On the evening of March 28, Riefenstahl, sitting next to her mother in box seats with her eyes shut, re-experienced her “sleepless nights and the grueling efforts at finding transitions from one sequence to the next.”62 For the premiere at the Ufa Palace in Berlin, she wore a black evening gown from the famed Schulze-Bibernell fashion salon that showed off her slim figure and red curls. When she heard the long applause at the end of the film, she knew that she had made it. “While the film was still running . . . the viewers rose from their seats, and, gripped by the intensity of this experience, sang the Horst Wessel Song. Then the lights went up, and the man who would resurrect the nation, who was being glorified in this film stood at the balustrade of his box seat. It was as though a spell hung over the crowd, a spell that resolved into enthusiastic shouts, enthusiastic Sieg Heils. The Führer handed the creator of this cinematic work, Leni Riefenstahl, a big bouquet of lilacs with a gilt-edged bow.”63
In the photograph of the two of them, she is staring deep into Hitler’s eyes and seems as though she is in a trance. Suddenly she fainted dead away and lay on the floor while the steps of Hitler and his escorts faded away outside. A doctor on call gave her an injection. Carl Zuckmayer claimed that she had actually hoped to fall into Hitler’s arms, but her plan misfired, so she landed at his feet and he had to climb over her.64
However, Riefenstahl recovered and basked in the glory of her triumph. The Germans faithfully queued up in front of movie theaters and did not undermine the predetermined success of the Riefenstahl film. On Sunday afternoons, there were even showings for children.
Once her film had gotten off to a successful start, Riefenstahl and several of her crew members went off to Davos to relax in the mountains, and on May 1—while she was still there—she learned that Triumph of the Will had been awarded the National Film Prize. As soon as she heard the happy news, she hastened to send off a grateful telegram to Hitler: DEEPLY MOVED AND DELIGHTED I HAVE JUST HEARD THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE FILM PRIZE ON THE RADIO THIS GREAT DISTINCTION WILL GIVE ME STRENGTH TO CREATE MORE FOR you my fÜHRER AND FOR YOUR GREAT ACHIEVEMENTS YOUR LENI RIEFENSTAHL.65 She accepted the prize from Goebbels on June 25, by which point they were already in negotiations for her next film, Olympia.
But before starting in on a new project, she had to go to Nuremberg one more time. Evidently the military felt that it had been misrepresented in Triumph of the Will. The closing day of the rally, during which the Reichswehr had put its strength on display, had been rainy. Riefenstahl was dissatisfied with the footage and cut most of it out, which caused problems with Hitler when the generals complained to him. She therefore decided to film the military maneuvers of the Wehrmacht at the “Rally of Freedom” in 1935. The result was the twenty-eight-minute short film Day of Freedom—Our Wehrmacht—Nuremberg 1935. 66 In March 1935, Hitler reintroduced compulsory military service in Germany. Accordingly, Riefenstahl’s new film was closely tied to current political developments. Hans Ertl reported that Riefenstahl looked fabulous and was full of plans. As always when she undertook major film projects, she sought out colleagues and friends for her crew. The men gathered in Riefenstahl’s penthouse on Hindenburgstrasse to plan out the project. New to the group was Willy Zielke, a former teacher at the State Academy for Photography in Munich, whose latest documentary film, The Steel Animal, had impressed them all.67
Ertl divided the world into artists (by which he meant himself, his close associates, and Riefenstahl) and party bigwigs who knew nothing about art. “The real connoisseur and artist did not have an easy time of it then provided that his art was not an end in itself and had no primitive, propagandistic value. Even a Leni Riefenstahl had to contend with scathing criticism and intrigues, although she was quite adept at combining art and propaganda in her party rally films.”68 But he left no doubt that she was adept at using Hitler’s admiration for her to push through her own interests. In early September, Riefenstahl and Ertl traveled to Nuremberg together. This time, the cameramen did not appear in quasi-military uniforms, but rather as camera sharpshooters. Their disheveled hair, relaxed suede jackets, and long corduroy pants marked Riefenstahl’s men as the artistic fringe of the party rally. She deftly distributed her men throughout the premises to have them “ ‘partake in the combat’ as roving reporters and camera shooters—they went around with their ‘celluloid ammunition’ and long, telephoto lenses that looked like gun barrels shooting, right alongside the young maneuver soldiers.”69 According to Ertl, the days in Nuremberg were both a challenge and a sport. He depicted his boss and her crew as a close-knit group that carried out its mission with a high degree of professionalism. Riefenstahl’s cameramen had to be bold, well-trained, and daring. During World War II, many of these men went on to make war films.
