I don’t know how many people reading this are likely to see The Zone of Interest, which opens today. The fact that it’s subtitled may be a count against it. But it’s an important film and a timely one. It’s ostensibly based on a Martin Amis novel of the same name, but aside from its setting — the lovely villa where Auschwitz commandant Rudolf Höss lived with his family alongside the concentration camp — there seems to be little resemblance. I find it similar to George Saunders’ chilly masterpiece “Institutional Monologues,” with its theme of shiny, corporate cheer covering the unspeakable.

I have watched it twice now, and if I can, I’ll watch it a third time because I’m sure there are things I missed. If you do see it, I have two pieces of advice.

First, pay attention to the noises off. Every scene has practically a wall of muffled sound in the background. Some of the characters pause to listen. Others cover it up with chatter.

Second, note how often you see cleaning. Floors and children are scrubbed. Machinery is carefully sponged.

This is not a film that handles its subject the way Hollywood often handles the Holocaust. No chases, no explosions, no romance, no hopeful scenes of escape and retribution. There are no inglourious basterds. There are no depictions of anguished insight. There are no epiphanies.

There is only a slowly encroaching reality that can’t be washed away. Some of the characters see it. Some don’t.