The Man in the High Castle: how Amazon’s ‘what if’ drama forces us to empathise with evil Rufus Sewell’s villain turned anti-hero has become one of TV’s most fascinating characters

“I think Nazis are more prone than any other kind of character type in films to be rendered into werewolves, vampires, zombies, aliens. The fact is, what’s scary is that they’re humans.”

This quote from actor Rufus Sewell, while discussing his role in compelling alternative history sci-fi drama The Man in the High Castle, captures one of the most controversial yet crucial aspects of the show’s increasingly fascinating narrative.

As Obergruppenführer John Smith – the most deliberately ‘everyman’ name possible – Sewell’s American SS chief has been a formidable presence in The Man in the High Castle from the start.

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But over time, Smith has begun to shift ever further from imposing villain to troubled anti-hero. And as the drama prepares to return for its third season in October, it is the show’s extraordinary ability to make us empathise with some of its monsters, and reveal their humanity, that remains so engaging.

Pacifists vs tyrants

In an alternative 1960s society where the Nazi Reich and Japanese Empire won World War II, and the US is ruled by these ruthless powers, The Man in the High Castle presents a world where the enforced norms and values of everyday society are so dark and dystopian that the very nature of morality itself is twisted beyond recognition.

Against this backdrop, it is no surprise that sorrow-eyed pacifists Juliana Crain and Trade Minister Tagomi are positioned as two of the most instantly sympathetic characters.

They attempt to do the most humane thing, and treat others with kindness, decency and respect. Tagomi reacts with horror when a General suggests they transport radioactive materials in buses loaded with non-Japanese civilians. Juliana has the ability to empathise with almost everybody, regardless of who they are, or where they come from.

For these reasons, it is directly implied they are the two people in the drama most able to see into and experience The Man in the High Castle’s alternative realities (this is after all, a sci-fi show – based on the work of Philip K Dick). These worlds just might hold brighter possibilities, reflective of their own desires and regrets.

By contrast, Obergruppenführer Smith and his Japanese counterpart, Inspector Kido, are far less apparently relatable.

They are both harsh agents of their respective States. Symbols of oppression, who imprison, torture and kill with the aim of protecting the apparatus that keeps both empires wielding tyrannical power.

And yet, as The Man in the High Castle progresses, some of our black-and-white assumptions break down.

Muddying the waters

The show frequently frames Smith and Kido as agents of order against chaos. And it does this compellingly.

Both men will do anything to try and avert renewed war, and over the course of the drama we see them taking considerable risks to ensure that shady internal conspiracies – which would lead to catastrophic conflict and loss of life between their respective States – are not allowed to take hold.

It is also increasingly obvious that Smith and Inspector Kido have consciences. They feel guilt, remorse, shame and self-doubt. We see them struggle with the weight of their deeds (it is hinted that Smith goes away for whole days of seclusion on his boat, in a bid to try and cope mentally with the past atrocities he has committed).

With Smith in particular, the drama contrasts this more ‘human’ side of him with the more sadistic and psychopathic elements of the Reich. It may seem bizarre to consider ‘extremist’ Nazis as opposed to more ‘moderate’ ones, but the drama does an effective job of contrasting Smith and Kido’s measured, solemn pragmatism against the nightmarishly nasty individuals who would seize power even if it meant the death of millions more, and who actively relish the prospect of unleashing more and more suffering throughout the world.

Smith and Kido are willing to do violence if they feel it is justified. But they take no pleasure in it. The show has frequently dealt in the contradictions of people doing the wrong things for the ‘right’ reasons, and the perceived justification in violence for a given cause.

‘Hans, are we the baddies?’

Indeed, one of The Man in the High Castle’s most provocative moves, and one which makes the action even more interesting, has been to gradually distort the naturally ‘noble’ cause of the US Resistance by making its most prominent members vicious, nasty pieces of work. Operatives who will massacre civilians or bump off their own members if it serves their purpose, or at least bloodies the nose of the occupiers.

The cause of the Resistance is inherently sympathetic; but their actions are increasingly not.

