random DVD review: The Wonderful, Horrible Life of Leni Riefenstahl

During her life, Leni Riefenstahl was a technically skilled dancer, a beautiful woman, an astoundingly accomplished mountain climber, a courageous adventurer, an admired and popular actress, a highly respected photographer, and a filmmaker who was groundbreaking both in her cinematic innovations, and in the fact that she had a respected career back when female filmmakers were almost unheard of. In the interview segments of The Wonderful, Horrible Life of Leni Riefenstahl, she exhibits an obvious  but unarrogant pride in each and every one of these accomplishments. If her life could have been summarized by that list of achievements and nothing else, it could have been a fascinating subject for a documentary

That she was also a personal friend of Adolf Hitler, and that she almost single-handedly created by far the most infamous and powerful work of Nazi propaganda that the world has ever known . . . well, these facts change the dynamic of the entire story.

Riefenstahl insists that she knew nothing of Nazi politics or plans for genocide, and that her propaganda films were not expressions of her own feelings, but merely works for hire about subjects she cared and knew nothing about. But her credibility is strained when director Ray Muller catches her in a few bald-faced lies. When asked about her social association with Joseph Goebbels, for example, Riefenstahl, who up to that point has been exhibiting a great deal of charm as an interviewee, suddenly throws a tantrum. She denies not only knowing Goebbels socially, but also, oddly, the objective fact that Goebbels's private diaries even mention social occasions with the two of them together.

"There's nothing in the diaries that say that!" she insists.

"Would you like me to show the entries to you?" Muller asks. His tone is non-accusatory, and, if anything, he seems to be trying to give Riefenstahl an opportunity to respond to Goebbels's claims. But, bizarrely, Riefenstahl instead continues to insist that the diaries don't even mention her. As Muller later points out to the viewer, the diary entries are pretty unambiguous.

This is not the first sudden tantrum Riefenstahl throws in this movie. Earlier, in an even more petty moment, Muller asks her to reminisce as she walks across a film studio floor. Riefenstahl objects that she can't walk and talk at the same time. Note that she's not referring to her advanced age. Her peculiar argument is that no one could possibly be expected to walk and talk at the same time; it just can't be done, she insists. Apparently, she would consider the "walk and talk" segments of The West Wing to be accomplished purely by special effects, or perhaps, that the performers in that show are not mere humans, but somehow supernatural in their ability to accomplish both walking and talking at the same time.

She later throws a third tantrum when Muller brings up Victory of Faith, her first notable Nazi propaganda film. She suddenly grows furious. Victory of Faith was an artistic frustration, while her follow-up, the similarly themed Triumph of the Will, is widely considered to be her masterpiece. So, naturally, she'd rather discuss the latter film. Muller tries to explain that he wants to discuss the earlier movie in order to provide some context for the latter accomplishment, but Riefenstahl is beyond reason. She shouts, she makes nonsensical claims about what is and isn't possible, -- "you can't discuss both of them!" she cries out, as if mentioning one topic of conversation forever prevents any further topics from being raised.

Indeed, her claims in each of these tantrums are so bizarre that you almost wonder if, in her old age, Riefenstahl suffers from some sort of intermittent dementia -- until you consider the self-serving nature of each of her ludicrous claims, and you realize that her breaks with reality serve as suspiciously convenient defense mechanisms.

Think about it. Riefenstahl is peaceful enough when Muller wishes to discuss her brilliance as a director, but as soon as Muller himself comes up with a filmmaking touch that's more dynamic than a mere talking head, Riefenstahl claims that one can't walk and talk at the same time. When Muller politely but directly asks her about the social nature of her association with the infamous Goebbels, Riefenstahl, who has ferociously clung to the claim that she was never privy to the Nazi inner circle, falls back on denial and refuses to budge even when confronted with historical evidence. And, most tellingly, her ridiculous claim that you can't possibly discuss two different topics in one documentary just happens to come up in a context where she would love to discuss her masterpiece at length, but would rather that her other movie on the same topic, widely considered to be a comparative failure, remains conveniently forgotten.

And yet forgetting is something that Riefenstahl, for better or worse, seems unable to do. When discussing her series of mountain-climbing films -- at the time, considered to be a genre unto themselves -- she not only tells amazingly detailed stories, but she is even able to lead Muller to the exact mountain where each movie was made. She points out the exact spots where anecdotes of events that occurred over 70 years earlier took place. She remembers names, incidents, and exact chronology with astounding detail. This does not seem like a sincerely confused woman.

Aside from the isolated moments when she suddenly goes into hissy-fits, Riefenstahl is an exceptionally good interview subject. Her years of filmmaking, even if long behind her, have clearly refined her ability to tell a good story. But it's more than that. There is an extended segment in which she discusses the artistic strengths of her various silent film collaborators, and her praise strikes a perfect balance of objective analysis and subjective admiration and gratitude. Most importantly for a documentary, Riefenstahl is an excellent explainer; she is able to discuss artistic decisions without sounding self-indulgent, cinematic innovations without sinking into a morass of technical terminology, and the thrills of mountain climbing so convincingly that I finally, finally understand (as much as any non-climber can) the sport's appeal.

In short, Riefenstahl mostly comes across as a charming, eloquent, and insightful woman. You almost want to sympathize with her when she uses a mixture of otherwise shameful tactics -- denial, dishonesty, and a particularly manipulative form of subjective interpretation -- to distance herself from the horrors of the Nazi Party. I mean, who wouldn't want to distance themselves from Goebbels and Hitler. The obvious difference is that most of us don't have to struggle to do so. I have no doubt that Riefenstahl is telling the complete truth when she points out that she was never directly involved in the Holocaust or the war, nor was she ever directly involved in the decision-making processes that led to either of those horrors. But -- and here is the moral point that Riefenstahl herself seems largely unaware of -- she is still guilty of perpetuating the fanaticism that made those horrors possible. If only Riefenstahl could be defined by her earlier accomplishments, her life would have been wonderful indeed. That it also was a horrible life -- in moral consequence and context -- is a fact that seems to be disputed only by Leni Riefenstahl herself.