Kristin Thompson,
Herr Lubitsch goes to Hollywood. German and American film after World War 1.
Amsterdam University Press, 2005.
ISBN: 90 5356 708 9
154pp
US$33.25 (pb)
(Review copy supplied by Amsterdam University Press)

Bigger than Rin-Tin-Tin

Kristin Thompson’s new book on the films Lubitsch made in Germany and in Hollywood between 1918 and 1927 is exhaustive. She presents a barrage of information regarding production practices and stylistic norms in both the German and US film industries, together with a number of wry asides. She reveals, for instance, that in July 1923 when Warner Bros. was negotiating with Lubitsch, the company acquired Rin-Tin-Tin, the canine star of three films for other studios. Thompson quips, “the dog became [Warner Bros.’] … most lucrative star. Lubitsch was a more prestigious acquisition ….” [26]

Thompson has several concerns in this rigorous and meticulous study. She asks “what can this master tell us about the mutual influences of two great national cinemas?” – Germany and Hollywood, and proceeds with a systematic account of those influences. Her second concern is to identify “the major differences between the norms of stylistic practices” in each country (12). The author also examines the ways in which technological developments in camera and lighting equipment, studio facilities and production techniques influenced filmmaking.

Her analysis of differences in mise-en-scène in popular US and German films is broken down into generously illustrated chapters. The intricacies of lighting are discussed in “Making the Light Come from the Story.” Techniques and effects of set design in each of these post-war national cinemas are examined in the exemplary chapter “Subduing the Cluttered Background,” whereas editing and acting are scrutinised in the chapters “Guiding the Viewer’s Attention” and “Peeking at the Players.”
One of the central focuses of the book is on how Lubitsch’s filmmaking style changed when he went to the US in 1922, and in particular how he assimilated the system of classical narration and continuity editing. Thompson also accounts for the impact Lubitsch’s films had on other directors back in Germany in the 1920s, when he mastered these conventions. Considerable attention is devoted to presenting close textual analyses of various shots and scenes from Lubitsch’s films. Yet the author’s scholarship surpasses the orthodoxies of authorial or formalist analysis. Texts are examined within the context of their production. Critical reception, reports in the trade press, aspects of distribution, including imports and bans, technological advances, shifts in production and post-production strategies, and widespread misconceptions about German film history of the period are all addressed with adroit precision throughout Herr Lubitsch goes to Hollywood.

Thompson correlates the stylistic norms of film in each country and the availability of technical resources. The author examines the ways production strategies differed in both countries: there was a far greater division of labour in Hollywood studios than German, (54) fragmenting aspects of production and post-production. In the US, from the mid 1910s on, studios had separate editors, who often had assistants. (71) Yet Lubitsch maintained control, even in Hollywood. He “was clearly committed to editing his films himself …. Even into the sound era ….” (72) Editing was a matter of precision and forethought for Lubitsch. “He prepare[d] every detail and arrive[d] on the set with a complete conception of the film in his head …” (89) including the sequence of images long before footage went to the editing room.

Thompson succeeds in integrating stylistics and technological developments in her study. For instance, in examining different approaches to lighting in German and US studios in the late 1910 and early 1920s, she notes that the German system lacked the finesse of the classical three point lighting system. The German convention involved “diffuse unidirectional lighting and editing that did not include continuity guidelines like consistent screen direction.” As Thompson explains, in the US, films were shot in dark studios and illumination was artificial, whereas in Germany studios had glass walls and the flat frontal illumination of sets was provided by sunlight. (33) “The notion of placing lamps on the top of the set to create back-lighting seems not … to have occurred to the Germans.” (43) As one critic remarked, actors looked “stuck to the set,” and the shadows they cast on interiors were conspicuous because of the use of V-pattern lighting set-ups where a pair of lights were placed on the left and right of the set, (49) often masked by drapery, architectural framing or a doorway. Not only was the conventional German approach to lighting less sophisticated, they did not always have the lighting equipment commonly used in US studios, and inflation rates made it especially difficult to import and access spare parts.

Yet Lubitsch had access to what was then state-of-the art equipment and studio facilities in the US. He was using “up-to-date metal Bell and Howell … [cameras], even in Germany, when “the mostly old fashioned wooden cameras, including some Pathes, [were] the most commonly used … in Europe” (23). Thompson observes that Lubitsch “assimilated the Hollywood norms and set designs more quickly than he adopted continuity practice ….” (73) In examining the intricacies of set design, lighting and editing in Lubitsch’s films, Thompson sees the filmmaker “as both an emblem and a conduit for … [American stylistic influences]” (31).

