Whenever we meet someone, we meet on the mental thresholds of each other, we’re all houses to be entered, and after we first shake hands, the waiting begins; I’m waiting at your door, while you’re waiting at mine, our feet on the thresholds of each other’s inner lives. If the doors are never opened, we’re mere acquaintances. If we open them once and never close them, giving the other person the freedom to choose when to come and go, we’re lifelong friends. If we open them once and never see each other again, it is a one-night stand – although I wish the term were one-night lovers as even a two-hour affair could be (and should be) classified as love.
Life is about continually travelling through the threshold of emotional intimacy; we’re all opening or closing our doors. Ernst Lubitsch knew this in detail and employed doors as metaphors while dealing with intimate relationships; he used them to depict the dynamics and personalities of his characters; he was called “the director of doors” – a term initially used for him by Mary Pickford. Even a closed door speaks in Ernst Lubitsch’s films because closed doors could always be opened. The first thing you do at the start of any relationship is open the door of your house; you open your door as an invitation.
In the 1931 film “The Smiling Lieutenant”, directed by Ernst Lubitsch, the palace of Princess Anna (Miriam Hopkins) is echoing with music. Princess Anna plays the piano with her bedroom door wide open, hoping to lure in Niki (Maurice Chevalier), who’s not quite in love with Anna. She persists in playing the music and does not give up hope even though Niki leaves the palace to meet with the woman he truly loves. Though your doors may be wide open, you cannot drag anyone in, but you can play your music; they’ll come and listen if they want to.
All relationships in Ernst Lubitsch’s films exist on thresholds. Not just the thresholds of intimacy but the thresholds of morality, thresholds of gender, and thresholds of tradition too. His films depicted promiscuousness, cheating, arranged marriages, polygamy with the utmost delicacy through a wide variety of unconventional characters; cross-dressing women, well-dressed pickpockets, degenerate men, blithe crooks, and sexually assertive women that did not get punished for their sensual appetites – Lubitsch didn’t believe in femme Fatales who were destined to lose! At these thresholds, those who are untraditional can exist in happiness, fitting into a place is not the only option (it’s not even an option most Lubitsch characters even consider) and what we can see in Lubitsch is that he implies we all mostly spend our time in such thresholds. That existence in moralistic purgatory could be an admirable situation even at its worst.
Nothing is definite in our lives, and nothing is definite in Lubitsch’s films. Like all Lubitsch characters, we must welcome the uncertainty of love with open arms. A trio consisting of a woman (Miriam Hopkins) and two men (Gary Cooper & Frederic March) are at the back of a taxi; Miriam Hopkins first kisses Frederic March, who is sitting on her right side, then she kisses Gary Cooper. This scene ends Ernst Lubitsch’s “Design for Living” (1933); this trio has failed at such a relationship agreement before, but it doesn’t mean they can’t try again. It is not a signifier of a future fiasco. The film ends with an uncertainty about the future, but the uncertainty does not spoil the happiness of our trio, and it should not spoil yours.
Life and relationships have their ugly sides. It is a matter of angle to see uncertainty’s immense happiness and beauty in a society that makes us aim for definite success. What makes every scene in Lubitsch so special for me is the delicacy of his angle; there’s a held note of sophistication apparent in his films that never changes. Lubitsch never embellishes. He shows the beauty of trash to us by twirling a trash can under the sun to make you see the shimmers. Let’s take the opening of “Trouble in Paradise”, a 1932 American pre-code romantic film directed by Lubitsch. We are sweeping down through the night of Venice, and a trash collector is piling up the garbage into his gondola, singing “O Sole Milo!” His singing is no less powerful than listening to an Opera, and a trash collector singing has the same effect of being in the presence of a languid tenor. The scene is a cinematic genius, but it implies something essential in a relationship; seeing the grim aspects (of a person, of a situation) with the same earnestness and with the same love, we see the beautiful aspects. You’ll have the same ecstasy a famous Tenor initiates in an expansive well-decorated room if you listen to the trash collector singing while collecting trash with the same attention. I think this is the essential sophistication to apply to our relationships. This is a particular sophistication, wisdom of interpersonal manners, understanding and mastering the balance of seriousness and silliness. You must see everyone on equal terms to give them a chance to bring some beauty into your life.
In his oeuvre, Lubitsch’s characters were all unique from each other. Still, all his protagonists shared the common trait of being generous with their love and asking for love. There’s a balance of receiving love and love that is being given. Even when they seem logical at first sight, Lubitsch’s characters always follow their emotions, but these emotions mainly stop when the other party’s emotions get too serious. The bumptiousness of people is only because they love, and you can love while asking for love unashamedly.
There’re many generous sacrifices made for the other’s happiness. In Lubitsch’s most serious film, “Broken Lullaby” (1932), a guilt-ridden French violinist- Paul tracks down the family of the man he has killed in the war – Walter (also a violinist), so he could confess his guilt and maybe abandon his guilt. But when he meets Walter’s fiancée Anna, he falls in love. When he reveals his crime to Anna, she suggests that he takes Walter’s place in the family. So, in exchange for taking Walter’s life, both give up some of their morals to achieve collective happiness- the lack of morals, and the lies, seem so little to disturb the characters. At the end of the film, Paul picks up the violin of the man he killed, and the music continues with a subtle smile on Paul’s face.
Love increases when we share it. The bottle will fill when everyone puts some water in it. We can see such generosity in every Lubitsch film, but asking is the main rule about giving. If you’re giving love, you must be able to ask for more love in return. In his 1939 film, “Ninotchka”, Ninotchka (played by Greta Garbo) is lying in Leon’s (Melvyn Douglas) arms in a sensual mood. After Leon kisses her, Ninotchka asks for another kiss, and then when Leon is about to talk, she kisses him one more time; Leon, in return, asks, “Again?”. One of the beauties of being generous is finding generosity. Being able to ask for more makes you able to give more. And to be able to ask, you must be a self-possessed, self-loving creature first. Suppose you’re unable to open your door, or unable to ask for the love you deserve, or unable to be serious at the right. In that case, I suggest a dose of Lubitsch. Let Ernst Lubitsch elaborate to you the way to be sophisticated in love.
