You never walk into a film cold.  You always carry something with you.  These days, with them interwebs, it is even harder not too.  Trailers tell every bit of a film, the days of mystery are gone.  Yet, when you walk into a film about the Holocaust, no matter what the film's pedigree, there is a sense of foreboding.  When you are walking into a Cannes Grand Prix winner and your fellow festival goers troop in with buckets of popcorn, frankly, I thought I was in the wrong cinema.  I'd opted for a beer, which, as it turns out, was not strong enough.