Ernst Lubitsch’s 1932 classic Trouble in Paradise bears all the hallmarks of the “Lubitsch touch”: sensuality, sophistication, innuendo, whimsy, and wit. Even in the title screen, when the words “Trouble In” appear next to an image of a bed for just a couple of beats before “Paradise” arrives to complete the title, we’re treated to a dash of the sly, impish humor that’s liberally sprinkled throughout the film.
Such cleverness is indicative of Lubitsch’s penchant for comic timing, sly visual gags, and the editing rhythms he honed in his Pre-Code musicals such as The Love Parade, Monte Carlo, The Smiling Lieutenant, and One Hour With You. (All four of those films are collected on Criterion’s Eclipse Series 8: Lubitsch Musicals box set.) With Trouble in Paradise, Lubitsch channels the musicality of those films into a romantic comedy without songs, save for the opening shot where a Venetian garbageman hilariously belts out “O Sole Mio.”
There’s a distinct rhythm to Trouble in Paradise that accentuates the poetic qualities of everything from the dialogue to the cinematography. This musicality is evident in various motifs, such as Lily’s (Miriam Hopkins) repetition of the room numbers of the many-roomed Royal Suite at the Venetian hotel that we initially see at the start of the film. Then there are the recurring quick-cut montages of various servants responding to Gaston (Herbert Marshall), her fellow thief and love interest, his mark, and other romantic interest, Mariette Colet (Kay Francis). The cadence of the dialogue in general frequently has a playfully sensual quality to it that’s further heightened by the constant flow of the script’s double entendres and innuendos.
But it’s also the film’s editing, for valuing the economy of expression, that allows such moments to attain an unhampered intensity. In Gaston and Lily’s first meeting, in which they quickly fall in love, we don’t see Lily stealing his watch or wallet nor him swiping her brooch or garter. Lubitsch delights in this staging of their one-upmanship as roleplay, leaving the objects off screen and as such instilling them with a thrillingly erotic charge.
While Trouble in Paradise is a work of exceptional efficiency, the secondary characters get their the room to shine, which helps to fill out the film’s world outside of the central love triangle. Both the waiter (George Humbert) in Gaston’s room at the start of the film and Mariette’s butler (Robert Greig) have their moments, whether in the form of a punchline or a repeated bit of subtle physical humor. This is also the rare Pre-Code film to use background music to accentuate mood, and that choice, along with so many others, speaks to Lubitsch’s meticulous attention to the connection between image and sound, action and emotion.
Image/Sound
Criterion’s transfer of a new 4K restoration by the UCLA Film & Television Archive looks positively luminous. This is a long overdue upgrade, as the image on Criterion’s 2002 DVD looked washed out and dull. Black levels are magnificent, evident in the night skies above Venice in the early scenes and the characters’ black suits and dresses. The image is consistently sharp, boasting vivid detail and a film-like texture. The audio bears some of the limitations of early sound films, but the dialogue and music has a surprising depth and resonance to it that comes as close to making an early-’30s film sound more like a late-’30s one as these ears have heard.
Extras
It would be hard to improve on Scott Eyman’s 2002 audio commentary, so it’s no surprise that it’s been ported over from the Criterion DVD. Eyman, author of Ernst Lubitsch: Laughter in Paradise, gives insights into Lubitsch’s background, Trouble in Paradise’s themes and visual style, and his working relationship with screenwriters Samson Raphaelson and Grover Jones. In his 10-minute intro, also a holdover from the DVD, Peter Bogdanovich talks about Lubitsch’s influence on his Hollywood contemporaries and great rapport with actors.
New to this release is a video essay by critic David Cairns that covers a lot of ground, touching on everything from the main trio of actors’ ironic self-awareness to Lubitsch’s representation of crime. Rounding out the package is a booklet with a wonderful new essay by critic Farran Smith Nehme that highlights the most Lubitschian scenes and the contributions of various actors.
Overall
Ernst Lubitsch’s Pre-Code masterpiece Trouble in Paradise sparkles like never before on this long-overdue 4K upgrade from the Criterion Collection.
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