Screenplay by Charles Brackett, Billy Wilder, and Walter Reisch; Story by Melchior Lengyel; Directed by Ernst Lubitsch; Cinematography by William H. Daniels; Edited by Gene Ruggiero; Complete Credits. 110 min. 1939.
I don’t know how communists feel about Ninotchka - or how Russians in general feel about it for that matter. The film is obviously not in favor of communism, it's not in favor of the czar either, nor is it a love letter to capitalism. But, as usual, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Paris, 1930s (they're a little vague on the precise date). Comrades Buljanoff (Felix Bressart), Iranoff (Sig Ruman), and Kopalski (Alexander Granach) of the Russian Board of Trade are in town to sell the jewels of the Grand Duchess Swana – former Grand Duchess, that is. Russia has no more aristocrats or private property – only a strong working class, which is in danger of starving given the failure of this year's crops. If the jewel sale falls through, there won't be any money to buy food. While our three comrades are negotiating with the jeweler, a Russian waiter named Rakonin (Gregory Gaye) - formerly Count Rakonin - overhears and races to tell the Grand Duchess Swana (Ina Claire). Overjoyed, Swana immediately telephones her lawyer, only to find out that there's a teeny tiny diplomatic problem: the French government has recognized Soviet Russia so they can't exactly seize her jewels when, according to Russian law, they aren't her jewels at all.
Fortunately, Swana's dashing boyfriend Léon, Comte d'Algout (Melvyn Douglas), is around to handle the situation. A smooth-talking dandy, he has our three comrades in the palm of his capitalist hand within five minutes. They telegram the Kremlin: "We suggest a fifty-fifty settlement." The Kremlin's answer: “You're in big trouble. We’re sending someone to take over.” Subtext: “Prepare to summer in Siberia.” Enter envoy extraordinary Nina Ivanova Yakushova (Greta Garbo), affectionately nicknamed Ninotchka – once you can break through that glacial exterior. A staunch communist and tireless workhorse, when she’s not zipping through the French civil code, she’s zipping up the steps of the Eiffel Tower. Guess who she meets on her way there. Her first meeting with the irrepressibly flirtatious male product of capitalist society is priceless.
Not knowing that each is gunning for the other side, Ninotchka and Léon fall for each other in a matter of hours – proving that opposites attract, politics be damned. Notice that despite the antagonism created by the capitalist-communist dynamic, there isn’t a nasty edge to their conversation. For example, after Ninotchka finds out that Léon is an idle playboy, she says, “You are something we do not have in Russia.” Beaming, he starts to thank her for the supposed compliment, but she goes on, “That is why I believe in the future of my people.” Rather than get angry or wisecrack about communism, Léon responds with obvious amusement, “I’m beginning to believe it too.”
Ninotchka is full of great lines, like when she first arrives in Paris and the comrades say they would have brought her flowers if they had known she would be a woman. “Don’t make an issue of my womanhood.” She answers dryly. Or back in Moscow, when her friend Anna (Tamara Shayne) tells her that the silk slip she brought back from Paris caused a commotion in the laundry yard, Ninotchka replies ruefully, “I would hate to have my country endangered by my underwear.” But rather than quote the whole film – which would take a considerable amount of time – let’s get back to Ninotchka.
On the surface, Ninotchka’s “mellowing” might seem artificial, but it’s not as though she goes from being an unfeeling hunk of metal to a piece of cotton candy. The humor is there from the beginning when she spars with Léon and the steeliness remains even after she falls for him, only now she actually lets herself laugh and smile more. Lest this seem like some kind of chauvinist revenge on a proverbial ice queen – Léon himself undergoes a transformation under Ninotchka’s influence. From being flip and insincere about basically everything, Léon becomes passionate and earnest for more than riches and physical comfort. (And herein we find the jab at the hedonist mentality, as created by capitalism.)
Also notice that Swana, the main antagonist, is allowed to be sympathetic. In her showdown with Ninotchka over the jewels, the script lets her get in a few shots. What’s more, Swana is a pretty formidable character despite her very limited screen time. After her first scene with Léon and Rakonin, Swana disappears for a good long stretch, so she has to make quite an impression on the viewer. And, note that though she loses the war with Ninotchka, she at least wins the battle. It’s an important distinction because sometimes the protagonist’s “victory” is too sweeping to be believable. Love doesn’t necessarily conquer all and it doesn’t immediately come into effect either.
Even though it’s a romantic comedy, which makes it obvious that Léon and Ninotchka have to be united despite whatever obstacles, the denouement still leaves you wondering how exactly they’re going to accomplish that without pulling a major deus ex machina. Which, as it happens, they don’t need, since they use Buljanoff, Iranoff, and Kopalski to solve the problem.
Since we’re speaking of writing economy (my beloved subject), note that Rakonin functions as a catalyst to the plot not once, but twice. First he tells Swana about the jewels, setting up the first conflict, and then he sets up the final confrontation between Ninotchka and Swana by handing the jewels over to Swana. It’s a neat job, proving once again that you can keep stock of the elements you use and keep using them rather than bring in new things. There’s no law that says you have to use something more than once, but often it makes for tighter writing.
