To her immense embarrassment and regret, Traudl Junge, the 81-year-old subject of André Heller and Othmar Schmiderer's riveting testimonial Blind Spot: Hitler's Secretary, remembers the most evil man of the 20th century as a good boss, friendly and paternal, nothing like the inflammatory rhetorician of his speeches. As she tells it, Junge was only 13 when Hitler came on the scene, a naïve girl from a conformist, apolitical family who was not immune to his grip over the collective conscience, nor to the benefits of flexible hours and a courteous workplace environment. Composed entirely of interview footage recorded with Junge in April and June of 2001&–her first and last, since she died hours after the film's premiere at the Berlin Film Festival–Blind Spot unfolds with the clinical, artless rigor of a deposition, with the camera fixed in medium close-up. Rather than illustrate her testimony or badger her with aggressive questioning, Heller and Schmiderer are remarkably generous to both their subject and the audience, allowing Junge to simply tell her story and others to sort through its disturbing implications. In that same spirit, their sole cinematic innovation is to include footage of Junge watching herself after an interview session, which gives her the chance to comment on her performance and clarify her remarks. Speaking in mostly flat, even tones, with occasional bouts of harsh self-deprecation, Junge articulates her relationship with Hitler in long, lucid monologues, as if she's cycled the events through her head a million times. In her defense, she tries to spin her initial involvement with him as a form of juvenile curiosity, a confused young woman who was seduced by her proximity to a man of great importance. She also insists that she was shielded from the dirty business of the Third Reich and called on only to do occasional dictation; even Hitler's last will and testament, which she transcribed, was devoid of unsettling directives. Much like Emile de Antonio's Point Of Order, which assembled key pieces from the McCarthy hearings, Blind Spot favors unmediated blocks of testimony, with only the occasional prodding from behind the camera. For this reason, Junge's account sometimes lapses into the dull minutiae of the office, though a seemingly banal section on Hitler's beloved dog pays off later in a chilling anecdote about its demise. But the astonishing final reel, in which she recounts the last days in the bunker, brings her moral dilemma into focus with accumulating horror, as the leader who once seduced her (and her country) suddenly diminishes before her eyes. As the title suggests, Blind Spot is a disturbing reminder of the potential for gaps in the human conscience: gaps in perception, gaps in memory, and gaps in acknowledging the unthinkable.