the desert on high-heeled shoes. But Iâm getting ahead of my story. Weâre still with The Blue Angel. In this film von Sternberg used the main spotlight to give greater prominence to the roundness of my face. No hollow cheeks in The Blue Angel.
For that purpose the main spotlight was placed very low and far away from me. The secret face with the hollow cheeks was achieved as a result of placing the main spotlight close to my face and high above it. That sounds quite simple, right? And when pupils (or professional colleagues) stormed the set to measure the distance and the height of the main spotlight, von Sternberg would shift the mounting and say: âPut your measuring tapes away, boys. I can light Mrs. Dietrich just as well with any other tried and true technique.â He couldnât for the life of him restrain himselffrom making biting remarks. Nobody could âmeasureâ his artistic gift either in inches or centimeters.
In my favorite film, The Spanish Dancer (the awful English title The Devil Is a Woman was forced on him by the producers), von Sternberg sent the team out for a lunch break earlier than usual. By the time we came back he had dusted white the entire woods through which I was to drive with a cart. Nothing is worse than green when youâre shooting in black and white. But since the action was taking place in the woods, the trees that had been placed in studio 13 were, of course, green, at least at first. On the screen they looked as though they had come out of a fairy tale, and I, sitting in the cart dressed in white, looked just like a fay. And how do you think von Sternberg attired the man I met in the white-dusted woods? He had him wear a black suit and placed a black sombrero on his black hair. Black and white. There were no color films at that time, but even today black and white remain unmatched as a form. It is strikingly suitable to certain films. Color beautifies everything. Photograph a garbage dump in color and it will look clean, orderly, glossy.
If von Sternberg had filmed in color, the result would certainly have been the ne plus ultra of good taste, clever effects and radiant beauty. Many may remember The Devil Is a Woman, the last film he made with me, as shot in color. This, of course, was not the case, but the images it created are so rich in light, shadows and halftones that one easily thinks itâs in color.
While the filming of The Blue Angel was in full swing, von Sternberg brought an American to the studioâB. P Schulberg, the general manager of Paramount Studios. He offered me a seven-year contract in Hollywood. âI wouldnât like to go away,â I answered very politely. âI would like to stay here with my family.â He was just as polite and then disappeared again. Von Sternberg had made him come over from America to show him some scenes from the film.
But since I had no intention of changing my mind and the shooting period for The Blue Angel was over, we all said good-bye to one another. Von Sternberg returned to America long before I myself traveled there and long before the filmâs premiere. Each member of the cast went his or her own way, continued, as best as possible, his or her career, and mourned the absence of von Sternbergâs direction, of his authority, of his dynamics, of his friendliness, and of his magic whose divine and demonic powers he had let us glimpse without ever causing us any offense.
As I was writing these pages, I had the opportunity to see The Blue Angel in the original German version on TV. I had not expected to meet a first-rate actress in a difficult, brazen, at times tender role, a natural, relaxed actress who awakens a complex person to life, a personality that was not mine. I donât know how von Sternberg worked this miracle. Genius, I assume! In its ordinariness, the character of Lola reflected superbly the mentality of ordinary people.
I must confess I was very impressed by the
For that purpose the main spotlight was placed very low and far away from me. The secret face with the hollow cheeks was achieved as a result of placing the main spotlight close to my face and high above it. That sounds quite simple, right? And when pupils (or professional colleagues) stormed the set to measure the distance and the height of the main spotlight, von Sternberg would shift the mounting and say: âPut your measuring tapes away, boys. I can light Mrs. Dietrich just as well with any other tried and true technique.â He couldnât for the life of him restrain himselffrom making biting remarks. Nobody could âmeasureâ his artistic gift either in inches or centimeters.
In my favorite film, The Spanish Dancer (the awful English title The Devil Is a Woman was forced on him by the producers), von Sternberg sent the team out for a lunch break earlier than usual. By the time we came back he had dusted white the entire woods through which I was to drive with a cart. Nothing is worse than green when youâre shooting in black and white. But since the action was taking place in the woods, the trees that had been placed in studio 13 were, of course, green, at least at first. On the screen they looked as though they had come out of a fairy tale, and I, sitting in the cart dressed in white, looked just like a fay. And how do you think von Sternberg attired the man I met in the white-dusted woods? He had him wear a black suit and placed a black sombrero on his black hair. Black and white. There were no color films at that time, but even today black and white remain unmatched as a form. It is strikingly suitable to certain films. Color beautifies everything. Photograph a garbage dump in color and it will look clean, orderly, glossy.
If von Sternberg had filmed in color, the result would certainly have been the ne plus ultra of good taste, clever effects and radiant beauty. Many may remember The Devil Is a Woman, the last film he made with me, as shot in color. This, of course, was not the case, but the images it created are so rich in light, shadows and halftones that one easily thinks itâs in color.
While the filming of The Blue Angel was in full swing, von Sternberg brought an American to the studioâB. P Schulberg, the general manager of Paramount Studios. He offered me a seven-year contract in Hollywood. âI wouldnât like to go away,â I answered very politely. âI would like to stay here with my family.â He was just as polite and then disappeared again. Von Sternberg had made him come over from America to show him some scenes from the film.
But since I had no intention of changing my mind and the shooting period for The Blue Angel was over, we all said good-bye to one another. Von Sternberg returned to America long before I myself traveled there and long before the filmâs premiere. Each member of the cast went his or her own way, continued, as best as possible, his or her career, and mourned the absence of von Sternbergâs direction, of his authority, of his dynamics, of his friendliness, and of his magic whose divine and demonic powers he had let us glimpse without ever causing us any offense.
As I was writing these pages, I had the opportunity to see The Blue Angel in the original German version on TV. I had not expected to meet a first-rate actress in a difficult, brazen, at times tender role, a natural, relaxed actress who awakens a complex person to life, a personality that was not mine. I donât know how von Sternberg worked this miracle. Genius, I assume! In its ordinariness, the character of Lola reflected superbly the mentality of ordinary people.
I must confess I was very impressed by the
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