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Shot in his native Holland and starring Dutch and German actors, the World War II drama The Black Book is supposed to be Paul Verhoeven’s shot at redemption after his infamous Hollywood career, during which he directed such. . .masterpieces as Basic Instinct and Showgirls.

(Noel: I don’t agree that he needed redemption after Basic Instinct. I liked that movie.)

Carice Van Houten delivers an audacious, no, a shameless performance as Rachel Stein, a Dutch-Jewish nightclub singer who is hiding from the Nazis. You know something is off when the house she’s hiding in is bombed—presumably killing the people who gave her refuge—and she is entirely unmoved. She’s even relieved that she doesn’t have to memorize any more boring prayers.

Rachel is briefly reunited with her family and they attempt to flee to Belgium with the help of the Dutch Resistance. That doesn’t work out, and before long Rachel is working with the anti-Nazi underground. In the name of freedom she must seduce a Nazi commander, Muntze (Sebastian Koch from The Lives of Others). She prepares for the mission by dyeing her dark hair blonde. All her hair. Muntze immediately falls for her, especially since she has the stamps he’s always wanted for his stamp collection.

The mission looks to be accomplished, except that Muntze turns out not to be stupid. He notices Rachel’s dark roots: Aha, you’re Jewish! She counters by taking off all her clothes and revealing that the carpet matches the drapes. You’re a perfectionist! Muntze exclaims, and decides not to rat her out.

The crotch shot: hallmark of the Paul Verhoeven oeuvre. Think of his films as gynecological exams.

Rachel discovers that there is a traitor within the Resistance and she must flush him out. Plans go awry, Muntze and Rachel are arrested by the Nazis, and her comrades think she’s betrayed them. Then the Allies liberate Holland, Rachel is identified as a Nazi collaborator and the townspeople humiliate her by dumping a drum full of human excrement on her head. It can’t be helped, this is a Paul Verhoeven movie! Luckily a comrade in the Resistance comes along, and Rachel walks out of there all shiny and clean, with no sign of physical or emotional trauma at having been drowned in a drum of human excrement.

But wait! The traitor in the Dutch resistance still has to be flushed out!

This is cheap, tawdry entertainment that should not be mistaken for historical fact, even if the credits claim it is based on true events. I am almost ashamed to admit that I enjoyed it. All right, I enjoyed it! It’s tacky and awful and fun as hell. I approve of any movie in which someone is given an overdose of insulin and she saves herself by gorging on chocolate. Chocolate is life.

Apropos of Verhoeven I remembered a story told by our friend The Count. Many years ago he was a guest at the house of a Filipino family in the US. They had a dog. “What a nice dog,” said The Count. “What’s her name?”

“Prookie,” said his host.

What a strange name for a dog, The Count thought. The following day he spotted the dog and called her by the name he remembered.

“Here, Prek-Prek. Prek-Prek!”