only a thinning line of bystanders stretched along parts of the parade route. On this May Day at least, the theaterical nature of Nazi political production was too apparent. For many observers, it was obvious that the streets were but stage scenery, the blue smocks simply costumes, the gestures and speeches awkwardly followed scripts, and the audience insufficiently animated.
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The historian Peter Fritschze quotes a worker who was required to march in this event: “As the parade passed a pissoir, I said to myself âin you go â¦' As I stepped out of line, the guy next to me followed, and when we were done, we ran home.”
67
As for the great Nuremberg rallies: In recent years, German historians have emphasized their “tedium and banality” as well as their manipulative intent. The official Documentation Center opened at the rally site in 2001 shows a side of the events either unglimpsed by Riefenstahl or carefully edited out: the influx of prostitutes that accompanied the rallies, along with soaring rates of venereal disease; the shortage of public toilets, and the “filthy” conditions of the few that were available.
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And if the show itself was endless and dull, there seems to have been plenty of beer drinking on its margins. The police reported the arrest of drunken “political leaders” caught vandalizing a fountainâperhaps by putting it to use as a toilet.
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After 1935, even the Nazi party began to lose interest in the
rallies, which were not only expensive but unreliably productive of the proper “mystic” effects: “So many ingredients were needed to create the right atmosphere for a mass celebration: a starlit summer sky ⦠a receptive audience, a well-rehearsed mass choir or a choreographed march past [
sic
]âand then a shower of rain could ruin everything.”
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We can conclude, then, with some confidence, that the nationalist spectacles of the modern eraâfrom the official festivals of the French Revolution to the fascist mass rallies of the 1920s and '30sâwere a sorry substitute for the traditional festive gatherings they replaced. This failure had nothing to do with ideological content, which ranged from radically left-wing during the French Revolution to viciously reactionary in the fascist states of the twentieth century. It was the medium that failed: the endless parades, the reviews of the troops, the exhortatory speeches. One could argue that this medium necessarily contains its own messageâabout power, militarism, the need for the individual to be subsumed by the collectiveâand that the message itself had grown tiresome over time.
But judged simply as a species of entertainment, the nationalist spectacles seem to have fallen rather short of the mark. They were, for one thing, utterly solemn events. The traditional carnival had been an occasion for subversive humor, in which customary forms of authority could be inverted and the mighty safely mocked, for a few days at least. But the nationalist events we have surveyed in this chapter featured no parodies of the puritanical Robespierre, for example, and certainly no one playing the part of Hitler as a “king of fools,” riding backward on a donkey through the streets. Where the carnival had been joyously irreverent, the nationalist rallies, and especially the fascist ones, were celebrations of state authority, designed to instill citizenly virtue or at least inspire awe.
Could better nationalist spectacles have been devised, with perhaps more color, less speechifying, and some comic relief? Yes, certainly, and Queen Elizabeth's jubilee celebration in 2002 provides
an example of what can be done with the spectacular medium: There were the usual military touchesâflyovers by fighter jets, for exampleâbut also a veritable variety show featuring pop music, extravagantly dressed dancers, and humanizing glimpses of the royals. But a spectacle, by its nature, offers an inherently more limited experience than a participatory event. In a late medieval carnival, for example, everyone had a role to play and a chance to distinguish themselves individually by the brilliance of their costumes, the wittiness of their jokes, or their talents as dancers or athletes. You went to be seen, as well as to see. At an event organized entirely as a spectacle, though, all creativity is invested in the spectacle itself, and none is demanded of the spectators. They are not there to be seen, except as part of an inert mass. All attention focuses on a central point: the parade, the speaker, or the hoopla that showcases the arrival of the head of state.
But we do not have to confine ourselves to inferences about the limits and frustrations of spectatorship relative to more physical forms of participation: Within a generation after the mass rallies of the 1930s and '40s, young people in the heart of the postfestive Western world would rebel against the immobility required of the “audience” and, against all expectation, begin to revive the ancient tradition of ecstatic festivity.