests at the time.

The Fuehrer was especially popular with our American friends.

These were skeptical by nature and only bought authentic goods.

Preferably certified.

This is my Sunday hat. Signed, A.Hitler.

I looked back at my debut product with a certain professional pride.

I was determined not to put my rise to an artistic all-rounder at risk.

Especially not by real work...

.. in the bourgeois sense of the word.

In the Fifties most Germans were busy producing the 'economic miracle'.

And did not want to be reminded of their most recent past.

Not only that Nazis couldn't be found anywhere

there never had been any. Not even sympathizers.

Business was bad.

That's why I knew right away when I looked into Bigi's eyes

that I had found the love of my life.

I introduced myself to my future wife as Professor Dr. Fritz Knobel.

Produced the necessary documents and together with her left the hectic city.

Biggi opened a small cleaning business

and I fully dedicated myself to my artistic inclinations.

Don't make such a fuss. Take your clothes off.

I won't.

Biggi, dear, you've got such a great body.

Flowing hips, an elegant nuchal line,

hot breasts.

Breasts, breasts, forget it.

Just like with that French brothel picture. And what did I look like?

Like an old, drunk whore!

So? Here, look. No!

Sorry dear, I can't help the way Toulouse-Lautrec painted.

I can't change his style only so that you look better!

It's different with Hitler, he was a much worse painter.

What?

I mean better, much better!

He made people look better than in reality,

healthy, natural, beautiful. Especially the women.

Please, darling, undress and I'll paint you as Eva Braun. More beautiful than ever.

I won't pose nude for somebody who fucked Hitler.

He didn't. He couldn't!

It's a historic fact that sexually he wasn't really... Darling!

Darling, don't make such a fuss.

Find someone else.

But who? Biggi. Darling.

Only once. The deadline's tomorrow.

It's a fixed job. Thousands of Deutschmarks.

My marriage had been in crisis for a while.

My business failures where mostly to blame.

Predominantly in the area of French impressionism, surrealism, and dadaism.

But this time I had a legitimate assignment.

My customer was a passionate collector of .. ehm .. nazi realism.

I was ordered to get him an authentic nude of Eva Braun, painted by Hitler.

Not a problem for me.

I knew the Fuehrer's companion's face.

I only needed to find a matching body.

Knobel, Prof. Dr. Fritz Knobel.

I am the official painter of the prime minister of Baden-Württemberg.

I've been commissioned by the government to paint oil portraits

the most beautiful women of our Swabian home country.

I'm not from Swabia.

I am from Bergisches Land.

You are so beautiful. And I will depict you as silent.

I see.

Had I only left my hands off brush and woman.

I would have avoided a lot of trouble.

At the same time in Hamburg the "Carin II",

a rotten old boat was dry-docked.

An equally seedy Journalist named Hermann Willié

had just bought it under great financial strain from Hermann Göring's estate.

Willié was a muckraker with a phenomenal talent for marketing.

He would make my modest artistic talents bloom in a catastrophic way.

Hermann, getting that thing out now? That'll cost another fortune.

Wasn't it OK there in the water?

No, not OK, we sunk.

Some good advice if I may: Sell it, before you're completely ruined.

Can you spare a hundred? I promised the guys Champagne.

Dear highly esteemed Madam, ...

..high madam... highly honored madam...

I'm at the end of my rope, financially.

No,no.

I am the proud owner of your uncle's yacht.

I am ecstatic to be meeting our honored Marshal of the Reich's niece in person.

Sitting, uh, standing in front of her.

I am guessing you are...

...flat broke. I mean ...eh

..flat out amazed at how young and beautiful...

..how young, a highly esteemed madam is standing in front of me.

Sorry, I am flabbergasted to be looking into the esteemed Marshal' nieces eyes.

I am beside myself.

Von Hepp.

Willié, Hermann.

Willié with acute accent.

I took the liberty of getting these flowers as a token of ....

I love spring flowers.

Even though I have to say ...

..for me, autumn also has its nice, warm days.

What?

You know, I am the emotional type.

I did not fail to notice that.

A very unusual move by a reporter..

especially since he's from such a ... neodemocratic newspaper.

You have to believe me, ...

my paper's direction isn't always....

..else I wouldn't have taken the burden of your uncle's yacht.

That's what I though. Otherwise I would not have met with you.

I thought a man who buys and maintains my uncle's boat

can hardly be one of them.

An when I saw the picture of the yacht you send me...

...with you are at the helm, all strong and naked ...

Well, I wasn't all naked. I was wearing pants.

Shorts! And I thought to myself, Freya, let's take a closer look at that one.

I would not mind at all, quite the opposite.

How dare you!

My imagination runs wild when I look into your eyes Mrs. Reichsmarschall.

About if we shouldn't transfer that thing back into your lap, for example.

What thing, please?

I mean the ship. It should return into the bosom of your family.

I'll cut you a deal. 350k in cash.

If you need a bill, you'll have to add sales tax.

It seems like you're quite the ... sleazy person.

Just a little... - Professor!

Like this?

Yes like that.

Do you want to try it on?

It's my uncle's bathrobe. The Reichsmarschall.

The Reichsmarschall. With pleasure.

Over... or under my clothes?

As you wish.

Well, in that case, I'll allow myself to ...

You look manly. Masculine and powerful.

I love you, Freya, ... like crazy.

Big Hermann's yacht with his niece on the Elbe river at sundown.

How fucking cool!

There is no yacht more German than that of the Reichsmarschall.

This needs to be on the title....

Hermann, maybe you should let the editorship know who the owner is.

Pit, what's that for?

It doesn't matter who owns it now, it's important that it used to belong to Göring.

And the current owner will let us take all the pictures we want.

The ship, the niece, everything for 50k.

I've brought a few samples.

Here, the Reichsmarschall's bath robe.

From the family estate.

12 silver teaspoons...

..monogrammed, from the same estate.

Swastika..

..and Hallmark.

Used very heavily by the Reichsmarschall.

We can have all of this, everything.

Everything's included in those 50 grand.

40?

Very interesting. Dead for 40 years, yet still sweaty.

Smell this, Uwe.

Say, Willié, is it possible that you are the proud owner of Göring's yacht?

You can't call that ownership.

Technically, yes, maybe, ....

.. but actually the bank owns it.

I think that's quite the chutzpah, Mr. Willié.

So, that's what you think.

I think it's pretty amateurish of you not to realize what a big hit this is.

.. journalistically.

As long as I am sitting here...

It's "we", Uwe.

Of course it is! As long as we are sitting here...

...we won't have a swastika on the title, no Göring boat...

..no sweaty bathrobes, and no teaspoons with swastikas and hallmarks. ...we won't have a swastika on the title, no Göring boat...

..no sweaty bathrobes, and no teaspoons with swastikas and hallmarks.

That's right, Uwe.

Then soon there won't be any readers left.

I'm sick of your Nazi shit. Nobody wants to know. Nobody, never ever!

Eva Braun.