A distressing film explores alternative perspectives on Leni Riefenstahl's life and work.
Leni Riefenstahl, the trailblazing German director and photographer, left a legacy shrouded in controversy that continues to intrigue and dismay today. Was she a devoted follower of Hitler, or a gifted artist with aновеau renard for beauty and form that inadvertently crystallized the Nazi aesthetic? Let's dive into the fascinating, chilling narrative unfolded in the recent documentary by German director Andres Veiel, Riefenstahl.
Veiel's film presents a fresh perspective on the topic, shedding light on a plethora of unseen footage, photographs, and writing that once belonged to Riefenstahl herself. The producer, Sandra Maischberger, saw an opportunity to find answers when she recognized her husband had passed away, leaving behind a house filled with boxes of Riefenstahl's belongings.
One aspect of Riefenstahl's life that the documentary highlights is her self-invention. Born in 1902 in Berlin, she made a name for herself as a dancer, but quickly set her sights on the burgeoning Bergfilm genre of mountain dramas. Despite having no acting experience, she persuaded director Arnold Fanck to cast her in The Holy Mountain (1926). She followed the same approach when she needed Hitler's support, demonstrating an implacable drive to control her career's trajectory.
Without a doubt, Riefenstahl was a climber, a bolter, and a conqueror—not just of mountains, but of her own destiny. She learned mountain climbing from scratch and became a popular star in Fanck's epics, shot under brutal conditions. She gradually picked up the essentials of filmmaking, directing herself in The Blue Light (1932), impressing Hitler with her mystical mountain epic.
Triumph of the Will (1935), her infamous documentary capturing the 1934 Nazi Party Congress, cemented Riefenstahl's name in history. The film, while repetitive in its entirety, still captures the excessiveness of Third Reich spectacle, impressively showcasing Riefenstahl's formal inventiveness. Olympia (1938), her documentary about the 1936 Berlin Summer Olympics, showcases dynamic sequences that blur the lines between fact and fiction.
The darker side of Riefenstahl's story comes to light in Veiel's film, as it re-examines alleged incidents in her career. During her brief stint as a war reporter in Poland in 1939, she is said to have witnessed the execution of 22 Jews—either moving them out of the frame, causing their deaths indirectly, or exploiting Roma and Sinti extras in her fiction film Lowlands.
I would argue that she was one of the first 'Instagram girls.' She was always filming herself, with a fixation on being the center of the universe. After the war, she played the victim card, seemingly disappointed that her career had been cut short. She never directed again, despite being officially absolved by German postwar tribunals of being a Nazi.
Many have touted Riefenstahl as a feminist pioneer, given her self-made career. Maischberger offers a more nuanced view. "There was nothing left to admire in her lack of empathy," she says, questioning if Riefenstahl should truly be a role model for women.
Veiel's film reminds us of Riefenstahl's enduring impact—both through her on-screen representations and in real-world demonstrations of power. Yet, her complicated legacy raises enduring debates about the relationship between art and political power. The boundaries between inspiration and moral peril persist, making Riefenstahl's story a cautionary tale for the ages.
Maybe the debate surrounding Leni Riefenstahl's legacy, as portrayed in the documentary Riefenstahl by Andres Veiel, can be seen as atestament to the complexities of movies-and-tv entertainment and the role it plays in shaping and reflecting societal doctrine. Veiel's film, with the help of previously unseen footage, photographs, and writing belonging to Riefenstahl, presents a fresh perspective on her fabled filmmaking career, which, in its breadth and depth, could possibly be compared to the work of a pioneering Instagram influencer. However, the question remains: Could Riefenstahl's stunning visual aesthetic and self-invention also be her downfall, considering the chilling narrative that unfolds in Veiel's film, which includes allegations of her exploitation of actors during war times and her seemingly disregard for human empathy?
