The Goddess (1934) **

While not well-known to modern audiences, China’s Ruan Ling-yu was considered one of the greatest actresses of the Silent Film Era. Her nickname was the “Chinese Greta Garbo”, as she had an innate ability to convey her every thought with facial expressions and body language. And, like Garbo, she did not rely on overly-theatrical movements. Instead, she had a natural film presence that lured her audience into viewing her as they would their next door neighbor.  Of course, she possessed a beauty enhanced by flawless skin and piercingly emotive eyes.  While her career was cut short by her suicide at the age of 24, Ruan Ling-yu is still one of the most iconic Chinese actresses ever.

The Goddess (1934) is probably the most revered Chinese silent film ever made.  In it, Ruan Ling-yu plays an unnamed prostitute who works the streets of Shanghai to provide her son with a better life.  Scorned by her female neighbors and bullied by her gambling pimp (Zhang Zhizhi), Ruan Ling-yu’s character hides money away so that she can educate her son and turn him into a respectable young man.  While life seems to conspire to defeat her, the prostitute takes solace in the unconditional love and adoration of her son.  In the end, she makes the ultimate sacrifice to ensure her son’s future.

This was director/writer Wu Yonggang’s first film, and he was quite fortunate to have Ruan Ling-yu as his star. In 1934, China was in the midst of a civil war and having to deal with Imperial Japan, so to say that Yonggang’s Shanghai-based production was stressful would be an understatement.  Known as a Leftist director, Yonggang greatly benefitted from the Communists’ victory, and he enjoyed a directing career that spanned over 40 years.  His egalitarian worldview shaped The Goddess into a story about a woman’s sacrifice for the betterment of her son.  The overall tone of the film is humanistic. There is no judgment one way or another about how Ruan Ling-yu’s character earns her money. Instead, Yonggang presents a realistic view of what many women in Shanghai had to do to survive. 

While Ruan Ling-yu’s performance is mesmerizing, the same cannot be said by the overall production of The Goddess. Of course, I viewed a rough restoration of the movie, so that could have contributed to its overall aesthetics.  Still, there wasn’t any highly creative cinematography or set designs, which for me, at least, are necessary to push a silent film to the forefront of my memory.Thankfully, the story is compelling, so I can somewhat overlook what I consider lackluster photography and set designs.

Overall, I enjoyed watching Ruan Ling-yu’s performance. It gave me some context to consider the next time I watch Maggie Cheung play her in Stanley Kwan’s, Center Stage (1992). However, I think I would have liked the movie much more if the cinematography had been more memorable.

The Thin Man (1934) ****

Long before glamorous millionaires Jonathan, Jennifer, and Freeway Hart solved crimes for ABC on Tuesday nights, super-glamorous millionaires Nick, Nora, and Asta Charles were wittily revealing criminals for MGM on the silver screen. The Harts had five seasons to do their worst to the world of white-collar criminals, while the Charles had only 6 feature films. Plus, they looked a billion times better doing it—one crime they didn’t have to solve was the hair and wardrobe of the 1980s! 

Born out of the creative mind of one of the greatest authors of detective novels, Dashiell Hammett, Nick (William Holden) and Nora Charles (Myrna Loy) set the bar for all other would-be married sleuths. Sophisticated, witty, and glamorous, the couple could trade rapid-fire dialogue, nonchalantly down martinis and eat caviar, while cleverly solving whatever crime came their way. And, it all started with The Thin Man (1934)—a low-budget MGM film that went on to spawn one of the studio’s most profitable film series, as well as a long-running radio serial and a short-running TV series starring Peter Lawford. The film earned four Academy Award nominations: Best Picture, Best Actor (Powell), Best Director (W.S. Van Dyke) and Best Adapted Screenplay (Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett, who coincidentally were married). Although it went home Oscar-less, The Thin Man did lose to a worthy adversary: It Happened One Night took home all four Oscars for which The Thin Man was nominated. I, personally, like The Thin Man more than It Happened One Night, but that’s another story for another day.

