Letter from an Unknown Woman (1948)

'Letter from an Unknown Woman' is the first Max Ophüls I have seen. The film certainly gave me a lot of things to think about. In a nutshell, I thought the screenplay and plot written by Ophüls and Howard E. Koch which is based on the novella of the same name is good, but what makes the film special is Ophüls' direction and choice of camera movements and visual rhythm.

The screenplay is not something that completely blew me away. There are a lot of things that felt familiar due to my acquaintance with some other films belonging to the label of 'melodrama' made during the 40s, 50s and 60s. The film does give off the familiar vibe of inevitable tragedy right from the early scenes. The screenplay for the most part works, but there are moments which felt a bit weak. The strength of the film lies in the way Ophüls beautifully gives us the elaborate sequence of Lisa's ever growing infatuation for Stefan, it is believable and sweet, Ophüls doesn't shy away from the bitter eventualities of a doomed infatuation,etc. Ophüls also somewhat handles the potentially sexist element in the film well and gives the character of Lisa growth and strength as she gradually matures. Although initially her life seems to completely revolve around the man and she is shown to pretty much worship him, but later she gets to take a bold decision to uphold her self-respect which undercuts the lack of layers in her character in the initial part of the film. But there are certain elements in the screenplay that felt a bit weak, for example there is a scene where one character departs via a train with the promise that he/she will return after two weeks, we then suddenly jump to another scene with a jump in the timeline which felt rushed and not seamless. There is another railway station sequence which comes later in the film which does a callback to the previous railway station scene, but the scene ends with a bit of a foreshadowing of what's to come and it felt a bit too on the nose, and heavy handed.

For me the best part of the film is Ophüls' sophisticated use of the camera. He composes and choreographs a lot of scenes in a beautifully symmetrical fashion. Music plays an important role in the narrative as Stefan is a musician and it is his musical prowess that initially attracts Lisa to him even before she has seen him in person. I believe Ophüls' intention was using a symmetry that is found in classical musical pieces in the way he stages movement and composes frames by referencing,mirroring and juxtaposing earlier scenes. Apart from the aforementioned railway station scene, every other scene involving symmetrical touches work. Some examples of this visual symmetry is the sequence in Linz which starts with the dialogue being muted out by the noise of a horse drawn cart and ends with the dialogue being muted out again by the marching band playing the 'Radetzky March'. Another brilliant pair of symmetric scenes are the stair case scenes where the camera captures movement from the same position in both scenes but with completely different perspectives. Even the first and last shot of the film are beautifully symmetric and bookend the film very well. There is a famous scene in an amusement park where Stefan and Lisa have a conversation on a virtual train ride which pretty much succinctly summarises the theme of the film which is how love can be an illusion just like the illusion of visiting different cities and countries that they were enjoying with the ride.

Joan Fontaine is brilliant.

Fmovies: Early on, Fontaine speaks of being born twice, once when you come into the world, once when you consciously actualize the beginning of your journey. I'm totally paraphrasing, but that's the gist. I was intrigued by this theoretical little idealistic theme. Director Max Ophuls deemed love as much a blight as a miracle, and this syrupy but highly sophisticated drama is one of the finest expressions of his refined aesthetic balance. It's composed of three extended episodes, each from another time in the heroine's life. This gives it a format resembling Ophuls' great Le Plaisir.

"By the time you read this letter, I may be deadÂ…. If this reaches you, you will know how I became yours when you didn't know who I was or even that I existed." As follows the letter that gives this most famous of Ophuls' American films its title. Joan Fontaine's words come to us from the brink of death. The letter's receiver is Louis Jourdan, the object of Lisa's failing affection, a man who has been blind to her passion, and whom this letter wishes both to alleviate from this state plus to blame him for it. Simultaneously, the letter is also conveyed to us, as Jourdan's reading of it instigates a single flashback, whereby we follow the content as narrative images that seem to spring from Fontaine's perspective, abbreviated periodically by her voice-over, which preoccupies the screen. In jeopardy here is only one thing: her existence has been unrecognized, a truth that rather literally kills her. This is why she returns to haunt the screen; her posthumous appeal for acknowledgement.

