Watching an Ernst Lubitsch film is like fooling around under the covers with someone else in the room. You know what's going on, your mind is totally infatuated with it, but you don't say it. You don't let it break the surface. You look at your partner in the dark and wink; everything's an in-joke. And occasionally, a song and dance breaks out.
And there you have The Merry Widow (1932). What a pleasure it is to sit back and watch a movie that seeks to only entertain and suggest a sexual merriment that doesn't seem to exist anymore in our over-sexed culture. I bet sex was a lot more fun back in the day because it had so much promise behind it. When it was behind closed doors, the world could only imagine and fantasize. And if you were Lubitsch, you found tricks to fantasize about it all the time.
If I could be any character, let me be a Lubitsch character. Let me be someone who has somethign witty to say at every turn. Even in sad moments, let me talk my way out of it with a smile and a wink.
The Merry Widow works, I think, simply because Lubitsch made it. The story is nothing special, and the editing needs some work. It drags at times. Characters are underdeveloped. But what a world. What world exists today with lavish ballrooms and italian violinists and dukes with dramatic moustaches. The movie keeps pulling rabbits out of hats. Nothing is taken serious. The "wedding" scene at the end arrives out of thin air, and we can only smile and shake our heads in our seats. Pure escapism, and thank god for it.
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