Powell and Loy made fourteen films together for a reason—they had oodles of chemistry. It started with Manhattan Melodrama in 1934(also directed by Van Dyke) and ended with The Senator Was Indiscreet in 1947. Yet, The Thin Man is their best film together (although I am also partial to The Great Ziegfeld…but why didn’t Billie Burke play herself?).

The film has way too many twists and turns to give a full synopsis. As such, I will give the abridged version. The Thin Man is inventor Clyde Wynant (Edward Ellis)—a man who has been swindled out of $50,000 in government bonds by his two-timing mistress Julia (Natalie Moorhead).  When he goes missing his daughter Dorothy (Maureen O’Sullivan) becomes worried and asks former detective Nick Charles to find him. Recently married and always inebriated, Nick and his wife Nora just want to drink, eat and be merry, but greedy rich people keep getting in their way—or dead mistresses (Julia) are discovered. Plus, Nora starts to think helping her husband solve a murder would be exciting, so she sets out to convince him to take the case.

I suppose it was pretty exciting when she opened the door to gun-wielding Joe Morelli (Edward S. Brophy)—Julia’s other lover. Or perhaps it was really exciting when Nick cold-cocked her to remove her from the line of fire? Having taken a flesh wound himself, Nick finds himself under suspicion when the police find a gun hidden in one of Nora’s drawers.  Classic line from Nora: "What's that man doing in my drawers?” And, so, after being harassed, shot, and insinuated into the case, Nick goes about finding the killer of not only Julia, but her scar-faced accomplice Nunheim (Harold Huber) and another person…but I can’t tell, or that would ruin the ending! Suffice to say, it is a delight to watch Nick put all the pieces together to solve the murders.

Besides the clever unraveling of the mystery, what makes this film such a blast is the witty dialogue. For example, when a reporter asks Nora if her husband is working on a case she responds: “A case of Scotch. Pitch in and help him.” Another example, and perhaps the best example of the repartee between husband and wife comes when Nora worries that she’s about to become a widow:

Nick: You wouldn’t be a widow for long.
Nora: You bet I wouldn’t.
Nick: Not with all your money.

The film is just too full of great lines to repeat them all, but trust me, there are many laugh-out-loud moments. 

While it’s not a hard-boiled detective story, it is a film that keeps you guessing to the very end.  I think I prefer my suspense mixed with sophisticated comedy—you get to laugh a lot while watching the mystery unfold.  Plus, beneath the mystery and hilarious barbs, the film is also about romance.  Without even really trying, it turns out to be a film that just about any viewer will enjoy.  Personally, is is one of my all-time favorite films. Plus, it has Asta!!!

 

It’s a Gift (1934) **

W.C. Fields was a deadpan comedic genius. He became famous as a vaudeville performer in the Ziegfeld Follies and most of his films borrow from gags he performed on the stage. It’s a Gift (1934) relies heavily on a number of his revue staples, as well as from his 1926 silent film, It’s the Old Army Game. In Fields’ world everything was fair game when it came to comedy. He had an antipathy toward most things domestic and traditional—even the handicapped were not off limits, as witnessed by his treatment of the blind and deaf Mr. Muckle. These comedic traits made Fields a unique Hollywood performer—plus, he could act, write, and juggle (he was a master juggler). His gift for improvisation can only be compared to that of Steve Carell’s today. Yes, he had a bit of a drinking problem…so what, Mozart had this same issue and by all accounts he was a pretty good musician.

DirectorNorman McLeod was responsible for keeping Fields on track in It’s a Gift…he’d become an expert at dealing with improvisational ex-vaudevillians through his work with the Marx Brothers as well as his earlier films with Fields. The plot revolves around Harold Bissonette (Fields), a New Jersey grocer who hates his store, customers (especially Mr. Muckle, played by the hilarious Charles Sellon), neighbors, and family (especially his wife Amelia, played by the outstanding Kathleen Howard). Harold’s dream is to own an orange grove and ranch in California, and so when he learns that he may be inheriting some money, hope begins to seep into his mind. Never mind that his family has totally different ideas about where their newfound money might be used.

