VENICE, Italy—Few filmmakers have the notoriety of Leni Riefenstahl. After breaking out with The Blue Light in 1932, her filmmaking prowess drew the attention of the Third Reich. Impressed by Riefenstahl’s impressive aesthetic capabilities, Adolf Hitler commissioned her to direct a short called The Victory of Faith. This led to 1935’s The Triumph of the Will, the single most notorious propaganda film ever made. The film, a documentary about a Nazi party rally, featured innovative techniques and potent imagery. But more importantly, it cast Hitler as a heroic figure, and the film played a vital role in bolstering his reputation in Germany and beyond.
Living to an extraordinary 101, Riefenstahl spent the majority of her life fighting with the press in her steadfast refusal to accept complicity in helping with the Nazi war effort. She underwent bitter fights with journalists on what, to her, felt like a daily basis, constantly refuting that she had anything to do with the war effort. She was simply a gun for hire. She had no idea what the Nazis were doing, nor what they were capable of.
Directed by Andres Veiel, Riefenstahl, which just premiered at the Venice Film Festival, explores the life of Germany’s most controversial filmmaker, accessing her immense archive to create both a considerable portrait of Riefenstahl’s pre- and post-war life, as well as her involvement and impact in the Nazi efforts.
A personal archive can reveal a lot about someone—their prized possessions, photos, and memories that have defined them. Filmmakers naturally film far more footage than appear in the movies they make. Riefenstahl’s own library included endless hours of home videos. Archives are also highly curated, meaning Riefenstahl had control over what the world might eventually see. Perhaps it was a matter of ego or narcissism that Riefenstahl’s home movies contain the very evidence that would counteract the narrative she tried so hard to deny her whole life. Maybe she thought nobody would ever go through it. Or perhaps she just didn’t care what would happen after she died.
Veiel stitches together Riefenstahl’s letters, photos, interviews, phone calls, and films to create a damning and irrefutable portrait of the filmmaker. There is master filmmaking on display here. The way Veiel plays with Riefenstahl’s own words and turns them against her is devastating and impactful. This is a masterclass on how to reveal the truth about someone who spent their entire life denying it.
A significant portion of Riefenstahl’s nearly two-hour runtime is made up of interviews. The press all tend to toe the same line: How could she not consider herself responsible for the rise of the Third Reich, and how could she not have known what the Nazis were up to?
At first, Riefenstahl’s exhaustion with the press feels almost justified. It’s possible she did just do the job because she had no other choice—if you were in her shoes, would you feel comfortable rejecting Hitler? Having to deal with the same accusations when you know your own innocence must be exhausting, if not unbearable, and Riefenstahl showed tremendous resolve and self-restraint to not leap across the table at those who call her a Nazi enabler.
When it becomes abundantly clear in the film that Riefenstahl was being completely dishonest, things change. Veiel highlights a letter the director wrote to Hitler regarding Triumph of the Will that fawns over him like a giggling school girl. It’s revelatory. Veiel also discovers that when Riefenstahl filmed Lowlands in 1940, she used Roma prisoners as extras.
Riefenstahl always claimed they were set free after and vehemently denied any accusations that anything else could be true. But Veiel presents clear evidence that they all perished in concentration camps. The Roma community took her to task for this, which infuriated her: “Who’s more likely to commit perjury? Me or the Gypsies?”
The more Veiel uncovers about the true Riefenstahl, the more our perception of her changes. She morphs from a tireless defender of her own truth overwhelmed by the constant hounding she’s received from the press into a snickering sycophant. Riefenstahl is a crushing exposé, and its most impressive trick is peeling back the layers of a very private woman to show a petulant child who can’t believe people haven’t gotten over the atrocities she willingly helped create.
Riefenstahl presents itself as an academic exercise, poring through thousands of hours of material to deliver an evidence-based exploration of one of Germany’s most influential figures. In practice, it’s an absorbing and exhilarating example of how thorough research pays enormous dividends. Such rigorous work risks feeling laborious, but Riefenstahl is a marvel.
