New 35mm Print! "Wilder's is not a delicate sense of satire," Hollis Alpert observed, and One, Two, Three's travesty of Cold War politics, filmed in Berlin at the moment when the Berlin Wall went up, testifies to this understatement while boiling the war down to its essentials: "To hell with Krushchev!" "To hell with Frank Sinatra!" In a furiously paced slapstick, entirely lacking The Apartment's humanity, no one is spared Wilder's acid pen: not the West Germans who, while "enjoying all the blessings of democracy" (i.e. Coca Cola) seek every opportunity to click their heels; nor the East Berliners, who don't return deposit bottles; nor the Russians, whose trio of emissaries are rather more decadent than their counterparts in Ninotchka; nor, finally, the Coca Cola functionary/Yankee Doodle Dandy who, in the person of Jimmy Cagney, speaks loudly and is all schtick. Pamela Tiffen's Patty Hearst-like runaway capitalist ("When the day comes, I'll put in a good word for you; it's my parents I feel sorry for...") meets Horst Buchholz's runaway communist in a Berlin that looks like what it is: a bombed-out desert ripe for ideological battle-a place that, for Austrian-emigré Wilder, like Russia "is to get out of, not into."