The Smiling Lieutenant is such a frothy confection of a movie. It stars Maurice Chevalier, Claudette Colbert, and Miriam Hopkins, all thrown into one of Ernst Lubitch's sparking love-triangles.
Plot
The Smiling Lieutenant tells the story of Lt. Niki and his romantic (mis)adventures in old Vienna. He meets Franzi, leader of an all-girl orchestra called the Viennese Swallows. Niki promptly charms the nimble-fingered violinist, and the two begin a love affair.
Meanwhile, the King and Princess Anna of Flausenthurm are visiting their cousin, the Emperor (presumably of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire) in Vienna. During the parade in their honor, Niki winks at Franzi from across the street. Unfortunately, Anna mistakenly intercepts this wink, and takes offense (the royalty of Flausenthurm are a huffy lot).
To avoid what threatens to become an international incident, Niki pretends that his wink was meant for Anna -- because he was overcome with her beauty. When she asks what a wink means, Nikki explains, “When we like someone, we smile. But when we want to do something about it, we wink.” Anna is smitten. Before Niki knows it, the Emperor himself commands the marriage, and our flirtatious lieutenant must comply.
A wedding is one thing, but consummating a forced marriage is another, especially when the bride is less than alluring. It's quite a feat of costume and hair design to make Miriam Hopkins frumpy without actually making her ugly.
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| That hairstyle is terrible for her face, even when she isn't sobbing. |
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| Subtle, guys. |
Despite this ceremonial blessing, the wedding night does not go as Anna had hoped. Niki bids her goodnight, and then proceeds to use logic and Anna's own propriety against her. In desperation, she winks at him, causing him to admonish her that married people do wink, but not at each other. She sighs, and wonders what the use of getting married is. Niki utterly defeats her advances by cheerfully replying, “All the philosophers, for 3,000 years, have tried to find that out and they failed. And I don't think we'll solve that problem tonight. Good night.”
Niki soon discovers that the Vienna Swallows are performing in his new home of Flausenthurm, and he reunites with Franzi. When Anna finds out about his infidelity, she lures Franzi to the palace for a confrontation. The two trade barbs, engage in a wonderful slap-fight, sob uncontrollably, sing about underwear, and finally form an alliance to make Niki fall in love with Anna. The tune “Jazz up your lingerie” is a high point of this movie, as Franzi sings about the kind of sartorial music Anna should be making. Complete with makeover montage!
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| We watch pre-codes for the underwear. |
Once Anna is bobbed, styled, smoking, and “jazzed up,” Franzi takes her leave:
“Take care of our Niki.”
“I will.”
“Be good.”
“I won't.”
Niki is no match for Anna's new wiles, and he joyfully joins her in the marriage bed. Niki reprises the “ratata-tatatata” song from the beginning of the picture, celebrating his new-found love.
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| Who could resist? |
Music
The opening song, “Toujours l’amour in the Army,” is a keystone for the entire film, setting the stage for the final resolution and punchline. The chorus of “ratata-tatatata” is a familiar “call to arms” reveille.
A soldier’s work is never done
And though we never use a gun
We’re still on active service,
Though we’re through with fighting.
For when a lady takes the field,
She knows the guards will always yield
And every man deserves a medal every night.
...
We’re on parade each evening in the park
We are not afraid to skirmish in the dark
We’re famous near and far
For our “Rata-tatata-tata.”
Toujours l’amour in the army!
We give the girls a rata-ta tata-ta-ta
When we go out campaigning
And they give us a rata ta-ta-ta-ta-ta
And so we are not complaining
...
We’re the boudoir brigadiers
With a rata-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta
Toujours l’amour in the army
Rata-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta
Ta-ta!
It frames sex in a few different ways: as a sporting challenge for men, as part of the war of the sexes, and as a man’s duty in the boudoir. There's also a charming reciprocality in the song; women are not only enthusiastic participants, but also commanders able to issue their own “call to arms.”
Niki’s first tryst, before we even meet Franzi or Anna, fits this pattern. A blonde woman comes to his door, and when we see her depart, she looks well-satisfied with her experience. Then we cut to Maurice Chevalier as Niki, who is luxuriating in his silky robe, worn out from his efforts. Who won this battle? The implication is that they both won.
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| Divine decadence.... |
When Franzi and Niki first meet, they have a double entendre-laden exchange over making music together. She suggests a duet, and he responds lasciviously, “I love chamber music.” The scene cuts to the doorway to his apartment, where we hear strains of music that seem to be a coy indicator of a tryst within.
