By Sarah Osman

What are we supposed to feel as we are pulled from horror to melodrama to comedy?

The Tattooist of Auschwitz, streaming on Peacock.

Lali Sokolov (Jonah Hauer-King) & Gita Furman (Anna Próchniak) in The Tattooist Of Auschwitz. Photo: Martin Mlaka/Sky UK

The story told in the mini series The Tattooist of Auschwitz seems impossible: two prisoners trapped in a concentration camp fell in love. But it did actually happen for Lali Sokolov and Gita Furman, and their incredible love story inspired New Zealand writer Heather Morris’s 2018 best-selling novel, The Tattooist of Auschwitz. Morris’s novel is indeed a captivating read. But it is fiction: not all of the facts are accurate, and the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum, for one, found that to be a glaring problem. “Based on a true story” is always a risky venture. More times than not the results are uneven, falling somewhere between fiction and nonfiction. This proved to be a limitation for Morris’s novel and it ends up seriously undercutting the miniseries based on the book.

The TV version of this love-conquers-all tale makes its first mistake in the opening moments when we are introduced to Morris (played by Melanie Lynskey, wearing one of the worst wigs to ever be shown in public) meeting Lali (Harvey Keitel). She’s there to record his memories. The scene, despite these phenomenal actors, falls flat. It’s dramatically inert: Lynskey furrows her brow in sympathy and Keitel stares off into space. The interviews add little to what is already a jam packed story; they end up slowing down the pace. The novel is told from Lali’s POV and the narrative wisely goes straight into his arrival at Auschwitz. That doesn’t happen until about a third of the way into the first episode of the series. Worse yet, the series feels duty bound to show us how Lali is haunted by the horrors he’s witnessed. These traumatic episodes take the form of ghosts of the people he knew in the camp, standing and staring at him in his kitchen. The series is trying to address Lali’s post-traumatic stress, but what is meant to be poignant comes off as cliche and cheesy. (This is the kind of gimmick you would find in a student film).

The rest of the series chronicles Lali’s memories of Auschwitz. Young Lali is played by Jonah Hauer-King, best known for playing Prince Eric in the live-action remake of The Little Mermaid. Unfortunately, Hauer-King isn’t quite up to conveying all of Lali’s complexities, who wrestles with his job as a tattooist. It doesn’t help that Próchniak, who plays Gita (Lali’s love), is a much stronger actor. Próchniak infuses a terrified pain behind Gita’s hopeful eyes; she knows that, even though she has Lali, she will need her strength if she is going to survive. And the two do help one another make it through, from sending cute notes to each other to Lali securing medicine for Gita. Their love story is what makes the story distinctive, but it’s bogged down by inclusion of a “sympathetic” SS Officer (Jonas Nay) who seems to be a fantasy figure dreamed up by the writers. Would a busy Nazi spend his time caring about a few prisoners? Nay’s character comes off as an unconvincing outlier; the other officers relish torturing their prisoners in graphic and unsettling ways.

Tonally, The Tattooist of Auschwitz can’t decide whether it wants to be light, dark, or somewhere inbetween. At times, the series wallows in agony, mired in dull browns and naked bodies. Then it will play like a Nicholas Sparks romance. At its worst, random jokes that don’t fit are slipped in to jolly up the mood, like Morris being surprised that Lali has no problem with gay men. The result is a bad case of whiplash — what are we supposed to feel as we are pulled from horror to melodrama to comedy? On top of that, it is difficult not to think about all the stronger cinematic fare on the Holocaust, such as Schindler’s List, Life is Beautiful, and the heartbreaking documentary Shoah. With such brilliant films already in the canon, what was the reason for an adaptation of The Tattooist of Auschwitz, which was already a controversial property?

Sarah Mina Osman is a writer residing in Wilmington, NC. In addition to writing for the Arts Fuse, she has written for Watercooler HQ, Huffington Post, HelloGiggles, Young Hollywood, and Matador Network, among other sites. Her work was included in the anthology Fury: Women’s Lived Experiences in the Trump Era. She is currently a first-year fiction MFA candidate at the University of North Carolina Wilmington. When she’s not writing, she’s dancing, watching movies, traveling, or eating. She has a deep appreciation for sloths and tacos. You can keep up with her on Twitter and Instagram: @SarahMinaOsman