There a number of memorable scenes in this film. The first one is the bathroom scene, where Harold is carefully shaving with a straight razor while his daughter Mildred (Jean Rouverol) goes about her business as though he isn’t there. Several times she comes perilously close to hitting her father’s arm, thus helping him slit his own throat—metaphorically, that’s what a daughter can drive you to. After Mildred fully monopolizes the medicine cabinet mirror, Harold relies on a makeshift mirror on a light pull cord, which sways back and forth. Imagine trying to shave like that? Fields’ coming timing is superb…without the aid of much dialogue.

The second scene that stands out is the enormously funny grocery encounter between Harold and Mr. Muckle. Blind and deaf (he uses an ear trumpet) Mr. Muckle has a habit of breaking Harold’s glass door with his cane, which he wildly waves back and forth, and just about everything else that is encased in glass. It is side-splitting funny to watch him drop light bulbs on the floor while Harold tries to be as polite as possible. Later, once the tornado that is Mr. Muckle has left the store, we meet baby Ellwood (Baby LeRoy), his neighbor’s son.  Harold refers to him as blood poison, and for good reason: baby Ellwood is a holy terror who likes to throw things at Harold and play in molasses.

The third standout scene happens when Harold attempts to sleep on his porch. After listening to Amelia gripe about his plans to move to California for hours, Harold decides to sleep on the porch swing. Not only is the swing squeaky, but it is dilapidated as well. When he tries to lie down on it one of the chains break and he tries to sleep with his head on the ground and his feet in the air. Noisy delivery men, neighbors, and an imposing insurance salesman (T. Roy Barnes) also disturb his slumber, but it is baby Ellwood that is the real bedbug. Grapes and icepicks are his weapons of noise (and near death for Harold). If you don’t laugh when Harold confronts Ellwood with the icepick then you don’t have a sense of humor.

And, finally, the road trip California has numerous laugh-out-loud gags as well. The picnic scene on the private estate is highly comical, especially the gags with the can opener and statues. And, Amelia’s reaction when they reach the sun-parched land that’s supposed to be their orange grove is one of Kathleen Howard’s best scenes.

I really enjoy watching W.C. Fields. My favorite type of comedy is a sophisticated one, but I also enjoy deadpan and gag comedy as well. I don’t think there was a better deadpan comic during the early years of Hollywood than Fields. I once read that Louise Brooks (who worked with Fields at the Follies and in some early films) thought he was much funnier on the stage than the screen because his brilliance couldn’t be chopped up by a film editor on the open stage. It must have been a sight to behold, because his movies are pretty darn funny—imagine seeing him live without the constraints of censors. 

It Happened One Night (1934) ***

Not as sophisticated as The Thin Man (1934) but just as funny, It Happened One Night (1934) is a timeless screwball comedy that examines both the battle of the sexes (circa 1930s) and the divisions between the rich and the poor.  A box-office and critical success (it won all five major Academy Award nominations: Best Screenplay Adaptation (Robert Riskin), Best Director (Frank Capra), Best Actor (Clark Gable), Best Actress (Claudette Colbert), and Best Picture), the film is a timeless testament to the power of sexual chemistry and top-notch comedic writing.

This is primarily a “road” film where an unlikely couple meet on the road and then develops a love-hate relationship while using various forms of transportation. The film’s screenplay was based on a Samuel Hopkins Adams’ story (“Night Bus”) which first appeared in Cosmopolitan in 1933. Interestingly enough, Gable and Colbert were not the stars Capra wanted, instead his would-be dream team would have been Robert Montgomery and Myrna Loy. Loy I can see—Montgomery not so much.  Thankfully, Joan Crawford’s insufferable personality had made Gable refuse to work with her on an MGM project and he was put out on loan to Capra for this film. 

