After Nazi Germany "annexed" portions of Czechoslovakia in 1938 the rest of Europe met in Munich and was all like "eh?" The Prime Minister of Britain was all like, Hitler can do what he likes, we're going to have "peace for our time." After all, they were German-speaking people anyway, right?
Jean Renoir was one person not on board with that level of normalization of clearly wrong behavior by a nation.
He'd seen war on the horizon for years, and had tried to dissuade the nations from it in The Grand Illusion. But now he saw a greater danger: the idea of peace detached from justice. Appeasement. Normalization. "Just let him do what he likes for now, we've survived worse." But a number of us bloody well didn't survive that worse, did they?
So Renoir made The Rules of the Game (1939), a bedroom farce in which a bunch of French aristocrats are so self-involved that they can't see the forrest for the trees. "Everybody has their reasons" and the professed reasons here are all "love" which leads to anything from murder to suicide. It's subtle. But it's point is not lost.
And that's the thing: in the end we all define love as protecting ourselves and those close to us. But in the end, some of us think protecting our loved ones means being willing to kill someone else. And as long as that is true, their will be no justice and no peace.
But whatever you do: stay mad, stay calm, stay together.