Fontaine overdramatically combines the intensity of her daydream with her feeling of reality: "As hard as it may be for you to realize, from that moment on I was in love with you. Quite consciously, I began to prepare myself for you." There are few characters in film history who so thoroughly exemplify the thrust of melodrama. This film, consequently, appears to stem its genre less from formula than from Lisa's actual core, hazarded, not unlike that of the unfortunate leading ladies of opera, on curtains that rise and fall, until they don't rise anymore. Film, naturally, unlike opera, is a form of renaissance, where images can return to preoccupy us from a far-flung past. The melodrama of this film makes the most of this.

Staircases. Sets on multiple levels. Episodic and sectional construction of stories. Historical recreations of continental eras and societies. Entertainment spectacles: the carriage ride with unrolling pictures. Scenes at opera houses. The presence of tradesmen and servants as supporting players in camera movements. Irony. Ophuls' signature panning shots are much more flexible in this film. Ophuls' characters frequently go up or down staircases. The pans can quietly tilt upward or down, keeping the character in the focal point of the composition while crossing the staircase. The staircases here are merely series of short steps, leading from one floor to another. The transitions and pans are likewise minute and elegant. Characters also often move around within a location, such as the businessman incessantly fussing around the train station. Ophuls' camera pans from side to side with this man, as he moves impatiently through the crowd. Fontaine's dreamscape is exposed for us, developed into the geographic web of a city where the sole bystander that matters is Jourdan.

From the (strangely neglected) master of romantic period confections- Max Ophuls-, an exquisitely beautiful and poignant tale of a teenage girl (played by Joan Fontaine) in late 19th century Vienna who falls in unrequited love with a concert pianist (Louis Jourdain)...

The sets, lighting, smooth gliding camera, costumes, subtly matched musical accompaniment and delicate but aching emotion make for something quite wonderful; it's a film of supreme elegance and extraordinary luminous fragility, a tiny hidden jewel box filled with moonlight.

Letter from an Unknown Woman fmovies. This film grows even more extraordinary when compared with its source, Stefan Zweig's novella of the same name. In the story, Stefan is a writer, not a musician. The film transforms him into a pianist, thereby insuring that his seductive art can work on the audience at the same time as it works on the heroine. This movie gets bigger every time it is viewed. It seems to offer new surprises every time, because of the perfection of its structure and the implicative richness of its mise-en-scene. The echo effects ("Two weeks!") take on fresh meanings, and there is even a good deal of religious symbolism to be found.

All of Ophulus films are remarkable achievements of content and form, but, this film is certainly his greatest contribution to cinema in the USA, and arguably his greatest film of any period. It is the intoxicatingly bittersweet tale of the obsessive love a young girl (Joan Fontaine) develops for a rougish pianist (Louis Jordan) that remains throughout each charcters life, long after most school-girl crushes have faded away. Fontaine charcter is so convincingly and sympathetically drawn that we are pulled into her desire for this rather self-possessed artist against our own rational thoughts. And as the film progresses Fontaine's attraction to the artist begins to deepen and humanize the audiences response to him. This film is deeply concerned with a woman's role under patriarchy and the limitations of "romantic" love as a form of fulfillment. It is also a well thought out examination of the idea of the "artistic" life as offering the possibilities of either liberation or entrapment.

This has to be one of my all time favorite films. Ophuls is perhaps the most graceful and elegant film-maker ever. Here in Letter from an Unknown Woman, he is at his most romantic. Though the romance is only a fantasy (and so beautifully subverted by Ophuls graceful choreography and merciless sense of irony), passion is nevertheless king (or queen). I have never seen a film celebrate love in quite this way. It reminds me of one of the most beautiful lines in cinema from Altman's "Gosford Park" when Sophie Thompson says, "I believe in love. Not just getting it... giving it. I think as long as you can love somebody, whether or not they love you, then it's worth it." Ophuls' entire film plays with this very notion. Lise's fanatical love (and obsession) is requited not by Stefan but by Ophuls himself, and of course by weepy viewers like me and hopefully you too.