Recently, I watched Josef von Sternberg’s The Scarlet Empress and Sergei Eisenstein’s Ivan the Terrible on the big screen on the same night at different Chicago venues. I  planned the outings based on the venue, not the film, so I didn’t realize I would be getting a double dose of Russian history until I was on my way to the first movie. The occasion really brought out the film historian in me as I couldn’t help but compare and contrast the two films and their directors as well as the eras they were produced in.  The experience proved to me that The Scarlet Empress and Ivan the Terrible were far less about Russian history than they were about directorial obsessions and the socio-political environments the films were made in. 

I am embarrassed to admit that I do not know as much about Josef von Sternberg and Marlene Dietrich as I should. Prior to The Scarlet Empress, I had seen only two other von Sternberg-Dietrich films, so I was not prepared for the experience. I am grateful that I watched it as a 35mm film projected onto the big screen, because von Sternberg turned history into a sublime adventure of sexual politics with his stunning visual style, exquisite lighting, and erotic interpretation of Catherine the Great’s life. Von Sternberg follows the life of Catherine from her childhood as Sophie Friederike, the daughter of an obscure Germanic prince, through her horrible marriage at age 14 to Grand Duke Peter III of Russia to her ascendance to the Russian throne in 1762. But, Catherine’s story isn’t about her real-life accomplishments, her place in history, or her motivations as a royal ruler, it’s another of von Sternberg’s tales of sexual intrigue and domination illustrated in his overtly artistic style. Von Sternberg purposefully eschewed the narrative tradition of Griffith and Hollywood. Instead, inspired by European conventions of art, the director used visual techniques of lighting and set design to evoke an atmosphere, mood, or impression to serve as visual manifestations of human passion, emotion, and desire. Von Sternberg was obsessed with portraying the nature of passion and desire, dwelling on its negative impact on human behavior. In The Scarlet Empress, Catherine the Great is shaped as a political force by her passion for one man, her loathing of another, and her sublimation of desire with several more.  

 The Scarlet Empress was the sixth of von Sternberg’s seven films with Marlene Dietrich, whom he discovered just four years earlier in Germany while casting for The Blue Angel. By 1934, when this film was released, the pair was famous for their recognizable brand of exotic drama in which Dietrich played the disenchanted seductress amidst a florid, baroque mise-en-scene that was as central to the narrative as the dialogue. Some have written that Dietrich was little more than a costumed object, and von Sternberg lit and positioned her like he would a prop or object in his elaborate set design, but that is a harsh assessment that ignores Dietrich’s remarkable screen presence. Von Sternberg did make her luminous with his legendary lighting techniques, but Dietrich was enormously charismatic and adept at holding the screen without speaking or moving. Typical for the actress, she does not speak many lines in her scenes, but her subtle expressions, enormous vibrant eyes, and deliberate expressions cast a spell that enhanced an atmosphere charged by an excess of light, textures, `and . . . sex. 

DIETRICH AS CATHERINE THE GREAT

 Von Sternberg’s lighting strategy for Dietrich was to light her with a hotter key light than the other characters or objects in a frame — a tidbit I learned in a recent class I took on cinematography. If the rest of the scene was lit at a certain level of footcandles, then von Sternberg would light Dietrich at a slightly higher number of footcandles. In The Scarlet Empress, this strategy is evident from the beginning when we see the 14-year-old Sophie Friederike enter a room and kiss the hands of her elders. Though there are several characters in the room, it is hard to take your eyes off Dietrich because her face radiates light, giving the impression that she is vivacious, innocent, and lit from within. Later, as the manipulative Catherine seduces Count Alexei, she plays with a lacy scarf, placing it over her face as she lies down on the bed. This time the hotter key light on Dietrich has a different connotation. Her face beneath the see-through lace glows softly, while the cloth seems to shimmer. The scene is so rich in atmospheric effects, it literally looks charged by the sensuality and sexual tension in the air. Seeing The Scarlet Empress on 35mm film definitely helped this effect, because DVD cannot possibly capture these lighting effects in the same way, especially the rich sensuality of soft focus.

Dietrich learned von Sternberg’s lighting strategy and often bullied other directors and their cinematographers to use it on her other films. She clearly understood how important it was to her success and her stardom. When she made Stage Fright for Alfred Hitchcock, who was notorious for controlling every aspect of the filmmaking process, she began instructing one of the crew about the lighting. The crew member complained to Hitchcock, thinking the director would put Dietrich in her place. Instead, the Master of Suspense told the astonished man to do what Dietrich told him to; she knew what he was doing because she learned from a master. Von Sternberg was proud of the fact that he was the only Hollywood director of his day to earn membership into the American Society of Cinematographers.

