On this day, the precocious Oskar received his long-awaited present and made a decision which was to rule his life for 18 years. Observing the base and hypocritical behaviour of his German-Polish family, he decided to stop growing up and forever remain 3 years old. This was easily accomplished by throwing himself down the cellar stairs, a manipulative act which would forever haunt Alfred (who'd left the door open). As time passed, Oskar remained frozen in time and umbilically attached to his drum, which he would beat mercilessly whenever anything annoyed him. It was on one of these times, when Alfred tried to take away the drum, that Oskar discovered his other talent; an ability to scream at such a high register that glass all around would destructively shatter. Thus Oskar learnt how to control those around him.
At around this time, the politically important position of Danzig became significant. While technically a Polish city, by treaty after WWI, the rising forces of Nazism clamoured for a return to German rule - employing typically fascist rhetoric. Alfred, a German, gravitated towards the SA, attracted by the uniforms, self-denial and feeling of identity. This seems like a sad move to Jan (a Pole), Agnes and Anna (Berta Drews) but who was to know how powerful the burgeoning movement would become. Oskar continued to observe, proud to be a medical oddity when his doctor discovered his vocal talents first-hand and disapproving of Agnes's sexual adventures. Trouble was brewing, with friends like Jewish toy-shop owner Sigismund Markus (Charles Aznavour) coming in for focused abuse, to which Oskar beat his drum - an aural punishment able to drive anyone to the edge of sanity.
Based upon Guenter Grass' acclaimed novel, The Tin Drum paints a surreal and disturbing portrait of people in a time of great uncertainty. The gradual rise of the Nazis, working insidiously towards total power, occurs without causing alarm amongst the populace of Danzig. The only one who seems to notice, the voice in the wilderness, is Oskar, causing him to disrupt a fascist rally with the overwhelming tattoo of his instrument. However, the difficulty with this interpretation is that Oskar pounds his drum to anything that upsets him, be it Agnes' infidelity or the German invasion, and that he joins the German forces at a later date. The only reasonable interpretation is that he is, and always does, acting selfishly, following the advice of Bebra (Fritz Hakl) to always look after number one. It's only through selective editing that Oskar appears to be the single voice of reason in a sea of anarchy.
That said, Bennent's performance as the perverse, manipulative and malevolent Oskar is extraordinary. Burdened with a body which anchors him in time like Oskar, Bennent refuses to rest upon his laurels and projects, through his face and actions, the malign forces which drive this adult-infant. While he looks like an innocent child, inside his intentions are much darker - how else could he directly influence his parent's deaths without a flicker of remorse? This role alone is a triumph of casting, though the rest of the performers are equally impressive. The entire family suffer through the intrusion of Nazism on their lives and the obnoxious antics of Oskar, events which are ably handled by the cast in a number of vivid and disturbing scenes.
The most impressive aspect of The Tin Drum is the way in which the complex story is placed upon the screen. Using a number of visual effects and well thought out scenes, the cinematography makes the film a whole lot more memorable than it would have been otherwise. The problem is that beyond some gory moments and a lot of black humour, the symbolism is excessively blatant. Oskar and his child's drum are meant to represent innocence yet Oskar himself is highly unpleasant while the links between war, domestic life and individuals are never made sufficiently clear. As a condemnation of apathy, the original story is exceptional, thus it's a shame that The Tin Drum couldn't have been more personally involving. Instead it's an obvious allegory with a nasty central character who deserves little affection.