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A Reflection on Memory, Blame, and What We Hold Onto

My Neighbor Adolf

MOVIE REVIEW
My Neighbor Adolf

    

Genre: Drama, Dark Comedy
Year Released: 2022, 2025 
Runtime: 1h 36m
Director(s): Leon Prudovsky
Writer(s): Leon Prudovsky, Dmitry Malinsky
Cast: Udo Kier, David Hayman, Olivia Silhavy
Where to Watch: opens in select theaters January 9, 2025. Find more showings here: www.cohenmedia.net


RAVING REVIEW: Something is compelling about watching two men cross each other with equal parts suspicion and longing for connection, and MY NEIGHBOR ADOLF leans into that with surprising tenderness. What begins as a clash between strangers slowly reveals itself as a story about the emotional weight people carry long after the world believes they should have healed. This film thrives not because of its mystery, but because of how it reframes paranoia, grief, and the possibility of companionship in the unlikeliest landscape.


MY NEIGHBOR ADOLF begins with a hook that could easily collapse under its own weight. A Holocaust survivor living in isolation becomes convinced that the reclusive man who moves in next door is Adolf Hitler in hiding. It’s the kind of pitch that risks becoming too light, too outlandish, or too disrespectful to the history it references. But this film avoids those pitfalls by staying focused. Rather than leaning into extravaganza, it centers on the psychology of a deeply hurt man, so that every shadow carries the shape of his past.

David Hayman anchors the film with a performance that never simplifies the scars his character carries. His loneliness is palpable, but it isn't played as melodrama. Instead, it manifests as fixation—the need to be right, the need to make sense of decades of unresolved anguish. He portrays Polsky as a man who has spent so many years in the quiet aftermath of horror that suspicion has become its own survival mechanism. It’s a strong performance that holds the film together.

Opposite him, Udo Kier gives one of his more restrained late-career roles, which makes it even more effective. Kier has a screen presence that usually thrives on extremes. Yet, here he plays a man who understands exactly how he is perceived and continues about his life in ambiguity. He carries a blend of defensiveness and vulnerability that keeps the viewer unsettled. Is this an innocent man unfairly judged, or is this precisely the reaction someone with something to hide would offer? Kier balances that line beautifully.

The film’s greatest strength is its refusal to lean too heavily on the mystery. Instead, it uses that uncertainty to peel back the layers of both men. The story becomes less about whether the neighbor is the man Polsky believes him to be and more about why Polsky needs him to be that man. In that shift, the film finds a deeply human tone — one that blends humor with a surprisingly gentle melancholy. The interactions between the two characters move from tense to awkward, capturing how shared loneliness can shape people who never expected to rely on anyone again.

What stands out across the film is its controlled arc. Instead of pushing revelations, it lets small moments reveal the truth of these characters. A game of chess, an argument over a fence, the way a look lingers just a little too long — these details build a portrait of two men bound by history, fear, and the unspoken desire to be understood by at least one other person in the world. When the film leans into humor, it never mocks the characters; instead, it highlights how absurd life can look when viewed from a place of hurt.

As the story progresses, the emotional stakes shift toward what the characters represent to one another rather than the literal truth behind the suspicion. Polsky’s need to confront the embodiment of his pain becomes tangled with his unexpected attachment to the man he intended to expose. The film’s final stretch leans into this complexity, suggesting that what people need closure for isn’t always what they claim to need.

Even when the ending delivers its answers, the film’s impact comes less from the reveal than from the path leading to it. The conclusion lands with resonance, asking what happens when years of grief are forced to confront something more human than anticipated. There’s a sense of release, but not purification — a choice that suits the film’s scale and introspective nature.

MY NEIGHBOR ADOLF achieves its goals because it understands the difference between a gimmick and a premise. It uses its unusual setup not for shock value, but to explore how memory shapes identity long after the world moves on. It’s a story about two men who have been shaped by history in different ways, forced into proximity at a moment when neither expected to need companionship again.

It’s a small film with a delicate hand, relying on performances that give it more depth than its simple structure suggests. And even when it doesn’t push as far as it could, its compassion, humor, and sincerity linger. The result is a thoughtful, gently off-beat drama carried by two actors who make the entire concept feel grounded in something painfully real.

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[photo courtesy of COHEN MEDIA GROUP]

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Chris Jones
Entertainment Editor

Chris Jones, from Washington, Illinois, is the Mail Entertainment Editor covering Movies, Television, Books, and Music topics. He is the owner, writer, and editor of Overly Honest Reviews.