THE GARGOYLES SYMBOLIZE THE INNER SOULS OF THE RUSSIAN COURT.

SAM JAFFE AS FREAKY PETER III

 In addition to the lighting, the set design for The Scarlet Empress by Hans Dreier featured some extraordinary elements that von Sternberg exploited for maximum effect, particularly the gargoyle-like statuary. Sometimes the elongated, twisted figures — reminiscent of the paintings of El Greco –  served as candle holders; sometimes they adorned furniture; sometimes they stood alone, with their distorted faces supplying mock commentary to the action in the scene. It doesn’t take much imagination to understand that the deformed gargoyles are being equated to the decadent, immoral, and warped natures of the characters. Shots of  Peter III, the imbecile son of Empress Elizabeth, among a set of gargoyle figures clearly suggests he is as grotesque as they are. To be sure, Peter — as played by Sam Jaffe — was just plain freaky, while the cruel, debauched Empress Elizabeth, played by a formidable Louise Dresser, was monstrous in a different way. This is German Expressionism at its most obvious. Though von Sternberg was not directly a part of the Expressionist movement, his tenure in Germany while filming The Blue Angel must have made him feel right at home. 

My favorite motif in The Scarlet Empress  is the image of a regiment of sharply dressed Cossacks riding into a setting, energizing the scene with force and power. When young Sophie Friederike first arrives at the palace in her carriage, a long shot depicts the white-clad Cossacks racing into the spacious courtyard alongside her, creating a mesmerizing, almost abstract pattern of black and white. Later, during the climactic scene, this idea is repeated when Catherine, dressed in the uniform of a Cossack, gallops into the palace interior with her regiment behind her. On horseback, they race up the marble stairs as the soundtrack roars with the sound of thunderous hoofbeats, and she forcibly takes the throne from her addle-brained husband to become Czarina of Russia. (The week following the film, whenever I was overwhelmed by work or bogged down in my own thoughts, I found myself recalling that sequence, silently intoning, “Where are my Cossacks to help me out of this mess.”)

CATHERINE GETS A BOOST FROM HER COSSACKS, IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE. NOTE THE LEVEL OF LIGHT ON HER.

 Reviewers of the period were justifiably shocked at the opening sequence, which depicts the course and primitive ways of the Russian court prior to Catherine the Great’s reign. Tableaux of violence, cruelty, and depravity feature men stretched to the breaking point on the rack and the wheel, while nude women strike picturesque poses in sensual low-key lighting as they burn at the stake. It’s not simulated nudity either; despite the low level of light, breasts are clearly visible. Though this film was produced before the Production Code was mandatory, I was spellbound by the display of nudity and torture. Like Sam Jaffe’s portrayal of Peter III, the tone struck by this illustrated “history lesson” was downright freaky but still fascinating to watch. The sequence ends with the tolling of a large bell, with a bound, upside-down man used as the clapper. Like the Cossacks on horseback, this motif is echoed when Catherine rings the great Russian bells after taking the throne– the final image in the film. Considering Catherine’s many male conquests — through sex, political maneuverings, or brute force –  the final image of bell-ringing is a figurative version of the literal image shown earlier.

 Eisenstein’s Ivan the Terrible, Part I definitely had a tough act to follow. Yet, it made a strong impression on me because, like The Scarlet Empress, it featured a master’s use of visual techniques to get the point across. Ivan the Terrible, Parts I and II represents the end of the great filmmaker’s career. Eisenstein died in 1948, three years after the completion of the two films, which were part of a planned trilogy. I only saw Part I, which begins with the coronation of Ivan IV in 1533, where he announces plans to unify a deeply divided Russia. At the time, the vast territory of Russia is made up of opposing clans run by the aristocratic boyars. And, in the lower and middle Volga, the Tatar Khanates rule the region. Unifying Russia under the royal czar in Moscow — which had been dubbed the Third Rome by Ivan’s predecessor in 1510 — will make a stronger country but the boyars furiously oppose it. Traitors abound in Ivan’s court, including supposed ally Kurbsky, who also lusts after Ivan’s wife, Anastasia.

 Eisenstein completed the script for Ivan the Terrible in 1941, then spent a couple of years researching Ivan’s life in Russia’s famed archives, though undoubtedly some of those archives were closed to him by the communist bureaucracy. Like The Scarlet Empress, however, Ivan the Terrible isn’t about an accurate portrayal of 16th century Russia or a three-dimensional portrait of an infamous historic figure. Eisenstein offers his interpretation of state power and control through formal means of composition, set design, and the blocking of actors.

IVAN AT HIS CORONATION -- NO BEARD.