The film opens with a big splash literally when a beyond stubborn and spoiled heiress jumps off her father’s yacht in what I assume are the Florida Keyes.  Millionaire Alexander Andrews (Walter Connolly) has kidnapped his just-married flighty daughter Ellie (Colbert) to prevent her from consummating her impulsive marriage to no-good playboy King Westley (Jameson Thomas) before he can have it annulled. She obviously had other plans. An APB is put out on the "escaped” heiress and she is forced to trade in luxurious yacht travel for an inconspicuous seat on a Greyhound bus traveling from Miami to New York.

Ellie is the hottest news story since the Lindbergh baby and recently fired newspaper reporter Peter Warne (Clark Gable) needs a spectacular scoop to get back in the good graces of his editor Joe Gordon (Charles C. Wilson), who sacked him for drinking on the job and writing free verse columns. So when Peter finds himself on the same bus with the bratty heiress, he sees a way to turn his luck around. When the bus leaves her at a Jacksonville rest stop after she returns late, Peter is waiting for her. She offers to pay him for his silence and this irritates him, so he wires his editor about a  big scoop.  When they catch the next bus to New York they meet Mr. Shapeley (Roscoe Karns), a smarmy traveling salesman who introduces himself as: “Shapeley’s the name, and that’s the way I like them.” Good thing he finds himself sitting next to a woman with one of the most famous pair of shapely legs in movie history!  His coarse, overt passes at Ellie rankles Peter and he introduces himself to the salesman as her husband.

Later, when weather forces the bus riders to take refuge at Dyke’s Auto camp, newly “married” and broke Ellie and Peter have to share a room.  If she was outraged that she was called Peter’s wife, how do you think she reacts when he tells her he’s a newspaper man and that he’ll turn her in if she doesn’t give him an exclusive?  This sets up the famous Walls of Jericho scene where he places a blanket over a clothesline between the twin beds and proceeds to undress in front of her to force her onto her side of the room.  The next day detectives show up at the door and the couple have a hilarious make believe spat right in front of them—obviously two people who speak to one another as though they want to kill one another are married. This “fight” brings the couple closer together and some sort of understanding seems to be reached.

When the bus trip is resumed Shapeley reasserts himself when he learns who Ellie is and he asks for $5,000.  This forces Peter to pretend that he’s a gangster who is holding the heiress ransom for a million dollars. He tells Shapeley that he has machine guns in his suitcase and he’s not afraid of using them. Still, it’s obvious that bus travel is no longer a good way to travel incognito with rest stops that sell newspapers, and so at the next stop they get off and start out on foot. Eventually she ends up being slung over his shoulder and the two exchange a class discussion about piggy-backing, which results in her ass getting slapped.  The couple are forced to sleep in a haystack for the night. This is the first time in the film that it is obvious that the couple are falling in love, though, of course, neither will admit it to the other.

The next day they set off on the road to try their hand at hitchhiking. This sets up yet another verbal sparring match between the two, as he tries to instruct her on the three ways to thumb your way into a car.  While she lounges on the top rail of a fence post he puts these techniques into practice and fails miserably. Finally, she tells him she has her own system and hops down off the fence and “hitches” her skirt up, revealing those famous shapely legs and a garter to boot. The next car comes to a screeching halt and gives them a ride.  As he pouts beside her she makes one of the funniest cracks in the film: “I proved once and for all that the limb is mightier than the thumb.” When the man (Alan Hale) that picked them up tries to steal Peter’s suitcase he gets the short-end of the deal, as well as a black eye, when Peter steals his whole car from him.

