Restored to its original form for the first time since 1955, "Lola Montes" made an immediate impression on critics' circles nationwide after its screening at this year's New York Film Festival and for good reason: Max Ophuls' largely forgotten swan song is a work of art rooted in old-fashioned Romanticism, yet at the same time crafted with such cinematic power that its content and characterizations have barely aged.
Directed by Ophuls and starring French actress Martine Carol in the leading role, "Lola Montes" is equal parts classical melodrama and groundbreaking cinematic exercise. Ophuls' camera glides effortlessly through the air, introducing us to the film's setting in grandiose fashion. As the circus sets the tone of artifice, flashbacks begin to act as the primary storytelling device: As the ringmaster (Peter Ustinov) promises "the most sensational act of the century," costumed performers take the stage to reenact the life of Lola Montes, the Irish-born dancer who set out to conquer the hearts of men.
The film's depiction of Lola's brief tryst with renowned composer Franz Liszt is more or less true to history. So is her well-documented seduction of King Ludwig I of Bavaria, a relationship that eventually led to the latter's fall from grace and abdication in the midst of revolution. A telling conversation between the two affirms "Lola Montes" as a tragic character study: "You like my dancing?" Lola asks eagerly, her eyes lighting up. The King's blunt answer all but encapsulates Ophuls' flawed-heroine subtext: "Not at all," he says. "But you know how to trigger a scandal, excite an audience. And that is the most important thing." Though the film feels significantly slow-paced for its two-hour running time, it is no short on content. Breaking away from conventional narrative structure is nothing new to Ophuls, and it is seen here in "Lola Montes" to an astonishing degree. Between the elegance of the flashback sequences and the squalidness of the circus, the film hints at the transient nature of time, blurring the distinction between memory and reality. The cyclical nature of the film reveals itself as Lola's relationships blossom as quickly as they deteriorate. In "Lola Montes", Ophuls presents the heroine as a woman to be reckoned with, a persona that in the end brings her both pleasure and despair.
Yet there is still more about "Lola Montes" than what meets the eye. It is a director's film in the truest sense, and any evaluation of it should be taken in the light of the history of the medium itself. Ophuls himself alternated between a celebrated career and relative obscurity; though his cinematic contemporaries held "Lola Montes" in high regard, filmgoers at the time shunned it for what they perceived as a hollow and artificial attempt at commercial movie-making. Tellingly, both Ophuls and his subject are now more remembered for the dizzying heights they once reached than for the missteps that led to their intermittent downfalls.
But no matter: scaling heights means next to nothing for femme fatales like Lola. In a key sequence near the end of the film, our heroine stands breathless at the top of the circus beams, her eyes vacant, devoid of seduction, starving for attention. As part of the final aerial act, Lola prepares to take a dangerous leap of faith. Will she accept the protective net underneath or risk her own safety by falling freely into a void of uncertainty, where life and death are equated by chance? The audience holds its breath for her response, but she leaves them hanging. What other choice, besides the riskier alternative, would one expect from Lola Montes?
Directed by Ophuls and starring French actress Martine Carol in the leading role, "Lola Montes" is equal parts classical melodrama and groundbreaking cinematic exercise. Ophuls' camera glides effortlessly through the air, introducing us to the film's setting in grandiose fashion. As the circus sets the tone of artifice, flashbacks begin to act as the primary storytelling device: As the ringmaster (Peter Ustinov) promises "the most sensational act of the century," costumed performers take the stage to reenact the life of Lola Montes, the Irish-born dancer who set out to conquer the hearts of men.
The film's depiction of Lola's brief tryst with renowned composer Franz Liszt is more or less true to history. So is her well-documented seduction of King Ludwig I of Bavaria, a relationship that eventually led to the latter's fall from grace and abdication in the midst of revolution. A telling conversation between the two affirms "Lola Montes" as a tragic character study: "You like my dancing?" Lola asks eagerly, her eyes lighting up. The King's blunt answer all but encapsulates Ophuls' flawed-heroine subtext: "Not at all," he says. "But you know how to trigger a scandal, excite an audience. And that is the most important thing." Though the film feels significantly slow-paced for its two-hour running time, it is no short on content. Breaking away from conventional narrative structure is nothing new to Ophuls, and it is seen here in "Lola Montes" to an astonishing degree. Between the elegance of the flashback sequences and the squalidness of the circus, the film hints at the transient nature of time, blurring the distinction between memory and reality. The cyclical nature of the film reveals itself as Lola's relationships blossom as quickly as they deteriorate. In "Lola Montes", Ophuls presents the heroine as a woman to be reckoned with, a persona that in the end brings her both pleasure and despair.
Yet there is still more about "Lola Montes" than what meets the eye. It is a director's film in the truest sense, and any evaluation of it should be taken in the light of the history of the medium itself. Ophuls himself alternated between a celebrated career and relative obscurity; though his cinematic contemporaries held "Lola Montes" in high regard, filmgoers at the time shunned it for what they perceived as a hollow and artificial attempt at commercial movie-making. Tellingly, both Ophuls and his subject are now more remembered for the dizzying heights they once reached than for the missteps that led to their intermittent downfalls.
But no matter: scaling heights means next to nothing for femme fatales like Lola. In a key sequence near the end of the film, our heroine stands breathless at the top of the circus beams, her eyes vacant, devoid of seduction, starving for attention. As part of the final aerial act, Lola prepares to take a dangerous leap of faith. Will she accept the protective net underneath or risk her own safety by falling freely into a void of uncertainty, where life and death are equated by chance? The audience holds its breath for her response, but she leaves them hanging. What other choice, besides the riskier alternative, would one expect from Lola Montes?