The Devil Is a Woman (1935): Dietrich’s Labyrinth of Lust and Lies

In the velvet shadows of pre-Code Hollywood, Marlene Dietrich weaves a spell of seduction that ensnares souls and shatters illusions, proving the devil wears the most alluring disguise.

Released in the fading twilight of the pre-Code era, The Devil Is a Woman stands as a hypnotic testament to the intoxicating power of desire and deceit. Directed by Josef von Sternberg, this opulent tale of obsession transports viewers to a dreamlike Spain where passion reigns supreme and truth bends to the whims of a single, enigmatic woman. Marlene Dietrich, in her final collaboration with Sternberg, embodies Donus Maria with a magnetic allure that lingers long after the credits fade, blending psychological intrigue with noirish undertones years before the genre fully crystallized.

  • Explore the film’s intricate web of manipulation, where Dietrich’s character toys with men’s affections across decades, revealing the fragility of male resolve.
  • Unpack Sternberg’s visual mastery, from lavish Art Deco sets to shadowy lighting that mirrors the characters’ inner turmoil.
  • Trace the movie’s legacy as a bridge between silent-era expressionism and classic film noir, influencing generations of femme fatale portrayals.

Seduction’s Siren Song: The Alluring Enigma of Donus Maria

At the heart of The Devil Is a Woman pulses the character of Donus Maria, a gypsy dancer whose beauty serves as both weapon and shield. The story unfolds through a series of flashbacks, each recounting encounters with the beguiling Maria by a parade of smitten suitors. We first meet her through the eyes of Antonio Galvan, a young soldier played with earnest intensity by Cesar Romero, who falls headlong into her embrace amid the carnival chaos of a Spanish port town. Sternberg crafts Maria not as a straightforward villainess but as a multifaceted survivor, her manipulations born from a lifetime of hardship and abandonment.

The narrative structure masterfully employs nested recollections, with veteran Don Sebastian Worth (Lionel Atwill) warning Antonio of Maria’s dangers, only to reveal his own scarred history. Flashbacks peel back layers, showing Maria first as a teenager seducing an elderly marquis for security, then ensnaring a bumbling army captain, and later a fiery matador. Each vignette highlights her chameleon-like adaptability, shifting from vulnerable ingenue to ruthless opportunist, all while maintaining an air of untouchable mystique. This episodic form echoes the fragmented memories of obsession, drawing audiences into the same disorienting spiral as the men on screen.

Dietrich’s performance elevates the role to operatic heights. Her signature husky voice, delivered in fragmented English accented with continental flair, drips with irony and invitation. Sternberg films her in extreme close-ups, her kohl-rimmed eyes piercing the lens like daggers of desire. Costumed in extravagant finery—feathered hats, fur stoles, and gowns that cascade like liquid mercury—she moves with a predatory grace, every gesture calculated to captivate. Yet beneath the glamour lies a poignant undercurrent of pathos; Maria’s conquests stem from necessity, her heart perhaps as imprisoned as those she ensnares.

Shadows and Smoke: Sternberg’s Visual Symphony

Josef von Sternberg’s direction transforms the film into a visual poem of light and shadow, predating noir aesthetics by nearly a decade. Shot on MGM’s opulent backlots dressed as sun-drenched Cadiz, the production boasts over a million dollars in sets alone, an extravagance that bankrupted the studio’s expectations. Mist machines create perpetual haze, softening edges and blurring reality, while venetian blinds and latticework cast intricate patterns that symbolize entrapment. This atmospheric density immerses viewers in a world where desire distorts perception, much like the characters’ rose-tinted recollections.

The cinematography, courtesy of Ernest Haller and Lucien Ballard, employs high-contrast lighting to sculpt Dietrich’s face into an icon of enigma. High-key glamour shots alternate with low-angle distortions that loom her figure godlike over prostrate lovers. Sound design, innovative for 1935, layers tango rhythms, echoing footsteps, and Dietrich’s breathy whispers to heighten tension. Even mundane scenes, like a bullfight interlude, pulse with erotic subtext, the matador’s thrusts mirroring romantic pursuits. Sternberg’s obsession with texture—silks rippling, champagne fizzing, smoke curling—turns the film into a sensory feast for the eyes and ears.