Near New York the couple stop at Zeke’s auto-court for the night. Peter promises to pay the man at the end of their week-long stay. Ellie reads that her father has consented to her marriage and that he is begging for her to come home.  However, Ellie has second-thoughts now that she has spent some time with Peter.  After he tells her about his dream woman and his island of Eden, Ellie begs him to take her with him…even crossing yet another Wall of Jericho and sitting on his bed while declaring her love for him.  He sends her back to her own bed and she cries herself to sleep.  While she is asleep he goes to New York to collect his $1,000 check on the story that Ellie’s having her marriage annulled so she can marry him. Too bad the owners of the auto-camp barge into the room and announce that Peter has left her…without paying the bill. Thinking she’s been deserted, she calls her father to come get her. Oh, it’s just bad timing all around and both feel that they have been duped and deserted.

Back in New York Ellie has to have a proper church wedding to satisfy her father.  She is completely miserable but determined to go through with her marriage to King to avoid anymore problems. Meanwhile, Peter has returned his $1,000 check to his editor and returned to working at the paper. The only issue that is left to be resolved is his traveling expenses of $39.60, which he asks Mr. Andrews to pay. When asked by Ellie’s father if he loves his daughter Peter finally relents and says, “Yes, but don’t hold that against me. I’m a little screwy myself.” On his way out the door he sees Ellie who asks if he got his money.  He declines to stay for the ceremony.

There are just some things that can never be explained logically. Why would you wait until you are walking your daughter down the aisle, in front of hundreds of people, to announce that Peter loves her and that her car is waiting by the gate?  And, then, why as a bride would you wait until the priest asks you if you will “take this man to be your husband” to hike-up your wedding dress and run off across the lawn? Oh, it’s Hollywood. Needless to say, the ending wraps up the story cleverly and trumpethantly (yes, I made that word up).

Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert make a great opposites-attract duo. Strangely enough, it almost didn’t happen, as she didn’t want to make the movie because she thought the script was weak and she wanted to go on vacation.  In the end, she got the best end of the deal: $50,000, a 4-week shoot which allowed her to go on vacation, and an Oscar.  She drove Capra nuts with her pouting, but he put up with it because he saw the chemistry that Gable and Colbert had on screen.
 
Overall, this is a highly enjoyable film.  The acting is spot on—especially Colbert’s portrayal of the spoiled heiress. The look on her face, and most especially in her eyes, when she delivers her sharp and funny dialogue is priceless. Gable, of course, is good, but his is not the standout performance.  The standout performance goes to Capra,  Riskin,and Adams who wrote a really clever and funny script. The double entendres alone would have made Ernst Lubitsch proud—and that is saying something.

Judge Priest (1934) **

I suspect a lot of people would be surprised to learn that this little-known 1934 film was director John Ford’s favorite of his countless cinematic endeavors.  Some have argued that the title character, Judge Billy Priest (Will Rogers), was really a facsimile of Ford himself, just played by a more amiable personality in Will Rogers. This might explain why it was his favorite, especially when you consider he made many more highly regarded films like Stagecoach (1939), How Green Was My Valley (1941), and The Quiet Man (1952)—just to name a few. And, when you think about it, who wouldn’t prefer the film that most represents them?

All that said, Judge Priest is just a mildly amusing film, and far from my favorite Ford Film—that place is reserved for The Quiet Man. Still, it is a somewhat interesting film to watch because Will Rogers does a nice job playing a home-spun, down-to-earth Kentucky judge who has to step aside when a legal client of his nephew is brought before his court.  What makes Judge Priest so likable is his overall irreverence for proper courtroom decorum. His outright hilarious interactions with his would-be nemesis Senator “Yankee” Maydew (Berton Churchill) are also a delight to watch. Most critics believe that Rogers didn’t really have to stretch himself in the role, because he was just playing a fictional representation of his commonsensical self. This is probably an accurate assessment, but it doesn’t lessen the fact that Rogers plays the role to the hilt.

