Just back from an unnecessarily bad pic, Albert Schweitzer, ein Leben für Afrika. Unnecessarily bad because, if you wanted to wax sentimental and push the viewer around, the Schweitzer story is packed with tear-jerker opportunities, but this script-writer saw fit to add in a pointless CIA conspiracy plot and turn Schweitzer's wife and daughter into whining, incapable, embittered suburban ditzes. I thought it might open a window into the soul of present-day Germany, etc., but it left me wondering why there are European directors who aspire to the subtlety of Mexican telenovela. Distribution will probably protect you from this turkey. In its defense: the score includes a few bars of Bach.