One of the strongest and most intriguing sub-themes of Powell and Pressburger’s The Red Shoes is of the creative process in performing arts being not just hugely collaborative, but exceptionally…manly. Something Mickey Rourke always had a hard time grasping. The soon-to-be prima ballerina, Vicky Page, will in a sense become the puppet of all these men pictured above, the contrivers of her ballet. This is Lermontov’s Monte Carlo château—tellingly, the stairs leading up to its entrance are practically choked with grass and weeds. And despite Lermontov’s neck-scarf (not visible in this shot), the atmosphere of his lair fairly reeks of testosterone. From left, Esmond Knight, Anton Walbrook’s Lermontov, Marius Goring, Alfred Berry, and Leonid Massine.
Some will say I’ve buried the lede here. Yes, as it happens, I have acquired the Region B ITV Blu-ray of the new restoration of Shoes, through the exceptionally good graces of a reader who bought a copy without knowing it was region-locked. I wasn’t going to pick up the UK disc for two reasons: one, I very much wanted to see this restoration for the first time in a theater, and two, I imagine that Criterion will issue an extras-filled domestic issue Blu-ray reasonably soon after the restoration plays in the U.S. Still, this was an offer I couldn’t refuse. And while my camera-shot still above doesn’t do it justice, this really is a spectacular looking Blu-ray; the Technicolor registration is so utterly, unerringly solid as to look pristine; everything from the blush on Moira Shearer’s cheek to the pattern of Lermontov’s dressing-gown is rock solid and gorgeous. I’m glad to have this sneak peek, as it were. The DVD Beaver folks concur.
When I watched this a few months ago, courtesy of Netflix, I really should have made sure my wife was able to watch it with me. It hits on a lot of things that interest her, and plus it’s also spectacular. And she’s not even entirely a Powell/Pressburger newbie: she watched I KNOW WHERE I’M GOING! with me, and really enjoyed it.
Slightly O.T., but I finally saw “Tetro” and one of the many pleasures of it was seeing a sequence from “Tales of Hoffman” on the big screen, and then Coppola goes all out and does his own Powell/Pressburger homage! And IMO he encapsulates the style really well.
I’m far from being a trainspotter when it comes to color and am perfectly happy with the “standard” Powell DVDs I own, but if anything could get me to rethink that and dive into Blu-Ray it would be ‘Red Shoes’ – or, better still ‘Black Narcissus’ which must be positively orgasmic in that format.
Re BLACK NARCISSUS: It is, LondonLee. It is. Makes the Criterion DVD look like a public domain disc.
Th ITV BLuRay of the restored Black Narcissus is good but in color terms basically looks much like the British and French Standard Def DVDs. I’m personally a bit underwhelmed by it.
THe BluRay of Red Shoes however is like stepping into another dimension of flawlessly remembered and realized Technicolor – there is simply nothing else like it out there at this time. Go on take the Plunge (as Lady Neston would say.)
Interesting points. It was always clear that The Red Shoes is a story of female victimization, but I always thought of it in terms of the conflict between Julian and Lermontov – both men pulling at Vicky for the gratification of their own egos (Julian does it in the name of “love” and Lermontov in the name of “art”. I’m not sure which is worse but at least Lermontov respects Vicky as an artist if not as an autonomous human being) – until they tear her apart, almost literally. In spite of the melodrama, there are some resemblances to the world of ballet, where in general men are the primary creative forces and women are interpreters.
Stepahnie that’s undoubtedly true, and I think Powell’s last word on it is the final shot of the Olympia sequence from Tales of Hoffman in which Moira Shearer’s doll is literally torn apart between Ashton and Helpmann (who is fabulous in this picture) until her head rips off and lands on the stage floor with the coiled spring wiggling back and forth. I remember seeing this as a child and screaming VERY loudly when the money shot came. I’ve probably never been the same since.
More generally the whole movie is immersed in the alternately destructive and constructive binaries of artistic creation. The resonance with male female roles doesn’t go unnoticed of course, even though I regard Lermontov as gay, like Walbrook. But sexlesly gay.
“The resonance with male female roles doesn’t go unnoticed of course, even though I regard Lermontov as gay, like Walbrook. But sexlesly gay.”
That’s true, I think. Powell and Pressburger, with an assist from Walbrook, do manage to make it fairly clear that Lermontov’s jealousy and possessiveness don’t have their basis in sex.
One of the many things I find entirely remarkable about the picture is the fact that, despite its wild color and fancifulness, so many of its character relations are dramatized with an almost reportorial detachment, and great attention to precise realistic detail. As the scene in the shot above.