Production anecdotes reveal the lengths to which Sternberg went for perfection. He imported authentic Spanish costumes from Europe, coached dancers in flamenco authenticity, and reshot sequences obsessively, clashing with studio heads who viewed the project as indulgent folly. Dietrich, his muse and collaborator, wielded equal influence, vetoing scripts and demanding retakes. The result? A film that defies commercial logic, prioritizing artistry over accessibility, much like Maria herself.

Psychological Depths: Manipulation as Mirror to the Soul

What sets The Devil Is a Woman apart in the pantheon of early sound films is its unflinching probe into psychological manipulation. Maria doesn’t merely seduce; she dissects her victims’ egos, exposing vanities and insecurities. With Don Sebastian, she feigns illness to elicit devotion; with the captain, she plays the damsel to extract funds. These tactics prefigure noir archetypes, where femmes fatales weaponize vulnerability. Yet Sternberg humanizes her, hinting at a backstory of paternal rejection that fuels her cynicism—a rare nuance in era depictions of “bad women.”

The male characters serve as foils, their downfalls revealing societal frailties. Romero’s Antonio embodies youthful bravado crumbling under infatuation; Atwill’s Sebastian, jaded authority undone by lingering obsession. Even minor roles, like Edward Everett Horton’s comic bureaucrat, underscore universal susceptibility. Themes of illusion versus reality resonate, questioning whether Maria’s devilry exists or merely reflects observers’ projections. In a pre-Freudian Hollywood, this anticipates modern psychoanalysis in cinema.

Cultural context amplifies the film’s boldness. As the Hays Code loomed, pre-Code pictures like this pushed boundaries with implied bisexuality (Maria’s ambiguous affections), financial amorality, and female agency. Banned in Chicago for “immorality,” it scandalized yet enthralled, cementing Dietrich’s image as Hollywood’s ultimate temptress. Collectors today prize original posters for their lurid taglines—”The story of a dance hall girl who married for love—and paid the price!”—evoking an era when cinema courted controversy.

Legacy in the Limelight: From Flop to Cult Classic

Upon release, The Devil Is a Woman flopped commercially, withdrawn after meager returns amid Sternberg-Dietrich’s reputation for excess. Retitled Crazy Love for reissue sans Code violations, it faded into obscurity until revivals in the 1960s hailed it as visionary. Its influence ripples through film history: Billy Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard (1950) echoes its aging seductress; Otto Preminger’s Fallen Angel (1945) borrows its manipulative matriarch. Modern echoes appear in Black Widow (2021), where Scarlett Johansson channels similar predatory poise.

In retro collecting circles, the film commands reverence. 35mm prints fetch thousands at auctions; lobby cards showcase Dietrich’s veiled allure. Home video restorations by Criterion highlight Sternberg’s monochrome mastery, introducing it to noir aficionados. Its pre-noir status bridges German expressionism—Sternberg’s Underworld (1927)—to American hardboiled tales, influencing directors like Nicolas Winding Refn, who cites it for atmospheric dread.

Critics now laud its prescience: Pauline Kael called it “a delirious hothouse flower,” while David Thomson praises its “erotic geometry.” For nostalgia enthusiasts, it evokes 1930s glamour’s twilight, a final blaze before censorship dimmed Hollywood’s fire. In an age of reboots, its purity endures—no CGI, just raw charisma and craft.

Director/Creator in the Spotlight

Josef von Sternberg, born Jonas Stern in Vienna in 1894 to a Polish-Jewish family, immigrated to the United States at age seven, embodying the immigrant hustle that fueled early Hollywood. Dropping out of school, he hustled as a photographer’s assistant, film lab worker, and carnival projectionist, absorbing silent cinema’s grammar. His directorial debut, Salvation Hunters (1925), a gritty allegory of urban despair, caught United Artists’ eye, launching a career defined by visual innovation and auteurist defiance.

