In the Blue Angel (1930), Herr Prof. Ratt, a distinguished secondary school teacher, is curious to find out what is distracting his students from their studies. His curiosity leads him to the town's cabaret where he encounters Lola, the show's star performer backstage. Lola flirtatiously, teases the portly bearded professor. It's all innocent enough; as she says, that's who she is, she can't help it. But Ratt, a serious man, takes it seriously, falls head over heals for Lola, gives up his professorship and joins the troupe. By degrees, he looses his grip and self-respect until, at last, he his reduced to a performing stage clown forced to emit hoarse cock-a-doodle-doo's as eggs are cracked over his head.
Suddenly realizing what he has become, he stumbles back to his darkened classroom, slumps at his desk and dies.
There ain't nuthi' like German films for pathos. Except of course, the Democratic National Convention where, Herr Professor Sanders, toodling after his “good friend Joe,” has been given his cockadoodleoo moment as the first speaker on the first night.
All that is missing is the cracked egg. Anyone who knows how these political cabarets work understands that the “first slot” in the speakers' roll is the last. The spots that count are those that are closest to the Epic Moment, when the Annointed One, is acclaimed as saviour of the Republic, who is going to right all wrongs and make Amurka that Better Place it was destined, some day, some day, so-ome day, to be.
The defeat of Bernie's vaunted “political revolution” could not be more viciously humiliating. The party, ever more firmly in the grip of its militarist, corporate elites, is going to nominate two creatures who could not more perfectly represent everything Bernie and his Millenials opposed and ran against. And now? Bernie compliantly inaugurates his own defeat.
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