It is fascinating what the human mind will allow. Riefenstahl, a documentary directed by Andres Veiel about the life of Leni Riefenstahl, explores the rationalizations the filmmaker allowed herself in order to explain her collaborations with the Nazi Party in Germany during their time in power. Until the day she died (at 101 years old in 2003), Riefenstahl refuted accusations that she was aware of the crimes being committed around her. “I never saw any atrocities happening,” she says in an interview from 1976, after the interviewer presents her with an account of her witnessing the murder of 22 Jews. She denies it adamantly. Throughout the film, we watch her deny much, while separate information suggests she was more aware of the evil around her than she ever let on. How much did Leni Riefenstahl know when she was working directly with Hitler and his team of monsters?
It is––and always has been––a provocative question. And it is hard to deny that she was some kind of genius. Her masterpiece Olympia features some of the most astonishing images ever put to film. From some of the footage shown in this documentary it’s quite clear she thought she was some kind of genius. There may be no single artist who better represents the difference between art and politics, if there is a difference at all. In his essay “Why I Write,” George Orwell said: “The opinion that art should have nothing to do with politics is itself a political attitude.” The great Toni Morrison told Poets & Writers Magazine in 2008: “”All of that art-for-art’s-sake stuff is BS. […] What are these people talking about? Are you really telling me that Shakespeare and Aeschylus weren’t writing about kings? All good art is political!” Paul Auster found a bit more nuance, speaking about novels in this case (with Canadian magazine Maclean’s in 2017): “Art is not politics. The glory of the novel is that in its essence, it is a democratic form, because it treats individuals as worthy of scrutiny. That alone is a kind of political act.”
With exclusive, private access to her estate, Veiel and his editors (Stephan Krumbiegel, Olaf Voigtländer, and Alfredo Castro, doing truly brilliant work here) construct a fascinating account of Riefenstahl’s life, from her early collaborations with director Arnold Fanck (she starred in his The Holy Mountain in 1926) to her enchanting 1932 film The Blue Light, in which she both directed and starred, and onwards through her photography project with the Nuba people of Sudan later in life. The Blue Light earned praise from many, including those in the National Socialist German Workers’ Party. Not long after, Triumph of the Will documented the 1934 Nazi rally in Nuremberg as their national popularity continued to soar. She defended the picture as a piece of propaganda whose message was mainly of workers’ unity. For those who have seen the picture, you know that this is patently false. Veiel includes clips to refute her falsehood.
The majority of the film is driven by Riefenstahl’s own voice from various recordings. She often comes across as charming and intelligent. That is, of course, what makes her decades of denials and lies all the more disturbing. In her mind, she was the victim. The victim of a political party that employed her but did not reveal their true crimes to her (and to most of the nation, according to her). And the victim of the backlash and criticism that followed her until the day she died. There is so much here, including particularly arresting footage from a contentious talk show appearance in which both the host and a fellow guest confront Riefenstahl quite directly with her complicity. She stands her ground, offering that, had Churchill or another leader asked her to make movies, it would have been no different. After a passionate defense of herself and her motivations, the audience applauds her. It’s all a bit unsettling.
It is a good time for Veiel’s project to come out. As we wade further into un-democratic waters in the United States, ceding more and more power to one man whose respect for the rule of law is limited at best, this documentary serves as a political statement all its own. We see what is happening right in front of us; we know that it is wrong. Will we capitulate and tell ourselves we had no choice? Or will we do the other thing?
Riefenstahl opens in theaters on September 5.
The post Riefenstahl Review: A Portrait of the Artist as a Nazi Collaborator first appeared on The Film Stage.
