Not porno, not underground film, not a good entertainment film, not documentary, not social criticism nor Hollywood boulevard film or horror show: rather a journey into the midst of night, a hell ride to paradise lost, into our inner self. The mystery play of a historical dance of death in the black studio of our phantasy, the ascetic “Trauerarbeit” (toils of mourning) on the end of an epoch, millions of dead. In old times one would have called it an epos, a poem, requiem, oratorio; an attempt to find a new German identity through film. And also about the heritage of Hitler in our present world, something about the infernal victory of quantitative democracy; about the calmness of melancholy and the thesis that Hitler can only be defeated with Richard Wagner.