Day of Freedom—Our Wehrmacht is an alarming film. It shows an army gearing up for war. The sounds of military technology combine with bellowed Sieg Heils to form a deafening soundscape. Peter Kreuder, a talented composer who had also produced the sound effects for Zielke’s Steel Animal, was in charge of the music. In this film one could hear what lay ahead: state-of-the-art military technology and German soldier songs.70 There were demonstrations of motorcycle militias, anti-aircraft guns, armored cars, reconnaissance aircraft, bombers and tactical aircraft, cavalry, and machine guns. These miracles of technology were operated by serious-looking young soldiers and observed with evident excitement by heavyset older men in swastika uniforms up at the podium. On December 29, the Filmwelt carried an advertisement with a shot of Riefenstahl in profile, looking up at Hitler and his young soldiers. The caption under the picture indicates that she was in charge of this German Wehrmacht film, which Völkischer Beobachter hailed as “the first cinematic monument to the German military.”71
William E. Dodd, who was serving as the United States Ambassador to Germany at this time, was dismayed by the film:
[T]his evening my wife and I went to the great movie theater, the Ufa Palace, to see the widely advertised Unser [sic] Wehrmacht (Our Defense Power) film. For an hour a huge audience watched and applauded the scenes: vast army fields with tanks and machine guns operating and soldiers falling to the ground, all shooting and some killed great parades of heavy trucks and big cannon [sic]; air attacks with hundreds of flying machines dropping bombs on a city. At strategic moments Hitler, Goering and even Goebbels appeared on the scene indicating their approval of all that was going on. The audience applauded many times. I could hardly endure the scene and what seemed to me the brutal performances.72
The movies that Hitler commissioned from Riefenstahl’s production company made her a wealthy woman. Even though she spent long hours behind the camera and in the film laboratory, she made sure not to neglect her public image. Sporty, independent, successful, childless, talented, unmarried, with short hair—and short on charm—she became a prominent figure in National Socialist Germany. In the mid-1930s, Nazi Germany developed into a modern feudal system. Nothing was more coveted than personal access to Adolf Hitler. Riefenstahl was skilled at deflecting rumors about a love affair between her and Hitler; she neither denied nor confirmed them. She was called “the Reich’s glacial crevasse” behind her back, which referred not only to her past work in mountain films, but also to her cold-blooded, calculating work method. Everyone knew that the Führer adored her and that she cherished him. She left everything else to the imagination, and thus built up an aura of power. No one knew for sure how much influence she wielded.
People wondered why the Führer was so adamant about placing her in charge of major film assignments. “She raves about Hitler, calls Mein Kampf a revelation; during a film expedition to Greenland, she had Hitler’s picture hanging in her tent. She is part of the innermost circle, uses the informal du with both Hitler and Göring, yet explains that Hitler stands high above any personal relationship,” Konrad Heiden wrote in his 1936 biography of Hitler.73 Hitler gravitated to Flietscherln, somewhat coarse young women, yet he also liked to surround himself with admiring society lad
ies. Riefenstahl offered him both. She savored the role of the well-bred daughter who became the great artist and cosmopolitan lady, racing through Berlin in her silver-gray Mercedes coupe that Hitler had given her as a present, ordering the latest styles in the fashion boutiques. However, she was also a woman who fell in love again and again, and had many affairs. Riefenstahl was an attractive woman who made the most of her feminine wiles. As an artist she gave Hitler the feeling that he was an important patron of the arts, which in turn gave her—along with all kinds of material advantages—the feeling of towering above everyone else with her genius. In the official portrayals, she was celebrated as a woman who bravely took on the honorable commissions of the Führer and was extolled for her utter dedication, ceaseless drive, boundless energy, and iron will. Riefenstahl’s name was now known beyond the borders of Germany. Time magazine, which featured her on the cover on February 17, 1936, reported that Hitler regarded her as the epitome of a German woman, as evidenced by her health, energy, youth, love of sports, ambition, and beauty.74 Riefenstahl became an important representative of National Socialist Germany and had no trouble leaving the country. She gave lectures in England, shot a film in Spain, took a vacation in Switzerland, and visited Italy. During her trips abroad, she could hear an array of opposing views and observe Germany from the outside. However, she did not make comparisons.