There is one element of the film that many viewers do not like—the shamelessly stereotypical role that black comedian Stepin Fetchit plays as Jeff Poindexter. Some critics have said that Fetchit plays nothing more than a human lawn jockey in the film.  It is true that he comes off as a shiftless trickster. Yet, it is also true that his conversations with Judge Priest are the most enjoyable parts of the movie. And, when you take a minute to think about it you might ask yourself what the film was saying about a judge in 1890s Kentucky who would go fishing with a grown black man. Still, the fact the the Judge jokingly tells Jeff that he might join a lynch-mob if Jeff plays “Marching Through Georgia” is not necessarily politically correct either.  Oddly enough, Fetchit would play Jeff Poindexter again in Ford’s, The Sun Shines Bright (1953)—another installment of the Judge Priest story, this time played by Charles Winninger. 

Not the greatest John Ford film, but still worth a watch. 

The Black Cat (1934) **

Without a doubt the most unusual horror film to come out of Hollywood in the 1930s was Universal Studio's’ The Black Cat (1934). How does one go about creating such a unique film? You take two renowned horror stars (Dracula himself, Bela Lugosi, and Frankenstein’s monster, Boris Karloff—in the first of seven films they would appear in together), add a dash of a director (Edgar G. Ulmer) heavily influenced by German expressionism, and then you mix in some strange amalgamation of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Black Cat” and “The Fall of the House of Usher” with necrophilia and satanism, and , finally, you top it off with an an eye-catching art deco set design by Charles D. Hall. Never mind that the story is difficult to understand (Universal ordered massive changes to the original cut due to its risqué plot),this is just too bizarre a film to miss.

Predating The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) by more than 40-years, The Black Cat finds two young lovers caught in the middle of a sadistic chess match between a mad architect/scientist and a depressed doctor. Dr. Vitus Werdegast (Lugosi) is returning home to Vizhegrad (Hungary) after spending the last 15 years in a Russian prison camp (Kurgaal). On the Orient Express (no Poirot doesn’t show up), Dr. Werdegast meets Joan (Jacqueline Wells) and Peter (David Manners) and immediately notices that Joan looks a lot like his lost wife. He tells them that he is on his way to visit an old friend, famed architect Hjalmar Poelzig (Karloff), at his mansion, which just happens to be built on a cliff overlooking the “greatest graveyard in the world” at Fort Marmorus. Really? Could there be a more ominous setting?

Later, when the bus they are travelling on crashes into a ravine, Joan is injured and it is determined that the couple should accompany Dr. Werdegast and his servant Thamal (Harry Cording) to the mansion. And this brings us to the best part of the film—the set design of Poelzig’s digs. Everything is ultra-modern, from the lighting (entire walls light up) to the super-sleek curved staircase.  Photographer John J. Mescall uses every inch of the set design and beyond-clever lighting to create some outstanding visual elements—you have to see it to truly appreciate it.

In a rather strange poke at Dracula (and Lugosi?), Poelzig is first introduced to the audience rising rigidly from his bed.  With a widow’s peak and dramatic sense of style (he wears a priest’s robe), Poelzig looks like the kind of man who would commune with the devil. It soon becomes apparent that Werdegast and Poelzig aren’t really BFF’s. Evidently Poelzig betrayed his countrymen in WWI and ran off when the Russians came. What Werdegast really wants is to find his wife (Karen) and daughter, and he thinks Poelzig might know where they are. Well, yeah, he does—he married Karen after telling her Werdegast was dead. Ah, the plot thickens…

As if this news wasn’t enough, Werdegast must deal with a reappearing black cat. For a normal person this wouldn’t be a big deal, but Werdegast is deathly afraid of them—did I mention he’s a psychiatrist…yeah, you’d think he could engage in some self-analysis to overcome this fear. Nope…instead he chooses to regard them as, and I quote, “the living embodiment of evil.” Ah, Werdegast, there are eviler things in the world—just ask Poelzig, who has a cellar full of dead women encased in glass. One of these women happens to be Karen (Lucille Lund) and when Poelzig reintroduces the “couple” it is not a happy time. Werdegast attempts to shoot Poelzig, but before he can pull the trigger another black cat saunters in and immobilizes the doctor.