 Though Von Sternberg answered to Paramount, Eisenstein had a much tougher boss — he had to answer to Joseph Stalin. Painting a sympathetic portrait of a Russian czar might seem like something that Stalin would oppose, considering the communists not only overthrew the last of Russia’s royal family but also had them killed. Yet, Ivan’s experiences and goal as presented in the film echoed Stalin’s own experiences and goals. Perhaps he felt a kinship to Ivan because of the conspirators and political intrigue that surrounded the 16th century ruler. After all, Stalin had just spent most of the 1930s purging the country of those he found guilty of treachery or corruption, whether it was real or imagined. And, just as Ivan wants to unify all the Russian territories, despite differences in language and cultures, so Stalin desired to “unify” Eastern Europe, starting with Poland in 1939. Just after World War II, Stalin annexed most of the Eastern European countries, making them satellites of the Soviet Union, forming the Eastern bloc. Communist ideology worked to eradicate national identities and the unique cultures of the various ethnic groups that were part of the Soviet bloc. While this unification did present a stronger communist front, it also created resentment among the different ethnic groups who were strongly discouraged from celebrating their culture or history.

 Stalin did take issue with Ivan the Terrible, Part I, criticizing what he thought were inaccuracies or problems (Ivan’s beard was too long in the last scene, for example), but he allowed it to be exhibited. Unfortunately, he was greatly offended by Ivan the Terrible, Part II, which was not shown in the U.S.S.R. until 1958, long after Stalin’s death.

IVAN'S BODY MAKES A PYRAMID COMPOSITION WITH PART OF THE SET DESIGN, SIGNIFYING STRENGTH.

 The sharp lines and crisp cinematography of Eisenstein’s film are the opposite of von Sternberg’s shimmery imagery and rich atmospheric effects. And, there is so little camera movement that some shots look like still photography. I didn’t notice how much camera movement there was in The Scarlet Empress until I saw the lack of it in Ivan the Terrible. But, the formality of the composition and the skilled use of mise-en-scene make the film as visually driven as von Sternberg’s work. Many of the compositions are designed to underscore Ivan’s strength or power. He is often anchored as the largest figure in center frame or in the foreground, with other characters smaller and subservient to him. Or, he is blocked or composed in conjunction with the set design to form a strong design or image. Even Ivan’s beard becomes a design element to help compose the shot. Beardless at the coronation, Ivan grows a long beard that is gradually groomed to come to a point. In the final scene, his powerful angular features — enhanced by the pointy beard — are shown in profile in the foreground, as a long line of his Russian subjects snakes its way toward him in the far background. With this image, the viewer realizes that the sensitive, intelligent ruler who struggled to overcome court intrigue and political betrayal has grown into the great Ivan the Terrible of history (or, legend).

IVAN'S SHADOW SHOWS HIS DOMINANCE AND THE MULTIPLE SIDES TO HIS CHARACTER.

 Though Eisenstein’s lighting lacks the sensuality, atmosphere, and mood of von Sternberg’s, he still knows his way around the shadows. Duplicity and two-sided personalities abound in Ivan’s court, which is signaled by the characters’ exact shadow shapes looming large on the walls. Exploited by the German Expressionists, this motif suggests that someone has two sides to his character, or is duplicitous, because we literally see light (the figure) and dark (his shadow) versions of them.   

Eisenstein is much more famous for his innovations in Russian montage editing than for his mise-en-scene. Unfortunately, Stalin disliked the intellectualizing of film theory represented by Eisenstein and his peers from back in the day, finding their ideas too individualistic and too elitist. Yet, anyone familiar with Eisenstein’s early work will recognize a taste of his editing style in Ivan the Terrible. Periodically, he edits together a series of shots of a character, beginning with medium shots, cutting to medium close-ups, and then to actual close-ups, picking up the pacing with each shot. The cumulative effect is to create an idea or suggestion, depending on the context of the scene. In one scene, it is used to emphasize a gossiping courtier, suggesting there is dangerous dissension in the palace.

 Watching both of these great classics on a big screen on the same evening was an enlightening experience, provoking me to learn more about each film. Clearly, neither film was an accurate portrayal of Russian history, but each was a window into the eras that produced the movies and an illustration of directorial styles and obsessions. A fairly obvious point. Yet, I don’t understand why viewers, pundits, and reviewers can’t apply this idea to contemporary films that are set in the past. Currently, the John Dillinger story Public Enemies as directed by Michael Mann is making a big splash in Chicago, accompanied by a lot of press. And, the majority of reviews, sidebars, feature articles, and publicity stories focus on the fact that Public Enemies is not an accurate rendering of the real historical figure or a three-dimensional psychological portrait of Dillinger. I wonder how long it will take for critics or writers to see that the real “history” in the film is a talented director’s perspective on America in 2009, not a portrait of Midwestern criminals in 1934.