The Red Shoes - Analytical Essay

Kevin Smock

30 April 2014

            Similar to the burst of productivity during the post World War II period in the United States, Great Britain’s cinema also took off. Films like Carol Reed’s The Third Man and Laurence Oliver’s Shakespeare adaptations still serve as inspiration for many pertinent filmmakers today. However, Michael Powell’s and Emeric Pressburger’s The Red Shoes (1948) proves to be one of the most valuable within the era. Handled with such dexterity, the Impressionistic and Expressionistic story showing methods cannot go unnoticed. Not only that, but the film also exists as a wonderful narrative and sheds light onto some valuable themes. It is a film about decision-making; it is a film about making sacrifices; it is a film about choosing between one’s passion and one’s lover.

            The movie, like many of the time, takes on a concise three-act structure that keeps viewers engaged throughout. Most films of the 40s and 50s (and even today) take time in act one to establish all necessary exposition. During the studio era, though, information was given rather obviously and usually by word of mouth. Not to discredit the films of that time, because many of them are quite wonderful, but studio heads usually lent a heavy hand in making the movies as blatantly comprehensible as possible, often resulting in a repetition of information distribution. Getting back on track, the outstanding thing about The Red Shoes is the fact that the most imperative exposition is communicated visually, especially the defining moments of the central characters. For instance, Julian is enthralled with music and wouldn’t give it up for the world… until he’s forced to later in the film. With only two cuts this fact about him is definitively demonstrated.

Then, a similar occurrence, Victoria lives for dance, and like Julian, would not give it up for the world, again, until she’s forced to later in the film.

These two moments mirror one another, creating a crucial parallel for the whole film. From here, the two characters build their careers up step by step and synonymously. The film kicks off with two separate parties: Julian and co. + Victoria and co. They’re both attending a ballet, Heart of Fire, directed by Boris Lermontov and scored by Julian’s former professor, Palmer. Throughout the performance, Julian realizes that the score used in the ballet is actually a work of his own and Palmer has stolen it from him. Meanwhile, Lady Neston, who is friends with Palmer, delivers a note to him that invites him as well as Boris to a party she is throwing. However, she has an ulterior motive, which is to introduce her niece Victoria to Boris so she can get an opportunity to dance in his ballets. The way in which both Julian and Victoria are invited to partake in Boris’s production company is witty, funny, and visually wonderful.

When Boris is at Neston’s party he is in line for food with Victoria next to him. The audience is well aware of Victoria’s desire to be acquainted with him as well as the fact that Boris has no idea who she is. Victoria and Boris get to talking and Boris mentions the fact that he has been suckered into attending the party and he was only wanted to scope out another talent that he most likely will not be impressed with. At this point, the audience is most likely thinking something along the lines of, “uh-oh!” Victoria cannily responds by stating that she is that certain talent. Boris is charmed by Victoria though, as much as his personality would probably like to deny it. In result, he invites her to his company’s practice space. While this occurrence relies heavily on dramatic irony and a witty dialogue exchange, Julian’s episode that lands him in Boris’s company is dependent upon editing and sound design.

Julian storms into Boris’s office and explains that he is a former student of Palmer and that Palmer has lifted his score. Boris sardonically responds, “It is much more disheartening to have to steal than to be stolen from, hmmm?” On a complete side note: Truer words have never been spoken. Boris ends up inviting Julian to play a musical number to show him what he has got. Now, one would think that the ballet director would pay the utmost attention to a performance. However, this is not the case.

Cutting back and forth among these images creates a synthesis that states: These sorts of things constantly surround Boris, a musical performance is no big deal for him. The fact that the sounds of Boris’s eating utensils clanking around tend to overshadow Julian’s music and that Boris’s servant moves freely about the room in no regards to the performance doubles the effect of this concept. Julian takes his lackadaisical attitude as a huge insult and storms out of Boris’s office. He’s stopped before he can exit though and Boris invites him to be apart of his company. This simple moment is wholly demonstrative of each character. It exemplifies Boris’s years of experience in the business against Julian’s novice attitude. It also conveys Boris’s competence, the fact that he doesn’t even have to think twice about considering Julian for the part, he effortlessly makes the right decision.