And behold – they actually are playing and singing together. It’s a delightful bait and switch joke: after setting up musical metaphors for sexual activity, Lubitsch leads us to the apartment to reveal… that they are literally making music
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| “Fooled ya!” |
Since musical entendres turn out to be a red herring, the conversational hints then turn to eating-as-sexual-intercourse. Niki asks if he will see Franzi again, and she suggests dinner the next day. But Niki is too “hungry” to wait 24 hours, and suggests breakfast instead. Franzi says “No, no. First tea… and then dinner… and then maybe… maybe breakfast.”
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| That's quite a sexy underbite you have there, Maurice. |
They kiss passionately before parting for the evening, and then... the camera cuts to eggs in a frying pan. Franzi is wearing last night's dress at breakfast, and it looks like immediate hunger won out. The morning duet between Niki and Franzi is silly and lovely.
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| Etymology side note: I spent a little time looking up the historic use of “muff” or “muffin” in a sexual context. Based on Claudette's expression here, I doubt that I'm the only one who heard this as a naughty play on words. |
Our Heroines
Miriam Hopkins is wonderfully funny as Princess Anna, and adds notes of fervent desperation to her character that make her seem almost unhinged. She makes it actually believable to me that a princess would stoop to marry a mere foreign lieutenant, just because he inspires her first stirrings of sexual lust. Miriam Hopkins provides a similar level of crazy-eyed fervor in The Story of Temple Drake, which is, not coincidentally, another tale of unbalanced sexuality.
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| Sexytime invitation |
Once they actually meet, Franzi and Anna have a lovely chemistry -- despite rumors that the actresses were not overfond of one another. One story has it that they both preferred to be shot from the same angle, which resulted in rivalry. Not only that, but Photoplay reported in 1931 that the slapping scene became overzealous: “But as take after take brought bigger and better slaps the 'crew' were a little worried. By the time the foreign version takes were reached, things were at their merriest.” A Pictureplay article from 1934 cited The Smiling Lieutenant's slap fight as the basis for a feud between Colbert and Hopkins.
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| That does look “merry.” |
The costume designs for Anna and Franzi are cleverly done. Anna’s gowns are hopelessly dowdy and prim, whereas Franzi is chic even in her band-leader uniform. The difference between them is particularly apparent when Franzi and Anna first meet face-to-face.
Their dresses are actually rather similar in some ways: tiered skirts attached to a drop-yoke waist, and a lace-trimmed neckline. But the difference comes down to more than high or low necklines – it’s all in the fit. Franzi’s dress is cut on the bias, a technique that only became popular in the late 1920s (and blossomed in the 1930s). The bias cut gives fabric some stretch and allows it to cling to curves. Anna’s straight-cut frock fits properly, but does nothing to enhance her figure. That bertha collar doesn't help, either.
Oh, Maurice.
As the titular Smiling Lieutenant, Maurice Chevalier is far more charming than I had given him credit for. (My first introduction to MC was as the creepy uncle in Gigi, which didn't make a very good impression). In this movie, however, he sings, he mugs, and he charms everyone. Even his new father-in-law swoons after a moment of attention from Niki, exclaiming fondly, “He called me papa!”. Is Maurice Chevalier a wonderful singer? No. Is he a skilled actor? Not especially. Do we love him anyway? We do. Sigh.
What is a Flausenthurm, anyway?
Flausen means “nonsense” or “whimsy” in German (literally “fluffs of fiber”). Turm is a tower, but Thurm is an archaic spelling that indicates that the name is venerable. Insisting on the ‘h’ is a way of asserting the dignity and tradition of their country. Since this linguistic subtlety would be lost on American audiences, Anna provides an even more delicious basis for the offense: “It’s a deliberate insult, Papa. They’re trying to make us feel, just because we’re a little country, we shouldn’t have so many letters.” Try telling that to Liechtenstein.The name “Flausenthurm” also leads to one of my favorite throw-away jokes in the movie. As Niki wanders the streets of Flausenthurm, he briefly visits a cabaret bar, advertising the “Flausen Follies - Fifteen Fascinating Flausies.”
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| Flausen Floozies |
People talk about the “Lubitsch Touch,” referring to a certain intangible aura of sophistication and sexiness in Ernst Lubitsch's films. For me, this touch is more like a scattering of tiny moments -- a knowing look, a costume, a bit of double entendre, or a playfully sexual song -- that together have a shimmering effect over the whole film. Who doesn't love a bit of stardust?
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Tchüß!
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A collection of screenshots that didn't make it into the post, but I love too much to leave out:
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| This set design! |
