Trouble in Paradise

Trouble in Paradise will surprise you. Ah yes, you say, another of those stilted early sound films where the stationary camera records the dramatic action of a sloppy sentimental romance. Valuable, you might suppose, for a film historian, but definitely not to be enjoyed.

But this film is just plain fun. Ernst Lubitsch, the man who made it, was known for the "Lubitsch touch," an adeptness at light comedy coupled with extraordinary photographic technique. His films impress one as distinctly modern, certainly not as museum pieces.

Made in 1932 during the Depression, the film concerns the life of the overly rich. Into the poshsetting Lubitsch injects a con man par excellence, far smoother than the bungling James Bond, with overtones of the earthy Mack the Knife. A zany situation comedy follows, set on a foundation of social pretense. Lubitsch pours on the humor, doubling joke upon joke, until his audience splits with laughter. Thirty years later it is just a s effective.

Lubitsch also deals in social comment, but the touch is so gentle that no one could be offended. A scene in a luxury hotel in Venice closes with a shot of a garbage scow on the canal, the boatman breaking into lusty song. A young Bolshevik scolds an indulgent heiress, but his overzealousness places the joke equally on him.

Trouble in Paradise represents a movie trend in the early thirties devoted to making the cinema a truly international art, despite the language barrier imposed by sound. The action takes place in France and Italy with much of the native language left untranslated. Lubitsch was a German director who had just moved to Hollywood, which explains the remarkable precision that organizes the lavishness in this film. The entirely American cast lends a flavor of New World comment on the European scene. This international cooperation in moviemaking was not to be seen again until very recently (Jean-Luc Godard's Contempt).

For the film student, Lubitsch's work offers many lessons. His ability to frame shots is strikingly like Antonioni's, yet he never suffers from dramatic lapses. A scene by a window will be framed by the draperies, or interior shots may be bordered by a table edge or cabinet. Such concern with composition was to disappear shortly afterwards, only to be resurrected by the modern European directors.

Hardly history or camp, Trouble in Paradise proves that vintage cinema masterpieces can be easily as enjoyable as any current film and definitely worth seeing.