Liebelei

A wonderful picture that shows how early in his career Ophuls mastered melodrama. As melodrama indicates, it's drama with music, and from the start Ophuls sets in motion an operistic, artificial mood. Every performance is self-conscious, aware of being representing; all sets are shown thoroughly, characters leave the scene and the camera remains a few seconds in the empty decor; even the way the snows falls from the sky appears to be fake. Still the film has an admirable freshness and engages the audience in an almost hypnotic trip, to which Ophuls' floating camera and his modern, dramatic use of the score contribute big time. Max Ophuls can be paralleled with Douglas Sirk as a director that purposely breaks up with any trace of reality in order to convey a truth that is purely cinematic.

The camera of Franz Planer follows the protagonists in long tracking shots, observes precisely the development of an affection and later deep love between Fritz (Wolfgang Liebeneiner) and Christine (Magda Schneider) during the nightly walk through the sleeping city and their endless swings of waltzing through the empty coffee bar. It is also great how Ophüls exemplarily trusts in the viewer's imagination to make things visible. The couple has forgotten the world around them, being only close together, overwhelmed by the feelings, which suddenly arise in them. The slow waltz resembles a soft hug, but the melancholy in this dance is perceptible and especially Fritz, who has a secret tête-à-tête with a bored baroness, seems to fear, that the love for Christine might not have a happy ending.

And last but not least some words about Gustaf Gründgens who plays the cheated baron: In the scenes, he is acting mainly only with looks, with stringent, frigid looks, that whoosh across the room like bullets. The precision of his performance is masterful and probably the best in this film.

I caught this film years back at the Cinematheque in Paris and was finally able to chase down a copy. This film works beautifully on so many levels it's hard to know where to begin or what to include. It is a class study in turn-of-the-century Vienna with a love affair that transcends some but not all of the social barriers. There are misunderstandings a la Schnitzler in the rigid system and the now absurd dueling scene with its "male honor" at stake. But the camera is constantly on the prowl, weaving in and out and omitting at times as much as it shows, Ophuls visual addition. The sleigh-ride sequence is exactly as I remembered it and justifiably famous. My copy is missing all the Jewish credits at the beginning.

Curtis Stotlar

Concerning Spaces, Ophuls' film is mainly focused upon camera movement. Some of the longer shots are especially remarkable. For example, in the scene when the Baron comes home for the first time and the lieutenant has great luck that he had left and hides behind a column from the Baron, who suspiciously and hesitatingly walks up the stairways, a circular shot is used. This same circular shot is repeated again in a later scene when the Baron runs up the stairway when he wants to condemn his wife. Shots like this always have significance in Ophuls' films. The reason for the Baron's special movement on his way upstairs, and the fact that his wife was deceiving him, was the same in both scenes, although he did not yet know the truth in the first scene. In the second scene, he knows for certain and is therefore running with all of his might, fueled with hate and anger.