One key moment in season two comes when a horrified Juliana is put in no doubt as to the Resistance’s zealous, corrupted nature. “If we are going to beat the Nazis,” one of its leaders informs her, “we have to be even worse”.

At a time when Far Right political movements are resurgent in the US and Europe, and concerns about the spread of fascism are at a renewed high, it may seem irresponsible – or even dangerous – for a TV show to explore such territory.

But The Man in the High Castle is definitely not glamourising or fetishising Nazi-dom. Far from it.

It is worth stressing that the show never represents the tools, tactics and rhetoric of the deeply racist, oppressive Nazi Reich and Japanese Pacific States as anything other than terrifying and vile.

Indeed, what makes Smith’s key conflict in season two so ingenious is that it is not with rebels and resistance fighters. Instead, it is with the ideals and dogma of the authoritarian state itself.

At home with the Smiths

*Some spoilers for season two follow*

It may perhaps seem an obvious fictional tactic to humanise someone by giving them a family to care about (Kido also has a son back in Japan), but The Man in the High Castle has done something rather clever with this when it comes to Obergruppenführer Smith.

Smith’s family life is an almost stereotypically wholesome, all-American 50s/60s suburban pastiche. One that contrasts so shockingly with his day job, and which Juliana – invited into the Smith home in season two – becomes almost entranced by.

Juliana is never won over by the Reich (it remains a disgusting, vile opposite to everything she stands for), or Smith himself, but one person whom she comes to care deeply about is Smith’s son Thomas; a polite, warm and kind-hearted teenager who she sincerely dubs a “sweet boy”. He is a character we care about too; skin-crawlingly indoctrinated into the Reich and its values throughout childhood, but without – it appears – a malicious bone in his body.

In season two, this awful paradox finally comes to a head. Smith learns that Thomas has an incurable medical condition – a degenerative disorder that, under the terms of the Reich’s obsession with human ‘perfection’, will see him euthanised if revealed. Smith and his wife Helen, devastated at the prospect, then do everything they possibly can to protect their son.

The result is watching two previously steadfast, card-carrying supporters of the regime crumbling under the weight of its doctrine. And unable to reconcile its beliefs with the unconditional love they feel for Thomas.

Smith may have chosen to make this regime a reality. But his children didn’t. And the SS officer is forced to frantically, desperately fight to save his son from a fate brought about by the very society he helped forge.

By pitting Smith’s own personal struggles, and his love for his family, against the fascist ideology he is sworn to protect, the show has ingeniously stripped away his cold facade to reveal the human being beneath, at the same time as drumming home the most egregious horrors of the Nazi regime.

Powered by Sewell’s tremendous, nuanced performance, you really feel the agony and inner-turmoil of someone forced to consider – and personally bear the suffering of – the very worst aspects of the state they are propping up.

A fascinating struggle

By showing that even ‘loyal’ servants like Smith and Kido can go rogue against their superiors or the laws of the authoritarian regime itself, and stand-up to those intent on renewed blood-shed, The Man in the High Castle avoids a simple good vs evil dichotomy throughout, while never excusing or condoning the pair’s worst actions – and never shying away from the darkness of what they represent.

By not rendering these men as two-dimensional, comic book villains, the show actually makes their more despicable actions even harder to stomach.

Smith’s humanity is representative of the worst ways in which authoritarian ideals can shape a person, and his increasingly conflicted actions emblematic of an individual struggle against the demands of total, unquestioning conformity.

To watch a fundamentally good person struggle against fascistic oppression is one thing. But to see the very architects and servants of that oppression begin to question and wrestle with it is something else entirely.

The Nazis in The Man in the High Castle are not vampires or werewolves (even though the likes of Heydrich may be far more terrifying). Instead, they are all too human.

While that notion sometimes feels highly uncomfortable – as it should – it serves to reflect the genuine horrors that people are capable of when in service of authoritarian, fascist regimes, and provide hope that even initially dedicated servants of such societies, can begin to question and recoil from them.

The Man in the High Castle season three is out on Amazon Prime on October 5. Seasons 1-2 are available to watch now.

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