Next week… The Third Man, taking a sharp turn away from all this comedy and romance.
I don’t know how communists feel about Ninotchka - or how Russians in general feel about it for that matter. The film is obviously not in favor of communism, it's not in favor of the czar either, nor is it a love letter to capitalism. But, as usual, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Paris, 1930s (they're a little vague on the precise date). Comrades Buljanoff (Felix Bressart), Iranoff (Sig Ruman), and Kopalski (Alexander Granach) of the Russian Board of Trade are in town to sell the jewels of the Grand Duchess Swana – former Grand Duchess, that is. Russia has no more aristocrats or private property – only a strong working class, which is in danger of starving given the failure of this year's crops. If the jewel sale falls through, there won't be any money to buy food. While our three comrades are negotiating with the jeweler, a Russian waiter named Rakonin (Gregory Gaye) - formerly Count Rakonin - overhears and races to tell the Grand Duchess Swana (Ina Claire). Overjoyed, Swana immediately telephones her lawyer, only to find out that there's a teeny tiny diplomatic problem: the French government has recognized Soviet Russia so they can't exactly seize her jewels when, according to Russian law, they aren't her jewels at all.
Fortunately, Swana's dashing boyfriend Léon, Comte d'Algout (Melvyn Douglas), is around to handle the situation. A smooth-talking dandy, he has our three comrades in the palm of his capitalist hand within five minutes. They telegram the Kremlin: "We suggest a fifty-fifty settlement." The Kremlin's answer: “You're in big trouble. We’re sending someone to take over.” Subtext: “Prepare to summer in Siberia.” Enter envoy extraordinary Nina Ivanova Yakushova (Greta Garbo), affectionately nicknamed Ninotchka – once you can break through that glacial exterior. A staunch communist and tireless workhorse, when she’s not zipping through the French civil code, she’s zipping up the steps of the Eiffel Tower. Guess who she meets on her way there. Her first meeting with the irrepressibly flirtatious male product of capitalist society is priceless.
Not knowing that each is gunning for the other side, Ninotchka and Léon fall for each other in a matter of hours – proving that opposites attract, politics be damned. Notice that despite the antagonism created by the capitalist-communist dynamic, there isn’t a nasty edge to their conversation. For example, after Ninotchka finds out that Léon is an idle playboy, she says, “You are something we do not have in Russia.” Beaming, he starts to thank her for the supposed compliment, but she goes on, “That is why I believe in the future of my people.” Rather than get angry or wisecrack about communism, Léon responds with obvious amusement, “I’m beginning to believe it too.”
Ninotchka is full of great lines, like when she first arrives in Paris and the comrades say they would have brought her flowers if they had known she would be a woman. “Don’t make an issue of my womanhood.” She answers dryly. Or back in Moscow, when her friend Anna (Tamara Shayne) tells her that the silk slip she brought back from Paris caused a commotion in the laundry yard, Ninotchka replies ruefully, “I would hate to have my country endangered by my underwear.” But rather than quote the whole film – which would take a considerable amount of time – let’s get back to Ninotchka.
On the surface, Ninotchka’s “mellowing” might seem artificial, but it’s not as though she goes from being an unfeeling hunk of metal to a piece of cotton candy. The humor is there from the beginning when she spars with Léon and the steeliness remains even after she falls for him, only now she actually lets herself laugh and smile more. Lest this seem like some kind of chauvinist revenge on a proverbial ice queen – Léon himself undergoes a transformation under Ninotchka’s influence. From being flip and insincere about basically everything, Léon becomes passionate and earnest for more than riches and physical comfort. (And herein we find the jab at the hedonist mentality, as created by capitalism.)
Also notice that Swana, the main antagonist, is allowed to be sympathetic. In her showdown with Ninotchka over the jewels, the script lets her get in a few shots. What’s more, Swana is a pretty formidable character despite her very limited screen time. After her first scene with Léon and Rakonin, Swana disappears for a good long stretch, so she has to make quite an impression on the viewer. And, note that though she loses the war with Ninotchka, she at least wins the battle. It’s an important distinction because sometimes the protagonist’s “victory” is too sweeping to be believable. Love doesn’t necessarily conquer all and it doesn’t immediately come into effect either.
Even though it’s a romantic comedy, which makes it obvious that Léon and Ninotchka have to be united despite whatever obstacles, the denouement still leaves you wondering how exactly they’re going to accomplish that without pulling a major deus ex machina. Which, as it happens, they don’t need, since they use Buljanoff, Iranoff, and Kopalski to solve the problem.
Since we’re speaking of writing economy (my beloved subject), note that Rakonin functions as a catalyst to the plot not once, but twice. First he tells Swana about the jewels, setting up the first conflict, and then he sets up the final confrontation between Ninotchka and Swana by handing the jewels over to Swana. It’s a neat job, proving once again that you can keep stock of the elements you use and keep using them rather than bring in new things. There’s no law that says you have to use something more than once, but often it makes for tighter writing.
Next week… The Third Man, taking a sharp turn away from all this comedy and romance.
