The opening of THE WONDERFUL LIES OF NINA PETROVNA is a primer in late silent film-making style. As a movie from the forties might start with voice-over narration, this movie starts with a visual exposition that lays out the premise without the need for a single word. Close-ups of a rococo clock, a maid filling a luxurious bath, an opulent breakfast tray, lead into a tracking shot through a sumptuous apartment, so fluid and swift that it's almost dizzying. The pan leads us out onto the terrace, where Nina Petrovna (Brigitte Helm) lounges, fingering a rose. In a few close-ups her character is fully sketched: the sensuous boredom of a kept woman giving way to girlish excitement as a handsome young soldier passes in a military parade. The sleek and wealthy officer who keeps her in the villa arrives; she extends her hand from behind the door where she's bathing to languidly accept a jeweled bracelet. The smitten young soldier beams over the rose she tossed him.
The entire film unfolds this way, in long, deliberately paced scenes full of sophisticated touches and expressive close-ups. The lavish sets and costumes evoke an elegant St. Petersburg, full of smartly uniformed officers, smoky clubs, bright shop-windows, dim snowy streets and candle-lit rooms. In a palatial restaurant, Nina again spots the young soldier, Michael Rostof (Franz Lederer), and to cover their obvious infatuation with each other, she lies to her lover that they were childhood friends. Col. Beranoff (Warwick Ward) invites Rostof to join them, presumably in order to confront his mistress with her lie, but Nina and Michael are so besotted that they waltz rapturously under the colonel's jealous eye. They spend a tipsy but innocent night together, and when Beranoff discovers them playfully eating breakfast on the floor, Nina leaves behind the villa, the furs and the jewels.
We next see her peeling potatoes in a humble flat, but she and Michael are ecstatically happy together; when their electricity is turned off because they can't pay the bill, Nina lights a candelabra and says, "Isn't this so much nicer?" Desperate for money, Rostof gets into a card game at the officer's club; when the colonel joins in, you can see disaster coming a mile off ("Lucky in love, unlucky at cards," as Beranoff points out predictably.) At about this point, the characters stop behaving like credible, sensible human beings and start following the conventions of romantic melodrama. I won't give away the details of the denouement, which is driven by Beranoff's determination to get Nina back at any cost, but I will say that it contains my least favorite narrative convention: the Noble Sacrifice.
This device (think CAMILLE) involves one character (usually, though not always, the woman) making a sacrifice for her beloved which he would certainly not want her to make, and then lying to him about it, all for his own good. The idea of lying to anyone "for his own good" disgusts me; it's so condescending to assume that the deceived will be happier in ignorance. And I can't understand how telling someone you love that you don't love themin fact, you never loved them, it was all a game, ha, ha!could be construed as noble, or even acceptable. Invariably, the beloved storms out, devastated, and the deceiver collapses in hysterical grief. You're supposed to admire the sacrificer, who not only gives up her beloved but slanders herself in the process; but my sympathy is always for the deceived, who is left heartbroken andthrough no fault of his ownlooks like a foolish ingrate to boot. Suffice it to say that the sacrifice, and the lie, are particularly sadistic in this case, and the movie finds a way to leave everyone miserable.
Brigitte Helm, immortal for her dual role in METROPOLIS, is a revelation with her expressive, readable face. She is physically reminiscent of both Dietrich and Norma Shearer, with a bit of Garbo thrown in, and has a come-hither gaze that few men, I imagine, could resist. Her performance is warm, subtle, and extremely articulate. Franz Lederer, who in the same year nestled his head in Louise Brooks's lap in PANDORA'S BOX, is just as handsome here. While not quite as skillful an actor as Helm, he is touching in his boyish openness, his dark-eyed melancholy frequently giving way to joyous smiles. Warwick Ward makes a perfectly loathsome villain: smug, poised and cruel.
Fans of sublime romantic tragedy will find this film totally satisfying; for those like me who are irked by it, the style and artistry still make it richly rewarding.
The entire film unfolds this way, in long, deliberately paced scenes full of sophisticated touches and expressive close-ups. The lavish sets and costumes evoke an elegant St. Petersburg, full of smartly uniformed officers, smoky clubs, bright shop-windows, dim snowy streets and candle-lit rooms. In a palatial restaurant, Nina again spots the young soldier, Michael Rostof (Franz Lederer), and to cover their obvious infatuation with each other, she lies to her lover that they were childhood friends. Col. Beranoff (Warwick Ward) invites Rostof to join them, presumably in order to confront his mistress with her lie, but Nina and Michael are so besotted that they waltz rapturously under the colonel's jealous eye. They spend a tipsy but innocent night together, and when Beranoff discovers them playfully eating breakfast on the floor, Nina leaves behind the villa, the furs and the jewels.
We next see her peeling potatoes in a humble flat, but she and Michael are ecstatically happy together; when their electricity is turned off because they can't pay the bill, Nina lights a candelabra and says, "Isn't this so much nicer?" Desperate for money, Rostof gets into a card game at the officer's club; when the colonel joins in, you can see disaster coming a mile off ("Lucky in love, unlucky at cards," as Beranoff points out predictably.) At about this point, the characters stop behaving like credible, sensible human beings and start following the conventions of romantic melodrama. I won't give away the details of the denouement, which is driven by Beranoff's determination to get Nina back at any cost, but I will say that it contains my least favorite narrative convention: the Noble Sacrifice.
This device (think CAMILLE) involves one character (usually, though not always, the woman) making a sacrifice for her beloved which he would certainly not want her to make, and then lying to him about it, all for his own good. The idea of lying to anyone "for his own good" disgusts me; it's so condescending to assume that the deceived will be happier in ignorance. And I can't understand how telling someone you love that you don't love themin fact, you never loved them, it was all a game, ha, ha!could be construed as noble, or even acceptable. Invariably, the beloved storms out, devastated, and the deceiver collapses in hysterical grief. You're supposed to admire the sacrificer, who not only gives up her beloved but slanders herself in the process; but my sympathy is always for the deceived, who is left heartbroken andthrough no fault of his ownlooks like a foolish ingrate to boot. Suffice it to say that the sacrifice, and the lie, are particularly sadistic in this case, and the movie finds a way to leave everyone miserable.
Brigitte Helm, immortal for her dual role in METROPOLIS, is a revelation with her expressive, readable face. She is physically reminiscent of both Dietrich and Norma Shearer, with a bit of Garbo thrown in, and has a come-hither gaze that few men, I imagine, could resist. Her performance is warm, subtle, and extremely articulate. Franz Lederer, who in the same year nestled his head in Louise Brooks's lap in PANDORA'S BOX, is just as handsome here. While not quite as skillful an actor as Helm, he is touching in his boyish openness, his dark-eyed melancholy frequently giving way to joyous smiles. Warwick Ward makes a perfectly loathsome villain: smug, poised and cruel.
Fans of sublime romantic tragedy will find this film totally satisfying; for those like me who are irked by it, the style and artistry still make it richly rewarding.