Review #1,399: 'The Scarlet Empress' (1934)

With the Motion Picture Production Code or, to give it its more popular name, the Hays Code, introduced in 1930 to ensure that cinema didn't corrupt the morals of the American populace, many directors came up with ingenious ways to find loopholes in the code, or employ cinematic trickery to create an illusion of what the Hays Code considered amoral. Some directors, however, seemed to ignore the Code completely, and somehow got away with it. Josef von Sternberg's The Scarlet Empress, a deliberately provocative piece celebrating the sexual freedom of one of history's most enigmatic figures, Catherine the Great, seems to go out of its way to annoy the censors, yet the film remained miraculously untampered with. To say that von Sternberg takes liberties with his artistic license would be a vast understatement, but The Scarlet Empress was the director's "relentless excursion into style," to quote the great man himself.

If this was made today by the BBC, I'm sure that Ofcom would struggle to deal with the scale of complaints. The film begins with Sophia Frederica (Marlene Dietrich), the young and beautiful daughter of a German prince, who is summoned to Russia by the Empress Elizabeth Petrovna (Louise Dresser) to produce an heir for the Grand Duke Peter (Sam Jaffe). She is informed by the handsome, womanising Count Alexei (John Lodge) that the Grand Duke is strong and handsome, with thick locks of ebony hair. Of course, this isn't the case, and when Sophia finally arrives at her new home, Peter emerges as a grinning halfwit unfit to father a child and even less suitable to wear the crown. Renamed Catherine by the Empress, the seemingly wide-eyed innocent bride-to-be embarks on an affair with the rogueish Alexei, and turns her seductive eyes to the soldiers of the Russian army. While the Grand Duke is busy drilling holes into the wall of his mother's bedroom with twisted Freudian curiosity, Catherine starts to plan her ascension.

Every scene is a feast for the eyes, with lavish interiors, fetishistic costumes, suggestive shadows and doors so thick and heavy they require a run-up to close them dominating every frame. It suggests an oppressive, backwards country in real need of new ideals. The tables, walls and chairs are all sculpted to portray monstrous figures: some are gargoyles, and some seem to be people contorted in the grips of death. It's a horrible place, and von Sternberg chooses to juxtapose this with Catherine's sexuality, as her confidence and desire increase with every scene. The way von Sternberg does this is undeniably seductive, further sensationalised by his obsession with Dietrich's flawless face. You wouldn't be able to tell if she is even a good actress from this, as von Sternberg often chooses to express the character's feelings without the need for dialogue. A long, lingering look through a closing door suggests a burgeoning desire, and the flickering of a candle as Catherine's breathing becomes heavier shows her lust. How The Scarlet Empress didn't cause more of a stir I'll never know, but we are better off for it. If you want a quick-fire history lesson then check Wikipedia, but if you seek a rich, gothic atmosphere mixed in with thick layers of eroticism and rich, exquisitely-detailed visuals, then this ticks all the boxes.


Directed by: Josef von Sternberg
Starring: Marlene Dietrich, John Lodge, Sam Jaffe, Louise Dresser, C. Aubrey Smith
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #882: 'Le Grand Jeu' (1934)

A lot of movie-goers will agree that Alfred Hitchcock's finest work is his seminal 1958 masterpiece Vertigo. But 20 years earlier French director Jacques Feyder, fleeing from Hollywood when he failed to come to an agreement with MGM on new projects, returned to his home country and made Le Grand Jeu, the tale of a broken man falling in love with the doppelgänger of his gold-digging former lover. It's certainly an inferior work to Vertigo, but the themes of obsession and the growing psychological torment of its lead must have surely been an inspiration to the Master of Suspense.

Playboy Pierre (Pierre Richard-Willm) has it all - fast cars, the finest clothes and a beautiful girl, Florence (Marie Bell), who shares his lust for the finer things in life. Their extravagances almost bring his family's business to ruin, so Pierre is exiled to avoid further embarrassment, minus Florence who cannot turn her back on the world of luxury she has become so accustomed to. Distraught, Pierre joins the Foreign Legion in North Africa, where he lives content though the work is hard. On leave, he stays at a hotel/brothel ran by the sleazy and unsavoury Clement (Charles Vanel), and his no-nonsense wife Blanche (Francoise Rosay), who reads Tarot cards in her spare time. One night, Pierre spots a prostitute who is a dead ringer for Florence, and so begins his obsession.

Le Grand Jeu is slow, slightly over-long and often remarkably depressing. It's also a beautifully filmed example of French poetic realism, with the African setting providing a sweaty, claustrophobic atmosphere. There's a naturalism to the performances that was way ahead of what they doing in Hollywood at the time. Feyder also employs the effective tactic of casting Marie Bell in separate roles with one of her character's being dubbed over, causing an unsettling effect when combined with Bell's impressive performances as both socialite seductress and down-beaten night-club singer/party girl. It's a shame that the plot is laid out early on when Pierre has his fortune told as main plot points naturally become inevitabilities, but Le Grand Jeu is often immaculately crafted cinema.


Directed by: Jacques Feyder
Starring: Pierre Richard-Willm, Marie Bell, Charles Vanel, Georges Pitoëff, Françoise Rosay
Country: France

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #441: 'Cleopatra' (1934)

The first of the sound-era re-telling of the story of Cleopatra (there were at least four made in the silent-era), this lavish pre-code adaptation brings a more contemporised manner, particularly with the seductive nature of the title character. A tendency in the 1930's was to depict women as strong, self-obsessed gold diggers - perhaps a paranoid reaction to the suffrage movement. Like Barbara Stanwyks' Lily Powers in Baby Face (1933 - Review #379), she uses here sexuality to climb the ladders of power. Despite this very depression times character trait, this historical epic is still firmly riveted in the times it is set.

After the death of Julius Caesar (Warren William), Cleopatra (played here with direct and provocative skill by an incredibly sexy Claudette Colbert), turns her attentions upon new Roman leader, Marc Anthony (Henry Wilcoxon). Here she seduces him, in the selfish means of power, rule, and conquest (that's not sexual conquest, but the acquisition of land). As the politics of war and the people of Rome become increasingly frustrated with their rulers, Cleopatra is forced to make decisions on the future of their relationship - one that progressively becomes a passionate one.

This is Cecil B. DeMille at his most extravagant and lavish. The sets and costumes scream class, sophistication, and expense. At a time of deep depression, the poor majority of the country, would flock to see these ever-more-expensive productions as escapism, and DeMille would always deliver. Whilst not as "epic" as many other productions, this is the finest film adaptation of the story (in my opinion) - certainly superior to the studio-bankrupting Joseph L. Mankiewicz 1963 version, where Elizabeth Taylor's stupidly self-obsessed demands lead to it being one of the worst catastrophes in Hollywood history. Of course, like the Shakespearean tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, Anthony and Cleopatra, would famously take their own lives - she poisoning herself with a snake bite.


Directed by: Cecil B. DeMille
Starring: Claudette Colbert, Warren William, Henry Wilcoxon, Joseph Schildkraut
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Marc Ivamy