“Let my fate be a warning to every man. Any man who can dance through life with hundreds of women, and is willing to waltz through life with one, should be hanged.” ~Count Danilo (Maurice Chevalier)
Jeanette MacDonald and Maurice Chevalier, The Merry Widow (1934)
The first time we hear composer Franz Lehar’s The Merry Widow Waltz is inside a private dining room upstairs at the scandalous Maxim’s club in Paris. Here, Ernst Lubitsch directs a magical sequence in which Jeanette MacDonald’s Sonia begins dancing alone, the camera following her 180 degrees before Maurice Chevalier’s Danilo rises from his table and joins her in their elegant waltz. As author Scott Eyman writes in Ernst Lubitsch: Laughter in Paradise: “But Lubitsch throws the emotional weight of the scene to the music, makes his actors and his camera move with it, so that Lehar’s romance, lilt, and gravity ground the conventional dramatics. In the regret the scene imparts, it points the way to the heartbreak and conviction of the great Lubitsch films of the 1940s.”
The Merry Widow (1934) is a magnificent film and the peak of the operatic tradition that Ernst Lubitsch began in 1929 with The Love Parade. It’s a mature work from a master director, and although the comedy is there, particularly in its wonderful supporting cast, the film is tinged with an air of loss. The only Lubitsch musical set in the distant past, The Merry Widow imbues in us, the modern viewer, a sense of finality. This is derived partially through the realization that this was an end of an era on many levels—not just of the MacDonald/Chevalier films themselves—but for this type of musical in general. It was the last of its kind.
The film benefits from the outstanding production values only a studio like MGM could provide. (The Merry Widow would win an Academy Award for Best Art Direction.) It was producer Irving Thalberg at MGM who spearheaded this film. There had been two earlier versions made of Lehar’s 1905 operetta—the most recent being Erich von Stroheim’s 1925 silent film. This third version—the first of the sound era– had been in development for years, with film treatments going back to 1929. After Maurice Chevalier left Paramount, Thalberg signed him for The Merry Widow. Chevalier wanted Grace Moore as his co-star and no doubt looked forward to making a musical without Jeanette MacDonald: the two were always professional on set but never cared for each other personally.
It was during this time that Joan Crawford was also being groomed for musicals. However, neither Moore or Crawford were seriously considered—to Chevalier’s chagrin. When Lubitsch was loaned out to MGM from Paramount for this assignment, he cast Jeanette MacDonald. She was, after all, beautiful and talented, and it only made sense to cast someone who could actually sing. MacDonald was never more alluring than she was in this film. Her 24 gowns designed by Adrian certainly helped. The rest of the cast included the delightful Edward Everett Horton as Ambassador Popoff, Una Merkel as Queen Dolores, and George Barbier as King Achmet.
Jeanette MacDonald is Sonia, the widow of the film’s title. She is the richest woman in the tiny European country of Marshovia. Danilo, the captain of the guard, played by Maurice Chevalier, tries to meet this woman behind the black veil but fails miserably. Sonia plans to leave for Paris, which spells economic ruin for the country since her money is tied up in 52% of Marshovia’s livestock. In an attempt to bring her back, the king enlists the aid of Danilo to marry the widow and keep her income in Marshovia. After all, there is no better man for this type of assignment. Danilo had already been caught in the Queen’s bedchamber!
Jeanette MacDonald sings The Merry Widow Waltz (lyrics by Lorenz Hart) with the MGM Orchestra…
The story was written by Ernest Vajda, who had done The Smiling Lieutenant, and Samson Rafaelson, who wrote Lubitsch’s best films including Trouble in Paradise. However, Irving Thalberg also assigned Anita Loos to watch over Lubitsch and make sure the story stayed on its romantic track; Thalberg didn’t want his director to veer off into his penchant for photographing objects in place of people. This was a somewhat narrow view held by Thalberg, but Lubitsch was able to handle the MGM writer and work with her.
The Merry Widow went into production in April with a budget of $1.6 million. The cinematographer was Oliver Marsh, who had shot the von Stroheim version in 1925. This was one of the last films to be in production before the Production Code became strictly enforced in July 1934. The film was passed for exhibition by Production Code Administrator Joseph Breen; however, at the New York premiere in October, there was outrage by some. Martin Quigley, publisher of the Motion Picture Herald, believed the film was a “double-cross” on Thalberg’s part and objected to what he viewed as “filth” in an operetta. He was alluding to suggestive sequences concerning Danilo’s sexual prowess. In addition, the club where both Sonia and Danilo meet, Maxim’s, is implied to be a high-class bordello—which did not escape the wrath of the censors. Some cuts, totaling about three minutes, were eventually made to the film, but since these deletions did not affect the original film negative, the complete version of Lubitsch’s film exists.
The Merry Widow‘s suggestiveness and Code violations aside, a counter argument could be made that there is actually a sense of morality to the film. It’s essentially a tale about a carefree womanizer who comes to understand the meaning of love– and to stay true to just one woman. Unlike the earlier Chevalier films, his character here is the one who changes for his partner. There is an added emotional depth to the story, and that is one of the reasons that makes it resonate more.
Unfortunately, the film did not resonate at the box office and wound up losing over a $100,000 on its initial release. Audiences in 1934 were more drawn to the Art Deco glamour of the Fred & Ginger musicals and the Busby Berkeley extravaganzas centering on middle-class America in the Depression. The milieu that Lubitsch had always thrived in—the one of noblemen and aristocracy in mythical kingdoms—was becoming passe—especially one based on a 1905 musical work.
Despite its box office shortcomings, The Merry Widow is one of the high achievements of MGM in the 1930s. It’s a film that Lubitsch passionately cared about, at one point doing a week’s worth of final editing for free after his contract had expired—an unheard of arrangement then and now. That dedication is evident in every frame, in every graceful movement, and in every spoken line. Lubitsch brought his individuality and style to a studio that was typically run like a factory but had the resources to produce spectacle. Like the dancers in the film’s Ambassador’s ball sequence, we hope viewers will be carried away by the movement and sheer joy on display.
NOTE: The Merry Widow was screened on April 13, 2023, with an attendance of 44. The reaction was overwhelmingly positive and a vast improvement over the previous week’s showing of Design for Living.
Although unable to join us in person, Maurice Chevalier collector/historian Thomas Knippen was very helpful to us in our research on Chevalier. Below is the actual tunic worn by Chevalier in The Merry Widow, which is now owned by Thomas.