In early March 1936, there were rumors in Berlin that Hitler was planning a foreign policy coup. He convened the Reichstag on March 7. The evening before, eager officials gathered in the Kaiserhof, and their Führer did not let them down. He explained that Germany no longer felt bound by the Locarno Pact, and that as of that day, the German government would be restoring unrestricted and absolute sovereignty of the Reich in the demilitarized zone of the Rhineland. The six hundred delegates leaped up and extended their arms in a Nazi salute. Hitler felt that he was well on his way to predominance in Europe. On the domestic front, he had secured absolute power within three years. No one could stand in his way; his adversaries had been disposed of; and the majority of Germans believed in the mission of their Führer.
Hitler’s juggling of war and peace formed the backdrop for the 1936 Summer Olympic Games in Berlin. The Olympics had been assigned to Berlin back in 1931, and Hitler pledged that no part of these arrangements would change under National Socialist rule. Even though there were protests, the International Olympic Committee stuck with its decision to hold the Olympics in Germany, but they called on Hitler to embrace the Olympic ideal.75 Hitler paid lip service to it because the Games would offer him a unique opportunity to present the “new Germany” to the world at large. He would spare no expense or effort. The best means of disseminating images of a modern, peace-loving Germany was film. He entrusted Riefenstahl with the task of presenting the best side of National Socialism to the world. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Riefenstahl stuck to her version of the facts: that she was commissioned to film the Olympic Games by Dr. Carl Diem, the Secretary General of the Organizing Committee of the Berlin Olympic Games. She also claimed to have financed this mammoth enterprise independently of Hitler. As usual, Goebbels figured as her dark adversary, but the accusations she leveled at him were nothing but smokescreens to distract from her own privileges and entanglements. The records show that both parts of the Olympia film were financed by the German Reich at the express wish of Joseph Goebbels. In August 1935, she told him about her preliminary work. He noted admiringly: “She is a clever one!”76 Three days later, Goebbels came to meet with Hitler. One of the outcomes of their discussion was a decision to authorize one and a half million reichsmarks for the Olympia film.77 In early October Goebbels talked to Riefenstahl again about the Olympia film, and he stated unequivocally that she was “a woman who knows what she wants.”78 Eight days after this evening they had spent together: “Contract with Leni Riefenstahl regarding Olympia film approved.”79 This course of events tallies with the records stating that on October 16, 1935, Riefenstahl was offered a contract to make a film of the Olympic Summer Games for a fee of 250,000 reichsmarks. Olympia Film Inc. was a shell corporation of the propaganda ministry, founded on December 9, 1935; the partners were Leni Riefenstahl and her brother, Heinz.
The year 1936 got off to a good start for Riefenstahl. On January 26, she was received by Mussolini in Rome. Il Duce’s interest in this director of the Reich party rally films stemmed from his recently developed secret admiration of the Führer. He was impressed by the fact that Hitler had left the League of Nations and announced that there would be compulsory military service. Mussolini began to suspect that he had underestimated this strange German and might be well advised to have Riefenstahl make a film for him as well. He suggested filming the drainage of the Pontine Marshes. She turned down this idea, explaining that the production of the Olympic Games documentary would keep her busy for a good two years. Six months after this meeting, the Italian film institute Luce awarded Riefenstahl the grand prize for Triumph of the Will. At a ceremony in the Italian embassy, Ambassador Bernardo Attolico presented her with the Coppa Mussolini. In attendance were Joseph Goebbels; Oswald Lehnich, the president of the Reich Film Chamber; Ulrich von Hassell, the German ambassador to Italy; and Countess Edda Mussolini Ciano, daughter of Il Duce and wife of the foreign minister, and hence an influential woman in Italy. There is a photograph showing the countess congratulating Riefenstahl. Both women are in elegant evening gowns, and they are smiling joyfully at each other. The men in tailcoats gathered around them look delighted. This was a prize among friends.
