The Red Shoes: The Artistic Vocation - A Warning.
The Red Shoes is like no other film. Made in 1948, in a battered and broke Post War Britain, its title is that of a fairy tale, and in some ways that is precisely what we get, only this is a decidedly dark one that poses all sorts of questions on what exactly the artistic vocation is and, perhaps, more importantly, what it should never become.
The film is the work of one of Britain’s greatest cinematic pairings: Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger. Together they were to make 24 films in total, with their greatest work coming at the end of the 1930s and through the war blighted years of the 1940s. The Red Shoes comes during the peak of their combined creativity. It is a bold and daring work, even by today standards, and for all its ballet setting is pure cinema. And, not least, it is a beautiful film to look at in all its Technicolor glory.
The story played to the strengths of the filmmakers who were good at weaving reality and another ‘alternative reality’ into a convincing whole, something achieved so effectively in A Matter of Life & Death (1946). Here the balance is more realistic however, as the ‘other world’ is that of the stage. So, on first viewing, the movie, superficially at least, looks to be that of the ‘real’ world, but, like most things in cinema, appearances can be deceptive.
The fairy tale motif of the red shoes may run through the whole film, but it is as a tragic back-story, telling of the woes visited upon those unfortunate enough to wear the accursed shoes. By the end, we are left in no doubt that the shoes are indeed cursed, what is not clear though is why, or indeed how, they exert their demonic power. It is here that reality and another truth start to merge, for the shoes are now but a symbol of all that is taking place around the principal players as one man and two young lovers vie for control and commitment, for love and art, and, ultimately, for life and death.
The casting is impeccable; Powell & Pressburger were especially good at this, not least in placing not particularly well-known actors in key roles and thus making the part greater than the actor playing the role. Anton Walbrook is a fine example of this; in the Life & Death of Colonel Blimp (1943), he plays the German soldier to perfection, and yet you remember the whole piece not just his role. And, in The Red Shoes, even if Walbrook’s Boris Lermontov is so striking that he is hard to forget, it is still the whole film one remembers not just a single character, however memorable. All of this points to a great script and one that is the sum total of its parts, and that is certainly the case here.
Based on the fairy tale of Hans Christian Anderson, one that is augmented and built around by Powell & Pressburger, the plot is relatively simple, even if its themes are more complex. A young woman auditions for a world-famous ballet and succeeds, eventually becoming its prima ballerina. At the same time, a young composer finds his work recognised by that same Company and starts a spectacular career there too. The nexus of both is the Company impresario. It is he who makes them, but also, in time, it is he who will break them.
This impresario, Lermontov, has to be one of the most beguiling characters in all of cinema. A mix of attraction and repulsion for the audience, he has as much power over us as he has over the characters around him, so that we also, to some extent at least, wish him to succeed. His focus, like his will, bends to nothing other than his art; ballet is his life. There is no one, and seemingly, nothing else. And as the art form has become his raison d'être so too his world has been reduced to that alone so that he becomes lord of all he surveys: all look to him, hang on to his every word, observe his whims, and await his moods. This is a dangerous place for anyone to be; especially when the universe in question is so tightly compact and constricting. There is no counterbalance to this colossus. Or, so it seems, because, as one of his collaborators reminds Lermontov, you cannot change human nature. Lermontov responds that, in that case, he will ignore it. However, as he and we discover, what it is to be human can’t be so easily dismissed no matter how inhuman we become.
Into this dark and claustrophobic world comes the young woman, Vicky Page, played by Moira Shearer. She is ambitious to become a great ballerina and sees in Lermontov that his ambition and passion for ballet matches hers. Unknowingly on her part, a Faustian Pact is being entered into, as thereafter she ascends quickly to the forefront of Lermontov’s own ambitions.
The third party to the proceedings is Julian Craster played by Marius Goring. This young composer we first meet watching a performance of a new ballet that his then professor has ‘composed’, only to discover his own work is in fact being misappropriated. He goes to Lermontov to remonstrate. The cool impresario gives him advice: it is better to be stolen from than to have to steal. A shrewd judge of artists and their characters, the older man proposes that the young man work with the Company, an offer readily accepted. Their relationship is, however, never as intense as Lermontov’s relationship is with Vicky. Craster is far too independent minded for that.
The artistic high point comes with the ballet of The Red Shoes. Craster orchestrates the music to the sombre Anderson fairy tale. A pair of red shoes are coveted by a young woman and, when they finally become hers, she can dance like never before. The problem is that she cannot stop dancing – all the way to her death. The gift is, therefore, ultimately a tragic one.
Vicky is to dance the lead role. It proves to be a triumph for all concerned, not least Lermontov. He plans an all-conquering world tour with Vicky at its centre. Just as all seems well ordered in the world of Lermontov’s Ballet Company, what comes into the frame is a very human emotion: love.
Early on in the movie, we see Lermontov’s intense displeasure at his last prima ballerina leaving the company to get married. On hearing rumours of a relationship between the composer and the dancer, this same displeasure resurfaces, only more intensely, for here is someone, Vicky, whom he has ‘created’. Lermontov expects his ‘creature’ to do his bidding, and her falling in love with the increasingly free-spirited Craster is unacceptable to him. Staring angrily into a mirror, he smashes his fist into his reflection fearing that his desires are to be thwarted. There is no better a cinematic portrayal of hubris.
Lermontov is a man of control, not just of others, but of himself, and the intrusion of random emotions such as love are threats to him as much as to the world he has created. When Craster comes to see him and reveals his feelings for Vicky, Lermontov cannot comprehend why such emotions should trump what he is offering instead. In this short encounter, we see into the soul of a man who has sacrificed all for his artistic dream, and, in so doing, has become less human as a result. Turning from impresario into magus, he not so much weaves the magic spell of his art as he is in thrall to it. He is no longer the possessor of the gift but is possessed by it.
The couple leave and are wed. Love looks to have triumphed. And yet Vicky is enticed by Lermontov to return to him and once more dons the red shoes. Her husband comes for her, demanding that she leave with him. She cannot, torn between her love for him and her love for ballet. He leaves without her. She hesitates, and then tries to follow after him, but the red shoes will not allow her to do so. Instead, they cause her to throw herself from a balcony onto the rail track below near where her husband stands waiting. Rushing to her side, he hears her dying words asking that he remove the red shoes.
On discovering what has happened, Lermontov’s reaction is one of outrage, not so much one feels for the death of Vicky, as for the final defeat of his plans. The world proves to be uncontrollable after all.
So what are we to make of this strange, beautiful film?
It is at heart a movie about vocation, the legitimate following and shaping of the gifts that have been given us. It is also a warning of the limits and purpose of all talents. For the Christian understanding of vocation is one of gift. In the reception of, and living out of that gift, one gives oneself, and then paradoxically, the giver finds himself. This is particularly true of the artistic vocation. The gift is meant for others, the artist serving as the conduit. But there is more. In the exercise of the gift, the artist participates in the creativity of God, in the creation of something beautiful. This is art’s spiritual dimension.
In The Red Shoes, Lermontov represents one who is obsessed by the gift, an obsession that leads to moral blindness. He will not serve the giver of the gift. Non Serviam! He takes the devil’s option and, in so doing, turns his life and the lives of others into a living hell.
