La Signora Di Tutti

Max Ophuls, an early one of his pictures, 1934.
Ophuls is famous for his camera movements. Here he adopts largely tracks, though with a willingness to pan. There are the movement on perpendicular lines, through walls, and those closing to the actors. There are the lighter, freerer (not that the others are constricted) movements that dance slightly unsteadily, though never jerkily, with the dancing. What these movements do is create a wonderful generosoty of space. The world streches in all directions, flowing easily from one to another. As the take continues to another room, as the camera pans '270, one feels the screen may be confused with reality. There is a certain level of sheer physical pleasure in these movements, a joy in motion, that combines with this wonderful fluidity.
But Ophuls style is really a lot more than this. There are some wider shots, with a more static camera, that are always thoughtfuly composed. There is also, for all the movement, a nice sense of reticence at times in refusing to move. Gaby can go right to the other side of the room, and no need is felt to track along. It stops what could easily be ridiculous melodrama (quite knowingly) being that, but gives a certain quietness to the film that gives all the more emotional impact.
Ophuls use of montage and superimpostion is also more than noticeable. Their are fade-ins and outs that, again, create more space, more times and places all one into another. The superimpositions create worlds on top of each other, this is really more objective than subjective, as how all space is together, all as one flowing, running whole, is put together.
The story has a certain fatefulness. At times, use of fast montages of close-ups heightens the feelings of the characters. We have a woman, tragically, being manipulated from all angles. The world seems to push on these lonely ciphers. The plot, though rather cursory on paper, achieves in the direction a thoughtfulness and even reticence. This is a masterfully made picture.