There was no film when I was 14. Instead, we read the book.
It didn't dampen my love of history. It increased it. It made me angry, because I knew already that that history was already being repeated, and it has been, I was 14 in 1985.
From then on, my interest, particularly in European history, was sharpened. And I went on to learn, of similar 'mini-Holocausts', all across Europe, for the thousand years preceding the the one in the 40s, about how Christianity forbade loaning money for interest and working with certain materials or in certain areas, so these tasks were left to Jewish people, who were always made to live in separate communities. It made me understand why Jewish people behaved as they did when the Holocaust first started, this one was far from the first time.
And I'm glad. I wasn't mature at all. My father didn't get upset because I was. Instead he told me the story of his own parents, and the war they went through, and what happened to them.
Everytime I thought about how upset I was, I think about the tens of thousands to whom it actually happened. This was their life, their families' lives.
But by then I was going to high school with people who were asylum seekers, fleeing from atrocities that were so horrible, and I'll never shelter my children from the realities of death and war, they are real life for children all over the world, and we must care. Well, I can't, anyway, their sister died when they were 6 and 3.