So stirring is Triumph of the Will that even the anti-Nazi cannot remain unmoved.
Picture a documentary film that begins by extolling a great leader as a saviour for his war-ravaged nation, and announcing that he is “flying to meet and encourage his faithful followers”. The stately grandeur of the visuals and the dramatic music score make it seem like an Olympian God is about to descend among his people, and the effect is amplified by the a long sequence that follows — beautiful black-and-white footage of clouds seen from inside an airplane. The effect is that of being placed, with the leader, in a celestial realm. As the plane begins its descent, we see aerial shots, then close-ups, of a grand old city, full of towers and spires. It’s like something out of a medieval picture-book, and we feel a thrill; so this is the kingdom that the Godlike being is presiding over.
At the airstrip, people cheer wildly as the deity alights. Driven through the city in a cavalcade, he waves at his high-spirited subjects; there are close-ups of smiling, golden-haired children, the sun on their faces; a mother, carrying her child, hands him a bouquet. The sense of hope and bonhomie is tangible; as a viewer, it’s difficult not to be seduced by it.
But the year is 1934, the place is Nuremberg, Germany, and the leader is Adolf Hitler, who is promising a glorious future to a country that was devastated by the first World War. With the benefit of hindsight, we know what repercussions that march towards “glory” will have for Europe and the world.
Watching the opening 10 minutes of Leni Riefenstahl’s great propaganda film Triumph of the Will, it’s easy to see why, 75 years after its release, this is still one of the most controversial movies ever made. It was authorised by Hitler himself — he wanted a filmed record of the Nuremberg rallies to inspire patriotism in his people — and when he discussed the project with Riefenstahl, he told her he wanted an “artistically satisfying” perspective rather than a drab political document. The result is something that is part-documentary, part myth-making, and capable of stirring some very uncomfortable responses in the viewer. It’s a credit to Riefenstahl’s filmmaking gifts that she turned Hitler into a living legend so effectively. But what were the moral ramifications? What role did this very successful film play in making Nazism attractive?
These are questions that continue to be asked today, and they tie in to larger ideas about the relationship between art and morality. So powerful is the imagery of Triumph of the Will that even those of us who associate the Nazi swastika with something irredeemably ugly can, briefly at least, understand the patriotism that the symbol must have inspired among ordinary Germans of the time. The many shots of the swastika on banners and flags are typical of the film’s contemplative style. Triumph of the Will is full of languid shots that don’t seem directly relevant to the subject matter: city streets and vistas, people going about their work, even a cat watching a procession from a balcony —and of course those clouds in the opening scene. But this only heightens the build-up to the rallies, where the Nazi leaders make fiery nationalist speeches.
It would be comforting to think that the film is now harmless from an ideological point of view, but I was taken aback during a recent conversation at a book event with a young man — one of many in this country who seem bizarrely obsessed with Hitler’s Mein Kampf. “Wasn’t there a famous documentary about Hitler by a woman director?” he asked, “I’d love to see it — the guy was so charismatic, such a leader!”
If he does get around to watching Riefenstahl’s film, he’ll probably become a card-carrying neo-Nazi. Propaganda of this quality never loses its power.
[Jai Arjun Aingh is a Delhi-based freelance writer]