The preparations for the Olympic Games were guided by the motto, “Olympia—a National Duty.” For the National Socialists, this duty included the enhancement of their image in the international community. They wanted to demonstrate that their opponents were liars. Anti-Semitic posters and signs were taken down, but the daily terror against the Jews went on unabated. For many Berliners, the Olympic Games amounted to a kind of “pseudo-freedom”: the guests from abroad in the city made it possible for them to forget the fanatical pathos of the National Socialists for a few days. With any luck, they could listen to American jazz pianists in the bars and buy the Times or the Neue Zürcher Zeitung at the newsstands.
Riefenstahl knew that the whole world would be her audience. Earlier films of the Olympic Games had been of poor quality. Even in 1932 in Los Angeles, filming took place, but no actual film resulted from it. Riefenstahl thus once again faced the challenge of transforming an event that so far had not been discovered by the cinema into a cinematic work of art. She was certainly spurred on by the knowledge that this film could make her famous beyond the borders of Germany. Kings, princes, and other notables had confirmed that they would be coming. They were curious about the new Germany.
Riefenstahl’s productions in National Socialism could not have come about without patronage at the highest level, yet they were so powerful artistically because she worked with a group of cameramen who regarded themselves primarily as artists and not as National Socialists. Walter Frentz was appointed head cinematographer; he was also in charge of capturing the sailing and the rowing regatta events on film. To bring on Hans Ertl, Riefenstahl had to entice him away from Arnold Fanck. She was able to offer him quite a bit more money, and he signed on. Hans Scheib, who had been a highly skilled cinematographer in the Marlene Dietrich film The Woman One Longs For, became Riefenstahl’s expert on telescopic shots. Her camera team also included Willy Hameister, the cinematographer for The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1919).
Once she had put together her crew, she was constantly on the move: in the Olympic village, on the Reich athletic field, and in Grünau or Kiel, where preparations were underway for the sailing regatta. She was generally accompanied by members of her crew. They discussed camera placements, experimented with footage, and tested the equipment on site.80 She surrounded herself with innovative and ambitious men who were absolutely loyal to her and carried out her orders. She had a combination of talented young people and skilled experts. Nearly
all of them were avid sportsmen. “I spent many months doing nothing but experiments. I began to study one type of sport after the other systematically. . . . I doggedly went from sports field to sports field, studied where the most enthralling and dramatic competitive moments of each sport and the greatest beauty and grace took place, and determined the best way to capture these moments on camera.”81
To film the stadium from the aerial perspective, they sent up a balloon equipped with a handheld camera every morning. They placed a newspaper advertisement asking for it to be returned at the end of each day so they could evaluate the results. Small cameras were mounted on boat seats, on flying spearheads, on the saddles of the cavalrymen, and on oar blades. In the Olympic stadium, pits were dug for the cameramen so that they could come quite near to the competitors. Riefenstahl wanted to go right onto the scene with her camera and film what a spectator would not be able to see even up close. She needed “sweating” images that would convey the excitement, the effort, and the fever of the athletic competitions. She had to respect the fact that the Olympic Games were not a party rally and comply with regulations that forbade her from interfering with the athletes. She took many of the shots during training sessions, or reshot footage after the official competitions. A system had to be developed to classify and review the film footage immediately. The Geyer printing laboratory guaranteed that the footage would be ready by the next day. A copy machine was developed for the express purpose of processing the immense quantities of film at top speed. Each roll of film was labeled with the name of the cameraman, the date, and the type of sport. Two supervisors assessed the quality of the images and wrote up reports that were passed along to the cameramen to keep them informed about their daily output. Ten assistants organized the footage according to time and subject matter.
Dietrich & Riefenstahl: Hollywood, Berlin, and a Century in Two Lives Page 30