Later, we learn that the doctor’s daughter, Karen (Lucille Lund…yeah, just go with it) is now Poelzig’s wife…a secret he chooses to keep from the doctor. One secret he doesn’t have a problem sharing, though, is that he plans to use Joan in a satanic black mass ritual. Of course, he is willing to challenge the doctor to a game of chess for Joan’s soul. Too bad for Joan that the doctor isn’t Bobby Fisher… Ah, and so let the Bach toccatas begin—really, Poelzig plays them on his creepy organ right before he kills Karen for sassing him. And, then the fun really begins!

Although it isn’t Halloween, Poelzig decides to host a satanic cult party at the fortress and Joan is the guest of honor. Organ music, broken Latin, black-tie attire, and a human sacrifice as the ultimate party game—who’d want to miss out on that! Well, Joan for one…I won’t spoil the ending for you, but lets just say it is a blast.

Unique in every sense, The Black Cat is high camp without being a camp film (is that possible?). Lugosi and Karloff play well off one another, but I wasn’t shocked to learn that neither received an Academy Award nomination for their performances in this film.  Still, I was a bit miffed that neither Charles D. Hall or John J. Mescall were recognized for their outstanding set design and photography.

Triumph of the Will (Triumph Des Willens) 1934 **

This 1934 “documentary” of the sixth Nazi Party Congress at Nuremberg by director Leni Riefenstahl is considered by many to be the most important propaganda film ever made. The director, who at one time had been a somewhat popular actress, was commissioned by the Fuhrer himself, Adolf Hitler, to film countless hours of Nazi glorification and then produce a film that would show both Germans and the world the greatness of the Nazi Party. It is both a visually stunning film and a troubling reminder of the dangers of hero-worship—especially when said “hero” was a raving racist who wanted to “cleanse” the world of undesirables and mongrels.

The film opens with the “hero” of our film riding through the clouds as Wagner’s “Die Meistersinger von Numberg” plays in the background. This image is no doubt harkening back to the glories of Valhalla and is Riefenstahl’s attempt to anoint Hitler the Messiah of the German people. One might ask here why she chose Wagner over Handel—Hitler had a penchant for loud and ostentatious German composers, such as Wagner (Hitler’s all-time fave). Whereas Handel’s more refined, and oh my goodness, Old Testament-based compositions were a tad out of line with the Nazi hatred of anything Jewish. And so this is the image the viewer is dealt from the beginning. The rest of the film is a “celebration” of the “greatness” of the Nazi Party and the adulation of its Fuhrer (which means in German, leader).

I am often shocked how few of my students know that Hitler was asked to become Chancellor of Germany in 1933. He didn’t take power or lead some grand revolution. In reality, the money people in Germany saw in him a man that could capture the interest of the people and a man that they could control—they were wrong about controlling him, but absolutely right about his power to transfix the nation. And this is what Riefenstahl focuses on: Hitler’s almost Svengali power over his people.

Literally hundreds of thousands of people are filmed by Riefenstahl adoring and saluting their leader with their echoing “Sieg Heil". Every type of German is captured here: the soldier, the worker, and most importantly to me, the young--because they are the future of the nation and to watch their unwavering adoration of such a monster is something that you never forget. Did those so young and impressionable young minds really stop loving their Fuhrer when he killed himself in May 1945 or when the Allies put them through denazification training? Just a question that I ponder every time I teach this time period in my classes…

As for the merits of the film, though it is difficult to admit, there are some. Riefenstahl had a gift for creating masterfully designed images. Once seen, no one can forget the overhead shots of the enormous crowds and marching soldiers at the rally. There is some sort of sinister symmetry to these images—like she has captured the most-ordered society known to man, but at the same time the viewer knows that the world is headed for utter disorder. I suppose watching these images that many can’t help but have mental juxtapositions of the reality Riefenstahl was trying to create against what we now know was nothing more than a monstrous mythmaking endeavor. You pair these masterful shots with extremely adept rapid editing and you have a piece of pure propagandist art.