Ophuls films contain a myriad of details that one would not recognize when seeing the film just once. In the first scene, the opera scene, one might find the film-technique of 'enunciation.' Before the performance starts, one can see an eye-pair hiding behind a mask in the wall, followed by long shots over the auditorium. This makes the spectator feel that this masked figure, which is actually the opera director, is the camera and the enunciator, and therefore is identified with him. A remarkable long shot is also present in the gorgeous love scene of Christl and Fritz, as they glide in a sleigh through the snow-covered wood in the winter-landscape. As they talk about eternity, variation is created with some full shots of the couple. The same feeling is transmitted in the last scene, after Christl's death, where one can only see the marvelous picture of the snow-covered trees and only hear the off text saying: 'I swear that I love you. for all eternity', on that place where happiness once seemed to be assured. It makes the spectator re-live the first scene and be aware of the dramatic fact, that all of these beautiful feelings are gone, and in addition, Christl passed away believing that Fritz had cheated her the entire time. On the surface, Liebelei seems to be a really nice love story about two people meeting and fancying each other, but due to circumstances outside of their relationship, the love story ends in tragedy. But the main idea of the film is about something deeper. Arthur Schnitzler, who wrote 'Liebelei,' enjoyed great success with this theatre-play. Schnitzler's work was sometimes seen as another 'bourgeois sorry affair' (ger. Bürgerliches Trauerspiel), which always has the main theme of a love affair between people of different social classes. Although Vienna had very rigid rules in 1900 and Fritz is obviously from a higher class than Christl, this was not the main focus of the story. The actual theme is timeless and universal: misplaced male honor. The duel in the end was just the tip of the iceberg. It was a common occurrence, especially among officers, to fight a duel whenever this 'honor' was damaged, even though it has always been illegal, of course. Theo, the victim's best friend tries to change the course of destiny as he goes to his superior, the colonel. This is the scene where you see the conflict between two worlds colliding. On the one hand you have the militarily strict world, but on the other hand, there exists a humane world. In the humane perspective, humans can err, can love, and also forgive. The Baron's position is clear. Everyone expects him to act in a certain way in this situation. Despite this, the Baron is the evilest in having misplaced honor. Theo is the one caught in the middle, the only one who understands this madness, and this position is the reason for his desperation.

Gestures are often seen in Ophuls' film as well, where he tries to replace words by body movement, gestures, faces, camera movement, lightning, etc. For example, there was never a cigarette smoked as by Gustav Gründgens (the Baron), concentrating all his hate and anger in his smoking.

One of the obviously greatest sequences is the final one, where Theo (Eichberger), Mizzi (Ullrich) and Christl's father (Hörbiger) sit opposite of Christl (Schneider) at the entrance of her chamber and try to tell her about her lover's (Liebeneiner) death. The Camera is mainly on Christl showing in a long extreme close up her realization about what has happened. She doubts that Fritz ever loved her since he lost his life on a duel over another woman. Her face shows pure desolation and desperation as she stammers out her thoughts. One must have a heart of stone to not shed some tears or at least have a lump in the throat when seeing this scene, which wouldn't have had half of this effect if it were filmed from a medium long shot perspective.

See synopsis above as well

This is Max Ophul's fifth film, his first major success and the first to characterise his inimitable style. The use of Mozart and Beethoven is appropriate here as this film is more classical than his later baroque masterpieces whilst the theme of love as a vicious circle is one that he was to develop to such masterly effect.

Less ironic and more romantic than Schnitzler's original, it also casts a critical eye on the military mentality and Theo's impassioned 'Any shot that is not fired in self defense is murder' would have been sure to rattle a few cages in the Germany of 1933. The director, his art designer and cinematographer have skilfully recreated Imperial Vienna and Ophuls had to wait fifteen years before revisiting the city built on the backlot of Universal for 'Letter from an unknown Woman' which holds the unique distinction of being the only film made in Hollywoodland that is completely European!

A fascinating cast includes some whose careers were to thrive under the Third Reich but whether the adherence of Wolfgang Liebeneiner and Gustaf Gruendgens in particular was genuine or based on sheer opportunism is debatable. Leibeneiner directed the notorious 'Ich Klage an', which promoted the T4 Euthanasia Programme but redeemed himself by later making 'Liebe '47' which showed how 'good people' had been conned by Nazi ideology. The life and career of the classy and mysterious Olga Tschechowa would make a film in itself!

The role of Christine had been played on stage by the superlative Paula Wessely but she was not considered photogenic enough. Ophuls has elicited a magnificent performance from the enchanting Magda Schneider whose utter desolation in her final two minute close-up is one of the most moving on film and years ahead of its time. The remake from 1960 reminds us that Romy Schneider inherited her mother's capacity to tug at the heartstrings.

Ophuls and his family had already fled Germany before the premiere in Berlin with both his name and that of Schnitzler's missing from the titles and the film was subsequently banned by the Allied Commission. Despite these setbacks its brilliance still shone through and in the director's words, " The film was born under a lucky star."