Then I understood. Marlene "worked" for me only in the films she made with Josef von Sternberg, at the beginning of her Hollywood career. Compared to these, her later performances were not as immediate or as credible. The original Marlene, the one who resulted from the combined efforts of Dietrich and Sternberg in the seven films they made together, was a true, consistent source of excitement. The Marlene we saw later was only a pale reflection. It was clearly Sternberg who recognized her possibilities. He implanted Dietrich forever in the imagination of the world with The Blue Angel (1930). But "Marlene"- Sternberg's Marlene- was a continuum, extended and refined from film to film. Close inspection suggests that she was defined in the first four Dietrich-Sternberg films they made after he brought her to Hollywood. Morocco (1930), Dishonored (1931), Shanghai Express (1932) and Blonde Venus (1932) all have a curious quality of seeming to face both ways, attack and defense. In The Blue Angel, in which Dietrich was cast for the role rather than the role made for her, she is a sadistic femme fatale with no humanly redeeming features. From Morocco on, her role inevitably involves prostitutions to some degree. But her exclusion from respectable society, and subsequent relegation to the demimonde, is borne with calm dignity, even pride. Marlene's degradation comes as a natural consequence of her uniqueness; it confirms her as a singular individual in a relentlessly plural, hostile world. Marlene's response to this world is to conceal herself behind a provocative mask. She appears to be an indolent and hard-boiled calculator who worships self-interest. Yet her actions are contradictory: They show her to be loyal, honest and self-sacrificing, capable of grand gesture. But she resists definition, preferring instead the freedom to be what she appears to be, an alluring ambiguity- she is, and she isn't, what she seems. Examples abound in her films. In Morocco, she impulsively follows Gary Cooper into the desert (in high heels) instead of staying in the Rolls-Royce with Adolphe Menjou, which is at once both romantic nonsense and good sense. Most would admit only the first view, but Menjou is a subtle, sympathetic spirit who understands, loves, and respects Marlene. Since he approves of her unconditional allegiance to love, he does not interfere, makes no attempt to dissuade her. But choosing to be governed by her heart, not her head, she will suffer physically, but she will live emotionally. This all-for-love ethic continues to motivate the Marlene of Dishonored, a woman who betrays her country and sacrifices her life rather than betray Victor McLaglen, her lover. It also motivates the woman in Shanghai Express, who jeopardizes Clive Brook's love by trading her body to save Brook's life. And it impels the woman in Blonde Venus, who stoically surrenders herself and all she values for her husband and child. Marlene is a regretful prisoner of her looks. Men make her into an unwitting man-killer, but she is not demure virgin posing as a vamp. If her open enjoyment of men is a vice unredeemed by her virtue, so be it; the opinion of others is a matter of complete indifference. This apparent contradiction may explain her appeal to both sexes: Woman admire her boldness and self-sufficiency; men want what they can never have. Marlene may be ready for a liaison, but she will never grant any of the ancillary rights. Marlene promises neither fidelity nor permanence. She insists on her freedom. It remains for the man to change in order to accept her, not the other way around. That she can be had, but not possessed, is a test for the male ego. Her attitudes deprive men of the excitement of the chase, as well as the triumph of the conquest. The male sexual target may be led to feel that he is attacking, but too soon the real nature of the situation becomes clear: Marlene has selected him. How humiliating to have performed a love dance for such a cool spectator! Through Sternberg, Dietrich saw something she had perhaps glimpsed before- the chance to become Marlene. It was in pursuit of that possibility that Dietrich went to Hollywood- she had to be near the dreamer and his dream of her- and remained there through the vacant years before stardom brought her power and comfort. She understood that less is more, that into her enigmatic immobility could be read an infinitude of signs and significances. Since Dietrich and Sternberg had a common demon- "Marlene"- his perfectionism, so galling to others, only whetted an appetite which his perversity could not dull, nor his obsessive gift for glorifying her satisfy. For her patient endurance of Sternberg's direction Dietrich was rewarded: She became "Marlene." Perhaps Sternberg, under the influence of his passion, mistook Dietrich's devotion to the Marlene ideal for devotion to him. Perhaps he spoke truer than he knew when he said "In my films Marlene is not herself. Remember that. Marlene is not Marlene: I am Marlene." The real nature of this triangular relationship can only be guessed at. While characterizing himself as a creator of memorable scenes, Sternberg has diminished the importance of actors. He compared them to paint used by an artist and referred to them as puppets- decor elements that move. Sternberg awoke from his dream of Marlene to find that this particular puppet had become more important than her master. Sternberg's disenchantment with Dietrich is reflected in his last two films with her, The Scarlet Express (1934) and The Devil Is a Woman (1935). In The Scarlet Express Marlene progresses from innocence to experience, using the power of sex discovered along the way to secure her throne. Little of the passionate romantic survives. But all vestige of it is gone form the cruel Concha of The Devil Is a Woman, whose sole diversion is ruining men. Concha is just what she appears to be, and though she is as lovely as Marlene, the magic tension between seeming and being has vanished. The mysterious character in The Devil Is a Woman is Lionel Atwill, who supervises his own ruin with a dignity that approaches perverse delight. Sternberg left Dietrich's screen character much as he found her: The only important difference is that Lola-Lola of The Blue Angel claims she can't help it, while Concha's power over men provides all her pleasure. The cycle of glorification and vilification is complete. Despite the box-office failure of her last three films with Sternberg, Dietrich was able to negotiate a new contract with Paramount. Sternberg, the puppet-master who had relinquished control of his puppet, was let go. Lubitsch, now production head of the studio, felt he could produce a new Dietrich, make an "angel" of this devil (the title was his, imposed against Sternberg's wishes). But even his considerable skill could not undo what had been done: By now Dietrich was Marlene, for better or for worse. What no one realized was that she was undergoing the transformation from actress to legend. W. W. LEWIS is a cinematographer working in Hollywood. He has contributed articles on film to numerous publications, including Film Comment. taken from Close-Ups: Intimate Portraits of Movie Stars by their Co-Stars, Directors, Screenwriters and Friends; Edited by Danny Peary; Galahad Books: New York City. Copyright 1978. |
My first encounter with Dietrich came
through her films of the 1950s. At that time movies for me weren't fictions; they were
reality. And Marlene, with her arrogant entrances, her imperious domination of the screen,
was an outrage. How, I wondered, did this austere, formidable, somewhat elderly lady
manage so easily and thoroughly to monopolize masculine attention? If only the younger and
more approachable features would stick around to give her a run for her money, rather than
keep to the background or vanish altogether from the screen whenever she arrived... Since
what happened around Marlene was unaccountable, my reality was abused and the money
spoiled. She was a cheat and a lie, and I steadfastly avoided her until I happened to see The
Scarlet Empress.