It is too bad that a woman with such an artistic eye fell under the influences of such evil people.  When the war was over Riefenstahl found herself the guest of Allied prisons for four years and saw a once promising career as a director ruined. It should be noted that she vehemently claimed that her work was an example of cinema vertie and served as a historical record of the times.  Perhaps if she hadn’t used concentration camp prisoners as “extras” or been such a force in the Goebbels’ propaganda machine people would have been more apt to believe her.

L’Atalante (1934) **

Consult countless lists of the greatest films of all time and you will find this 1934 French classic. Considered to be director Jean Vigo’s masterpiece, L’Atalante is a surrealist love story for the ages. It is also a testament to Vigo’s artistic passion—he was deathly ill as he made it, often directing from a stretcher. He died shortly after filming was completed and could not edit the film himself. Instead, the editing task fell to some overenthusiastic Gaumont editors who cut the film from 89 to 65 minutes; somewhat damaging the film’s overall artistic composition. Thankfully, it was restored in 1990 and now truly resembles Vigo’s vision.

The beginning of the film finds handsome barge captain Jean (Jean Daste) marrying his proper girlfriend Juliette (Dita Parlo). Whoever said the honeymoon can’t last forever must have been thinking of poor Juliette, because she doesn’t get one. Instead, she and her new husband immediately board their humble floating abode, the L’Atalante, where they also share quarters with the rough Jules (Michel Simon) and his assortment of cats, as well as a cabin boy. Basically, this is a story about a simple man who wants simple things and a fanciful young woman who dreams of seeing Paris.  The story takes a dramatic turn when the barge docks in Paris and Juliette goes ashore without telling her husband. When he finds her gone he doesn’t wait for her return; instead, he angrily take the L’Atalante out of port—leaving his provincial wife to fend for herself in the big city.

There are many things to enjoy about this film. Using his signature style of poetic realism, Vigo captures both the sensual, tender relationship between Jean and Juliette in an almost ethereal sense, as well as capturing the grunginess of a cramped barge and the squalor of Depression-era Paris in a direct, unflinching manner. The love that the couple share is Vigo’s conception of beauty, while most of the outside world represents his vision of all that is crude. When they are together on the barge, even when they are fighting about soiled sheets and unkempt, crude Jules, they are truly happy. It is only when they are both physically and emotionally separated that the couple truly feels anguish and pain.

The most striking sequence in the film comes about due to this separation. Remembering that Juliette had once told him that she had opened her eyes under water to find her true love and had seen his face before she had ever met him, Jean jumps into freezing water and finds a smiling Juliette below the surface. When he returns to the boat he holds tight to a block of ice as if it were Juliette. It is a touching, spectacular scene to watch.  This is one of many great images that cinematographer Boris Kaufman captures. Truly, the film is a visual marvel, especially for 1934.

While both Parlo and Daste are more than memorable in this film, the one standout performer is Michel Simon as Jules. A master crafter of character, Simon always makes you believe he is his character. Still a relatively young man when he took on this role, Simon embodies the image of a sea-worn, old sailor who has seen and done everything.  In addition, his strange relationship with Juliette is something to behold. He is at once crass and lecherous, and in the next moment sweet and thoughtful. Capturing Jules’ dual nature, Vigo created a spectacular image of Simon, through the use of dissolved exposures, when Jules wrestles himself on deck, which comes across as two ghosts fighting over his body.

Francois Truffaut wrote that this was one of the films that shaped his own cinematic vision. It is easy to see why. Loaded with breathtaking images, as well as a tender love story, L’Atalante is a truly entertaining film.