Inside 'I Is Another': Nazi Massage True(ish) Story

The stranger-than-fiction premise sounds like the setup for a dark comedy: a young British masseur, working in a swanky pre-war London hotel, finds his most regular and demanding client is none other than Rudolf Hess, the deputy führer of Nazi Germany. But the new film I Is Another, which dives into that improbable relationship, is less concerned with punchlines than with the messy, morally ambiguous territory of a man who stayed close to evil - and may have quietly done some good because of it.

The project, which has been generating quiet buzz on the festival circuit, reimagines the story of a real-life therapist whose hands became a strange instrument of diplomacy. According to the filmmakers, the masseur never set out to be a hero or a traitor. He was simply a working-class professional who found himself in a unique position of trust with one of the most hated men in Europe, long before the war turned Hess into a prisoner of history.

At its core, the film is an ethical thriller that asks an uncomfortable question: what does it mean to offer comfort to a monster? The narrative follows the masseur's growing unease as he realizes the intimate access Hess grants him. What begins as a professional gig - stretching muscles, easing tension, listening to a powerful man's private complaints - becomes something far more dangerous. Hess, notoriously hypochondriacal and prone to anxiety, reportedly opened up to his therapist in ways he did with few others. The film dramatizes how that trust was weaponized, not by the masseur, but by British intelligence operatives who saw an opportunity to glean insights from one of the Third Reich's inner circle.

The title, I Is Another, is borrowed from a line by the poet Arthur Rimbaud, and it's a deliberate hint at the film's central theme of fractured identity. The masseur, played in the film as a man caught between his own conscience and the demands of state power, essentially becomes two people: the man who kneads the tense shoulders of a Nazi, and the secret informant who passes along whatever he learns. The filmmakers emphasize that the historical record is frustratingly thin on the true extent of the masseur's actions. Did his pillow talk (or massage-table talk) actually save lives by providing intelligence that helped the Allies understand Hess's mindset? The film refuses to give a definitive answer, instead leaning into the "true(ish)" framing of its subtitle.

That hedging is a deliberate creative choice. The director has noted that the gaps in the historical record are part of the story itself. What we know is that Hess flew to Scotland in May 1941 in a bizarre solo peace mission, was captured, and spent the rest of his life in prison. But the months and years leading up to that flight are murkier. How much did Hess's British-based contacts - including, allegedly, his masseur - influence his decision or his expectations? The film weaves together documented events with plausible conjecture, creating a psychological portrait that feels both grounded and speculative.

One of the film's most striking sequences, according to early reviews, is a quiet, tense exchange in a hotel suite. The masseur is performing a routine treatment on Hess while the German talks casually about his belief that Britain will see reason and ally with Germany against Bolshevism. The masseur, hands working methodically, says nothing but absorbs every word. The camera lingers on his face, a mask of professional neutrality, while his eyes betray a flicker of revulsion. It's a masterclass in understated performance, and it’s the kind of moment that elevates the film beyond its potentially exploitative logline.

The supporting cast is equally strong, with the British intelligence officers framed not as slick spies but as harassed, overworked bureaucrats who are unsure if their asset is reliable or a fantasist. There is a recurring tension in the film between the mundane and the historic: a man booking a massage, a tyrant complaining about a stiff neck, and the fate of nations hanging in the background. It's this tonal control that keeps I Is Another from becoming a mere historical curiosity piece. It's a film about the texture of a moral dilemma - about how easy it is to slip into a role that others define for you.

The movie also implicitly critiques the very idea of "useful evil." The masseur in the film is never portrayed as a saint or a sellout. He's a pragmatist who rationalizes his choices at every turn. Was he a patriot gathering intelligence on a deadly enemy? Or was he a man who looked the other way while his client plotted atrocities, because the money was good and the story was exciting? The film leaves the verdict to the audience, which is a braver and more interesting choice than offering easy moral clarity.

For audiences weaned on superhero origin stories and neatly resolved thrillers, I Is Another will be a demanding watch. It has no car chases, no explosions. Its suspense comes from silences, from the slow drip of information, and from the unspoken knowledge that history is rarely clean. The film does offer one spectacular set piece: the reenactment of Hess's doomed flight to Scotland, rendered with a harrowing, claustrophobic intimacy that cuts away to the masseur's reaction back in London - a man listening to the radio, realizing that the world he was playing in has just changed forever.

I Is Another is currently seeking wider distribution, with industry insiders predicting a strong streaming debut given the enduring fascination with World War II stories and the film's timely questions about complicity and conscience. It's not an easy story, and the filmmakers wouldn't have it any other way. They've made a movie about a footnote in history that feels anything but minor - a reminder that sometimes the most profound acts of courage - or cowardice - happen not in the spotlight, but in the quiet, private spaces where we meet the worst of humanity.

Source: The Hollywood Reporter