Monte Carlo: Ernst Lubitsch

It occurs to me that Ernst Lubitsch's Monte Carlo would make a great companion piece with Rouben Mamoulian's Love Me Tonight (1932). Both films are charming American musicals by European directors that feature plots revolving around romance between members of different social classes. Both film feature a prominent reversal wherein the male protagonist "switches classes" in order to get closer to the object of his desire. But whereas in Love Me Tonight a tailor poses as an aristocrat, in Monte Carlo a count named Rudolph Falliere poses as a hairdresser to be with the Countess Helene Mara, a naive, temperamental young woman who fled to Monte Carlo after leaving her fiancé, Prince Otto Von Liebenheim, at the altar. Both films end with their respective couples confirming their love despite different social classes (although Monte Carlo's anti-class narrative is damaged somewhat be the inevitable revelation that Rudolph is an aristocrat and therefore suitable marriage material for Helene). And both films represent meteoric advancements in the evolution of the cinematic musical. The difference between Monte Carlo and The Broadway Melody (1929), billed as the first feature-length musical, is almost as stark as the difference between The Great Train Robbery (1903) and Stagecoach (1939). Musical numbers flow organically from the dialogue, entire crowds join in the singing, and the audience feels like they are transported to the world of the Movie Musical where people spontaneously sing and dance to express their feelings (contrary to The Broadway Melody which ostensibly takes place in "reality" where performers, for the most part, save the singing and dancing for the stage). The sophisticated grace of the "Lubitsch Touch" is on full display here with its delicate, mannered humor. I'm reminded of one scene where Rudolph storms out of a room after an argument. Instead of going around a couch in his way, he steps on top of it. There is even an insert shot where his foot is shown in extreme close-up stepping on top of the fabric. It lasts for only a fraction of a second, but it is as characteristically Lubitsch as anything he ever did in his films: only a man truly at wit's end would dare step on top of a couch. Lubitsch knows this and he makes sure that his audience appreciates this faux pas of bad manners.

8/10