Generally speaking, I do not think highly of book burning, but there's a time and place for everything. Someone ought to break into Woody Allen's West Side co-op and pull out all his treasured volumes of Kafka, Dostoyevsky, Kierkegaard, Sartre and Schulz, take them out on Amsterdam avenue and set them alight: it would be a true bonfire of the vanities.
It's too late to do "Shadows and Fog" any good, alas. It was ruined at the instant of conceptualization: a "pastiche" of existential ideas as beamed through a prism of German impressionist film stylings and set to quasi-life with a bunch of show-biz celebs, occasionally amusing but even at 86 minutes, a very long trip to nowhere.
Thematically and in execution, it bears a resemblance to Mel Brooks' "Young Frankenstein," which was much funnier, and Steven Soderbergh's "Kafka," which is much more interesting (and unfortunately appears fated to pass into oblivion without a stopover in Baltimore): a black and white production that plays giddily with the look of German impressionism as it occurred in such movies as "M" and "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari," re-creating a maze-like warren of a city, with vapors swirling mysteriously off the damp cobblestones and footsteps echoing resonantly off the gabled roofs.