            These two moments yield the beginning of act two, where the two main characters’ actively begin the pursuit of their established goals: to perform. The remainder of act two demonstrates the struggle for the two rookies to prove themselves. They both show up at Boris’s rehearsals expecting adequate treatment only to be let down by Boris hardly acknowledging them. Julian and Victoria, after showing Boris they have what it takes to succeed, are invited to hold honorary positions on Boris’s next ballet, The Red Shoes. The midpoint of the narrative occurs when Julian and Victoria meet for the first time, in high spirits, at the theaters balcony. Chemistry among the two is sensed early on; by the end of their encounter any ordinary audience member would receive the conception that an affair will bud from this. They observe a train car traveling below the balcony that blows a cloud of smoke their way. This image serves as a prominent motif for the film. In this scene, it represents the birth of a new relationship.

            One of the main reasons Victoria is able to land her role in the ballet is due to the former actress’s marriage. Boris feels that strong personal relationships distract one from their creative endeavors. Essentially, an individual can only have one love. By planting this piece of information we learn a lot about Boris’s philosophies and also yields for a much more interesting scene at the climax of the film. The whole cast and crew of the ballet is attending a celebratory party due to the ballet’s success. One of the member’s of the ballet playfully points out that two of the “members of the family” are not present. While the whole party admires the notion that the two are in love, the camera has a tendency to hold on Boris’s somber expression while the endearing voices of the other’s are heard, creating a wonderful counterpoint between the visuals and the dialogue. Due to the planting of information earlier in the movie – the fact that Boris doesn’t like his cast members involved in any sort of relationships – the audience does not need to hear Boris explicitly demonstrate his disapproval. The implication via the editing speaks much louder than any words could. It’s more effective to observe his bottled up contempt than to hear any sort of potentially contrived dialogue. Eventually, Julian and Victoria are confronted by Boris, which results in a mess of their careers and their relationship. Julian finds work in opera while Victoria stays out of work. Victoria returns to Boris’s ballet but Julian soon finds out and appears at the theater, sacrificing the opening night of his first opera just to confront the two. Julian ends up storming out of the theater, feeling immensely betrayed by Victoria. At this point in the narrative, viewers are designed to sympathize with Victoria. While she did in a way betray Julian, Julian also betrayed her in a sense: he moved on to opera, where dance does not exist. This leaves Victoria’s career, but more importantly her passion, to lie dormant. The ambivalent attitude Victoria comprises at this point is serious. What is she to do? In a fit of panic and bewilderment, she attempts suicide by jumping off a balcony, where the couple first met, onto the train tracks where a train is quickly approaching. We see the same location that was once painted with a palette of sunset colors and underscored with youthful compassion behaving in the opposite fashion. What once signified the birth of a fresh relationship now signifies the finale of it.

            Miraculously enough, and in proper fashion of 50s melodrama, Victoria survives. Julian then approaches Victoria, ensures she’s in good health, demonstrates his affection for her, and then a fantastic moment occurs. Their eyes are locked on one another while Vicky states, “Take off the red shoes.” This ever so simple subtextual line of dialogue speaks volumes. From the get go, from the first time the audience is introduced to Victoria, it is evident that her only real desire in life is to dance in a prodigious ballet. Now, for her to tell Julian to remove the shoes is a huge moment for her character. What it means is essentially I will give up my lifelong dream to be with you. To be with you is to surpass any feeling of satisfaction I could get from dance. Although the film’s plot has many elements of melodrama (which contemporary audiences have generally grown intolerant of) the film’s moments are handled with such craft. Instead of a long anecdote on how Victoria loves Julian and how she’ll give up dance for him and blah-blah-blah, it’s summed up into one line of dialogue. Given all that has been observed throughout the film, that’s all an audience needs to hear and see. This sort of subtlety cannot be topped.

