Directed by Josef von Sternberg
Written by Daniel N. Rubin
1931 | 91 minutes | English
Criterion Blu-Ray

Marlene Dietrich, Victor McLaglen, Gustav von Seyffertitz, Warner Oland, Lew Cody, Barry Norton

What it’s about: In Vienna, 1915, Marie Kolverer (Dietrich), a war widow and talented pianist, now working as a streetwalker, is recruited by the Chief of the Austrian Secret Service (von Seyffertitz) to gather evidence on Von Hindau (Oland), a traitor in the army, responsible for leaking intel and causing recent defeats. She succeeds, and in the process, is put onto the grinning, dashing Colonel Kranau (McLaglen), himself a more experienced Russian spy infiltrating Austria undercover. Kranau escapes her grasp, but learns of her next assignment, rooting out attack plans from a town on the Polish front, and pursues her there, furthering an eroticized game of cat-and-mouse with deadly consequences.

Reflections: In Laura Mulvey’s landmark 1975 essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” she specifically calls out Josef von Sternberg–in particular, the cycle of six films he made with Marlene Dietrich, of which this was the third–arguing that he “produces the ultimate fetish, taking it to the point where the powerful look of the male protagonist (characteristic of traditional narrative film) is broken in favor of the image in direct erotic rapport with the spectator.” This was a first-time watch and, having seen it, she’s absolutely right. And that is still kind of the magic of this movie.

It hinges entirely on observing Dietrich’s carefully unknowable presence. She announces at the start of the film that she fears neither life nor death, and her ultimate downfall reads like a triumph against the (masculine) characters and forces that would exploit, control and categorize her. But her true feelings and motives are hidden behind this intentionally beguiling artifice. The way her eyes dart around or how she draws out her “yeeeess” when she responds to questions feels studied, in a way that flattens actress and character. Sternberg envelops this disaffected, evasive portrait in shadows and gauze, dressing her in amazing outfits–the costume ball scene is what I’m referring to here–and letting her fill the frame, in full or in close-up pieces. The spy-thriller narrative (conceived by Sternberg and realized on the page by Rubin) is interesting enough a framework to put this all on. And the other actors do fine jobs reacting to and reflecting her–McLaglen is all condescending, rakish grins, granting her power as if despite himself, safety and adversary rolled together. And Seyffertitz conveys a mixture of paternal fascination and disgust that’s ripe for interrogation. But this is a star vehicle and therein lies its fascination nearly a century later.

The artifice and melodrama are part of the point–this is a film meant to exude glamor and style, and it does. There’s some spies doing cool spy stuff, but the experience of watching it isn’t about the particulars of the plot; it’s about the plight of the tragic heroine, both doomed by the narrative and coolly transcendent of it, infused with a pre-code implied sexuality and dripping in Old Hollywood glamour. And that is a rich and enjoyable cocktail, if it’s what you’re prepared to get.