In recent years, I've had a habit of turning my holidays into film pilgrimages. With such an approach, deciding where to go always begs the question: which comes first, the film or the destination? Some have been organic; such as a family wedding in New York turning into a hunt for Scorsese’s Taxi Driver and Woody Allen’s Manhattan. Or a birthday surprise excursion to Vienna, which turned into a three-day homage to Orson Welles’ The Third Man - unavoidable in the latter case when the entire city was the movie set, and remains shockingly unchanged seventy five years later.
So, how do you solve a problem like Salzburg? It seems obvious. You can’t step off the pavement there without being nearly run over by dueling guided tours bussing you to the multitude of location spots from The Sound Of Music. It's serious business; I spotted convoys of coaches painted with the legend "The Original Sound of Music Tour"; impling there were rivals lurking about ready to Von Trapp you at street corners between tunes. Neither my partner nor I wanted to climb every mountain, as it were (just a bit of hiking). Following in the footsteps of Julie Andrews would ultimately be a side quest in our four-day holiday, as we settled on Gene Kelly's instead - because as you know, the devil makes three.
Nobody really remembers The Devil Makes Three, a 1952 MGM film starring Gene Kelly & Pier Angeli, for three reasons. First: it was released the same year as the seminal Singing In The Rain; that movie’s monumental success washing away any memory of what else Gene was up to in '52. Second: it’s in black and white, and this is the plot: "Former Eighth Air Force bomber crewman Captain Jeff Eliot returns to Germany in 1947 to visit the family who rescued and hid him from the Nazis after his plane was shot down over Munich in World War II." Yeah, not so much with the singing and dancing. And thirdly: it’s… not great. It’s not bad, mind you (in fact, in one respect it’s utterly unique - which I’ll get to). When it comes down to it, this Gene Kelly World War II picture is a perfectly standard western of sorts, albeit one set against the backdrop of post-war Munich, Salzburg and - where we decided to spend the bulk of our holiday.
Berchtesgaden, located in south eastern Germany, close to the Austrian border (only thirty kilometres from Salzburg and the Von Trapps), has been a holiday destination for Germans for centuries. It first pops up on the record way back in 1102 CE, due to its massive salt deposits. This brought comparatively lasting wealth to the area, with tourism emerging as the centuries passed. Artists came eager to paint the breathtaking alpine scenery, followed by a middle class looking to escape the weight of Munich, only a few hundred kilometers away; intellectuals and writers seeking inspiration. And, well, yeah, okay: along came Hitler, too (I’ll return to that carbuncle forthwith).
The Devil Makes Three was filmed entirely on location by Hungarian (now Hollywood-based) director Andrew Marton, only six years after the end of the war. It’s this which gives the film its rich aspect - not unlike the backdrop of immediate postwar Vienna in The Third Man (though Morton’s film doesn’t hold a candle to Carol Reed’s classic). This is where its frustration lies: the film’s settings and surroundings are far more interesting than its script. Kelly is solid, the supporting cast half-decent, but alas, you find yourself trying to peer around characters to focus on the mise-en-scène instead. In an odd way, it reminds me of another Gene movie - Quackser Fortune, starring Gene Wilder & Margot Kidder, where you spent half the time tuning exclusively into the surrounds of Dublin in 1970.
Berchtesgaden in 2025 remains a beautiful holiday destination town, complete with stunning multi lake filled national park. And it remains a predominantly German-only destination. During our holidays I would estimate… maybe twenty percent of the people there were vacationing from overseas. Back in 1951, Marton shot the climax of his film here. Kelly chases the villain - a stand-up comedian who is secretly an underground Nazi - all the way from Munich to Obersalzberg, a tiny village ten minutes by bus above Berchtesgaden.
and (R) The author in same spot today
This leads us - the audience - cast and crew, into the film’s unique place in movie history: The Devil Makes Three is the only movie ever to film in Hitler’s house, the Berghof - which was quickly demolished before the film saw its release. In Obersalzberg today, there is a museum called the Dokumentationszentrum, which tells the history of Berchtesgaden before, during and after the Nazis. They all lived and hung out here; Bormann, Goebbels, Himler, Goring (no mention of a Kelly). It does feature a huge model of the village of Obersalzberg, indicating where each of Hitler’s henchmen had their holiday home.
Outside of the museum, in the forest, you are pretty much on your own. There is the odd discreet sign, but understandably, the city council doesn’t promote a Third Reich tourist trail. But, with some sleuthing, we found ourselves alone amongst what remained of the Berghof; right where Adolf planned the destruction and reshaping of the world in his insane image, and right where Gene kicked fascism where it hurts with his flighty fists and dancing feet.
These hills were alive with the sound of fascism. Now, it's just tourism; the fascists have abandoned their costumes and relocated elsewhere. I have to confess: the end of this film pilgrimage, standing beneath the shady green canopy where some of the most awful plans for humanity were concocted, was, ironically, one of the most peaceful, poignant moments of my life. This landscape was here long before the 'turd' Reich, Julie Andrews, Gene Kelly, even the invention of cinema itself. Believe me, religious was not how I expected to feel in a place I’d read about since I was a boy. Now, as a man, I never felt more like a bit player - lucky, for now, to still be in the picture. My moment of clarity didn't last. It was all too quickly broken by the arrival of camera crews - fellow tourists, desperate to capture every last second for fear they'd forget. I marched on to the next location, knowing I never would.