            The relationships among the characters within the story are crucial to the organization and development of the film as a whole. As stated before, but will now be elaborated on further, the parallels among Julian and Victoria set the stage for the drama to come and also lead viewers into assuming that they will come to meet and form a sort of connection, whatever that may be. From the beginning of the film both of their lines of action are crosscut among one another, and grow symmetrically until they meet midway through the movie. The discernible parallels of the two include: They both intently observe their preferred medium at play, early on in the movie; they both have a long way to go and build themselves up, from rags to riches; they both have red hair; etc. The benefits of creating such connections give order to the narrative, and it’s human nature to seek some sort of form. Have you ever interrupted someone’s daily routine? Meddled with their morning coffee, their midday cigarette, or their post-dinner glass of wine? When the order of Julian and Victoria’s relationship is broken, viewers have a reaction and they take a stance. Well, that is what Boris does, but one cannot be quick to call him an antagonist because he’s given the two characters their greatest opportunity, he has given them a life they’ve always dreamed of. However, he can just as easily take it away and is more than willing to when he learns of their relationship. For a man of such creative talent, he’s adamant about terminating romance – a rather peculiar duality, a contradiction almost. This aspect of Boris though, this ambivalence, is what makes for a dense character, and that’s a major objective for the dramatist. All of this character disagreement can be summed up with one word: triangulation. Let us imagine an equilateral triangle with Boris at the top and Julian and Victoria at the two points below. Boris is almost like a puppeteer, with a sort of omniscient control over the two because he comprises the ticket to their success. The tension of the film is indicative of this push pull relationship among the three – it erupts for Boris when he finds out the two are together, it erupts for Julian when he finds out that Victoria went back to the ballet, and it erupts for Victoria when she cannot make a decision.

            Speaking of the end of the film, the conflict really occurs because once the two are let go of the ballet, they can no longer perform harmoniously. Julian’s walk down the road of opera has no room for Victoria’s dance moves, meanwhile they only ballet that can gain Victoria any sort of merit is Boris’s. Essentially, dance and music are at war. This very vital conflict at the end of the film is conveyed rather innocently at the beginning of the film: Julian and his friends are exploiting the wonderful work of Palmer towards two dance student sitting next to them, who are trying to validate dance over music. Not only via the dialogue is this idea expressed, but it’s beautifully done visually as well, leaving the defendants of each medium in two separate shots and cutting among them.

            A beautifully crafted scene in regards to time and emotion occurs just after Boris has learned that the couple has been married. The scene begins with a shot of some sort of public notice that Julian and Victoria have been married, the camera then moves over to an ash tray overflowing cigarette butts. This shot alone speaks volume on Boris’s attitude: stressed, angry, betrayed – and he’s been there awhile, clearly, feeling this way. The rest of the sequence carries on wonderfully and with no dialogue. By means of the image size, Boris’s gestures, and pacing of the cuts, the audience immediately empathizes with Boris. The images below are what storySHOWING is all about:

            The Red Shoes cannot ever be brought up without mentioning the ballet sequence. There’s very much going on within the scene that concerns Victoria as a character. For instance, the audience observes a shot of Victoria’s character in the play looking in horror towards another character within the play. However, a flash frame occurs of the antagonizing character being replaced with a shot of Boris, replicating the character’s pose. What can be connoted from this is the fact that what is on Victoria’s mind is to do well for Boris, thus substituting the antagonizing force of the play with Boris. This is a very Impressionistic element of the film, delving into such subjectivity.

However, the strong point of this sequence is unrelated to the story as a whole, I believe. I look at this sequence as a criticism, or maybe a comparison, of the mediums of theater and film. In Andre Bazin’s What Is Cinema?, he discusses the differences between film and theater and one line he states that is particularly evident in The Red Shoes is: “The cinema makes it possible to carry a simple situation to its ultimate conclusions which on stage would be restricted by time and space, that is, to what might be called a larval stage.” This statement is basically exemplified in the movie. The stage performance begins to be expressed as it would be to an audience member in a theater.

However, it ends up transcending into something far beyond any inherent bounds or realism. Victoria mentions earlier in the play that her performance will comparable to a “battle with the audience.” This is clearly just her nerves talking and her speaking figuratively, of course. Yet, it is actually expressed visually during the play. Again, characters within the diegesis of the ballet are metonymic devices for what Victoria imagines to be the audience members.

Essentially, all of the imagery within the play – once it moves past its early filmed theater style – is expressive of Victoria’s mental state, much like a German Expressionism film. By the end of the play, once she is satisfied with her performance and viewers are clapping for her, the audience is substituted with a serene ocean which suggests Victoria being at peace with them.

Again though, I see the real beauty of this scene to be more of a triumph for the cinema itself rather than an expressive vehicle for a character’s mental state.

            The Red Shoes... what a movie, man.