Saturday, December 2, 2023

BLONDE VENUS (Josef von Sternberg, 1932)


Ned Faraday needs to go faraway to cure his Radium poisoning, a separation from his wife Helen and child that contributes to her own travelogue. Josef von Sternberg and DP Bert Glennon shoot this film with beautiful shadows, slow-dissolving transitions, and well-paced tracking shots. They capture the opening sequence in candid Pre-Code glory, as six princesses cavort naked in a pond, glistening alabaster skin revealing pubic shadows or the sliver of a breast, until Marlene Dietrich swims towards the camera in medium close-up, berating the seven voyeuristic men, one of whom becomes her husband. The odd man out is Sterling Holloway in a brief and uncredited role! When Dietrich performs, they often frame her in medium long shot with flowers and plants foregrounding the action, so we see her interact with the crowd and environment. Many other Directors would frame the singing lead actress in medium close-up and pull focus on her, so she dominates the screen. Dietrich does dominate the screen, not by close-up but by her very personality! There is also a great match-cut/jump-cut as Dietrich swims away in the opening scene, legs kicking the water, and von Sternberg matches this with tiny legs kicking in a bathtub! A creative way to forward the plot in time and place and allow the audience to glean information without talky exposition. 

The melodramatic plot seems an unlikely story for Marlene Dietrich who, like Garbo, seems more than merely human, an archetype of feminist womanhood: it’s strange to see her in an impoverished apartment and playing housewife to her husband’s career. It’s when the story projects her into the cabaret, whether it be in a gorilla suite or top hat and tails, this is when she finally comes alive, full of a fierce independence from patriarchal authority. This story seems better fit for Barbara Stanwyck and her blue-collar beauty and solid right hook! Helen (Marlene Dietrich) marries Ned after a one-night stand and pregnancy (hence little Johnny). This is implied in the bedtime story that has become Johnny’s favorite fairy-tale and which bookends the couples story arc. Ned is a poor chemist who needs $1,500 to travel to Europe as his life is soon going to be half-life, just as he’s on the verge of a discovery that will make them wealthy. Helen decides she must earn the money by taking to the stage once again, and while her husband is away, she hooks up with Carey Grant and becomes known as the Blonde Venus (gorilla suite and all). It all goes to Hell and when Ned, now cured, threatens to take full custody of the child, she absconds with Johnny. Though there is no doubt of Helen’s love for her child, there is little indication of her love for Ned. He’s presented as a decent enough guy with his major flaw being a voyeur (I suppose), but they seem cold together as if Helen loves the ideal of him rather than the man. Even her relationship with Carey Grant seems tepid, based more on financial deed than emotional need. But her love for her child and the way she interacts with him is priceless. I wonder if Johnny grew up with all sorts of oedipal issues? 

Final Grade: (B+)