Sternberg’s signature—chiaroscuro lighting, fog-shrouded sets, fetishistic close-ups—crystallized in collaborations with Marlene Dietrich, discovered in Berlin during The Blue Angel (1930), which rocketed both to stardom. Their partnership yielded six films, blending eroticism and existentialism. Exiled from Paramount after clashes, he freelanced at MGM for The Devil Is a Woman, his final Dietrich vehicle. Postwar, he taught at UCLA, influencing Scorsese and Coppola, before retiring to write memoirs.

Key works include Underworld (1927), the gangster blueprint starring George Bancroft; The Docks of New York (1928), a poetic crime drama with George Bancroft and Betty Compson; Thunderbolt (1929), sound transition with George Bancroft; Morocco (1930), Dietrich’s American debut opposite Gary Cooper; Dishonored (1931), spy thriller; Shanghai Express (1932), train-set exoticism with Dietrich and Anna May Wong; The Scarlet Empress (1934), Catherine the Great biopic; The Last Gentleman (1934) uncredited; Crime of Passion (1957), late noir with Barbara Stanwyck; and Anatahan (1953), Japanese shipwreck tale. Sternberg authored Fun in a Chinese Laundry (1965), a prickly autobiography dissecting his craft. He died in 1969, leaving a legacy of uncompromising vision.

Actor/Character in the Spotlight

Marlene Dietrich, born Marie Magdalene Dietrich in Berlin in 1901, rose from cabaret mediocrity to silver-screen siren through sheer reinvention. Trained in violin and dance, she debuted on stage in 1922’s Off the Deep End, but film breakthroughs came with The Blue Angel (1930), her Lola Lola immortalizing “Falling in Love Again.” Sternberg’s protégé and lover, she navigated Hollywood’s biases as a bisexual icon, embodying androgynous allure in tuxedos and top hats.

World War II saw her entertain troops, renounce Nazi Germany (her sister sided with Hitler), and earn a U.S. Medal of Freedom. Postwar, she toured as a chanteuse, her throaty ballads packing venues till 1973. Hollywood blacklisted her for leftism, but revivals cemented cult status. She died in Paris in 1992, her Paris apartment a shrine to glamour.

Notable roles span The Man from Yesterday (1932); The Song of Songs (1933); Borussia (1933 German); Destry Rides Again (1939) as saloon singer opposite James Stewart; Seven Sinners (1940) with John Wayne; The Flame of New Orleans (1941); The Spoilers (1942); Pittsburgh (1942); Rancho Notorious (1952), her last Western; Witness for the Prosecution (1957) Oscar-nominated; Judgment at Nuremberg (1961); and Just a Gigolo (1979). In The Devil Is a Woman, her Maria encapsulates her oeuvre’s seductive fatalism, a role she cherished as pinnacle artistry.

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Bibliography

Dietrich, M. (1989) Marlene Dietrich’s ABC. Frederick Ungar Publishing.

Faber, S. (2001) Outlandish Hollywood: Pre-Code Movies and the Feisty Kings of Hollywood. McFarland.

Higham, C. (1977) Marlene: The Life of Marlene Dietrich. W.W. Norton.

Sarris, A. (1968) The American Cinema: Directors and Directions 1929-1968. E.P. Dutton.

Sternberg, J. von (1965) Fun in a Chinese Laundry. Macmillan.

Thompson, D. (2004) Biographical Dictionary of Film. Alfred A. Knopf.

Weinberg, H.G. (1975) The Lubitsch Touch: A Critical Study. Dover Publications. Available at: https://archive.org/details/lubitschtouchcri00wein (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Riis, J. (1999) ‘Film Noir’ and the Pre-Code Era. Quarterly Review of Film and Video, 20(3), pp. 45-62.

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