You do not currently have permission to view the full text for this document. Please sign in to an account with an active subscription or contact support.
It is with trepidation and excitement that I begin a position that had been in the hands of someone I greatly respect and admire. I am both excited by the challenge and daunted by the standard against which I will be judged and against which I will judge myself. And thus, it is with conflicting emotions that I begin as the new editor for film and theater of the Journal. Eric Nuetzel, MD, is a much-esteemed analyst, a fine scholar of film and theater arts, and a good friend. What he brought to these pages as the editor for film and theater was original, stimulating, creative, and smart. I only hope that what I bring can measure up to his contributions.
The Holocaust. The film and theater of the Holocaust. It is a huge topic. It is a daunting topic. It's an impossible topic. It is our first topic.
David Lindy, MD, looks at three films that examine the Holocaust from three different perspectives—an Aryan's conflicted reality, a Jew's fable, and creativity. I chose to examine four Holocaust related plays from the perspective of group process.
What I think one takes away from such examinations, is similar in some respects to looking at an eclipse of the Sun. If one stares directly at it, one sees nothing. One must find another way to see. By looking obliquely, by using a filter—but, one must find a way. One must find a corner, a fragment, a reflection, or a shard. The articles that follow examine creative works that attempt to make sense of a part where there is none in the over all. But, one must find meaning. As an analyst, as an astronomer, as a filmmaker, and as a creative being. If one comes away feeling that there is no meaning, just the sense of being overwhelmed, then one may have memory, but one hasn't learned. And the answer cannot be that there is no meaning. The answer