In chapter two, Thompson’s explication of the continuity system and three point lighting is nothing short of scrupulous, and would make excellent reading for any film production student. Considerable attention is given to divergent approaches to lighting in American and German films: “Few, if any German filmmakers took to the American-style lighting as quickly as Lubitsch did, and his transitional films seem to have been held up as models to be emulated” in Germany. (49) Thomson designates Das Weib des Pharaos (Germany 1922), “with its heavy dependence on back-lighting” as marking his initial mastery of the American lighting style. (48) This aesthetic only became more widespread a few years later among other German directors (52).

The chapter on set design is one of the most illuminating in the book. Thompson analyses the differences between approaches to sets in the US and German studios as they evolved throughout the late 1910s through until the late 1920s. She observes that after World War 1, German productions favoured elaborate combinations of furniture, bric-a-brac and above all densely patterned wall paper, resulting in cluttered compositions (57). By contrast, Hollywood sets were frequently expected to be unobtrusive and not detract from the actors and the narrative (55).

Thompson substantiates her observations with direct and extensive reference to Madam Dubarry (Germany 1919). She explains that the film’s rich and elaborate interiors “overrun the narrative functions in ways that Hollywood practice would by this point tend to discourage,” adding the qualification that “spectacle [still] continued to be valued in American filmmaking, as long as a strong narrative motivated its use.” (61-62)

Lady Windemere’s Fan (US 1925) is designated as the film in which Lubitsch mastered continuity editing. By the time he made this film “it seems safe to say that Lubitsch had nothing more to learn from Hollywood, but Hollywood could still learn from a filmmaker who had arrived less than three years earlier” (89). By contrast other German directors were slower to assimilate and put into practice continuity editing. They tended to stage action in depth and use a pantomime style of acting, which tended to make many of their films look old-fashioned when compared to Hollywood films made in the late 1910s and early 1920s. “German directors simply cut less often than their German peers.” In German films of the period “the cutting is often not tailored as closely to the narrative action as it is in Hollywood …. German films often contained numerous mismatches” (73).

Thompson also includes a comprehensive analysis of the set design in Lady Windemere’s Fan, punctuating it with humorous asides. She comments on Lubitsch’s penchant for “tall sets” in this film and others. High ceilings, massive doors and ubiquitous chandeliers were used to designate opulence, prestige and an upper-class milieu. The author elaborates: “As with most of the rooms in this film, the walls consist of plain panelling, and the walls contain few hangings or other decorations. (Do people this wealthy own no paintings?)” (66).

The author takes delight in the use of architectural detail in interior sets, noting with restraint, the “doors are hardly practical,” drawing attention to the way in which Lady Windermere has to struggle with her sitting room door to exit a scene. As one critic commented at the time of the film’s release, “Lady Windermere in more than one scene looks so small that the door knob is on level with her head” (66).

Importantly, Thompson contests a fair few assumptions that surround this period of film history – assumptions that have been in wide circulation for some time. These include the hypothesis that German Expressionism and neue Sachlichkeit were the prevalent trends in German filmmaking in the early 1920s. The author observes that these “were minor strains of distinctly German cinema within a prolific national industry that increasingly imitated its successful American rival” (107).

Thompson also questions the assertion that German filmmakers working in the US had an indelible impact on filmmaking there, arguing that the “norms of stylistic practice” in the US were far more influential in Germany. Most German film was Americanized by 1925. “Few of Lubitsch’s fellow countrymen ever came to Hollywood. Historians tend to exaggerate the supposed exodus of talent from Germany” (107). Thompson reasons “that Lubitsch was simply the first and best of the German directors to integrate Hollywood influences into his films” (109).

Although Thompson argues that German filmmakers’ influence on Hollywood film during the 1920s has been overrated, she does concede that a number of German techniques were adopted by filmmakers in the US. These include the entfesselte kamera, literally an unfastened camera that can move through the air. This camera technique can be seen occasionally in Hollywood films from 1926 on, Thompson observes (120). She also remarks that aspects of German set design, in particular the use of miniatures and forced perspective, were used by US filmmakers around this time.

But perhaps one of her most startling assertions relates to Hollywood filmmakers’ introduction to montage. Despite the term being commonly associated with Soviet cinema, Thompson reasons that the initial influence of montage sequences came from Germany and that Lubitsch was instrumental in introducing the technique to the US. (121). She elaborates that montage sequences “appear in German and American films before filmmakers in those countries could have seen the first works of the Soviet movement” (123).

Herr Lubitsch goes to Hollywood is an illuminating study of the “filmmakers’ filmmaker,” his influence and place in history. Thompson provides an engaging account of two great national cinemas, one of which has never recovered from the might of the other.

Leonie Naughton
Australia.

Created on: Friday, 10 November 2006