During the early parts of the twentieth century, Lily (Marlene Dietrich), who has only known the life of a farmer’s daughter, undertakes the uncertain journey from her small village to Berlin, where she hopes to grow into a functional woman, surrounded by the sights and sounds of a modern city. She is set to work for her aunt (Alison Skipworth), a strict and foreboding older woman who owns and operates a local bookstore, which she is hoping to bestow onto her niece, who she believes should be able to run it successfully with some work. However, it soon becomes clear that Lily isn’t naive for long, and her eye begins to wander, especially upon the arrival of Richard (Brian Aherne), a dashing young man who reveals himself to be a sculptor, with his studio situated just across from their store. Their meeting is characterised by Richard’s unusually short temper, which he mistakenly asserts onto the unsuspecting Lily, who he doesn’t realize is the very key to resolving his artistic frustrations, since she possesses the striking beauty he has been waiting to find, as he was anxiously hoping to find someone to inspire him. He invites the young woman to his studio, where he convinces her to lose her inhibitions and allow him to use her as his muse. At first, she is reluctant – but through gradually falling in love with him, Lily begins to lose her protective barrier, and surrenders herself to someone who seems to genuinely love her. However, the cunning Baron von Merzbach (Lionel Atwill) also has his eyes on Lily, and is far more influential in the community, and thus manages to convince Richard to give up their budding romance in favour of him taking her away and marrying her – and forced into a loveless marriage, Lily finds herself frustrated, being swept away into a life of luxury, but one without any charm or sincerity. She continuously yearns for the simple life, which becomes more distant each day she spends under the control of the upper-class, hoping that one day she will be able to make her escape, by any means necessary.

When one refers back to the Pre-Code era, we normally tend to associate this era in Hollywood history with films that were made in the ambigious space between the end of the silent era, and the advent of the Hayes Code, where some risky subject matter served to be the basis of many films, and where directors could get away with much more than they would under the vaguely oppressive system of censorship and restriction that would come to dominate for years after its introduction in the late 1930s. This meant that the Pre-Code era was defined by some intrepid filmmakers trying their hand at more controversial subjects – but even when they weren’t actively demonstrating such concepts, there were some films that used them more creatively, such as in the case of The Song of Songs, Rouben Mamoulian’s ambitious adaptation of the novel Das Hohe Lied by Hermann Sudermann, which he brings to the screen in a way that pays tribute to the source material, while still giving audiences a thoroughly entertaining film. A combination of sweet-natured romantic comedy, and deeply melancholy early-era melodrama, The Song of Songs is a tremendous film, a simple but elegant drama that is filled with a liveliness that may not have been anticipated for something that carried as dour a theme as this, with Mamoulian ensuring that the balance between tone serves the general intentions of the story well, and brings it to life in a way that both gives the viewer something worthwhile, and allows us to peer deeper into the lives of these characters and the social systems they represent, which makes for a terrifically compelling drama that finds the humanity in a story that is quite literally about bringing realistic depth into those who seek to capture the world around them through their art.

What is there to say about Marlene Dietrich that hasn’t been said countless times before? One of the finest actresses to ever work in the medium, and someone who continuously turned in strong, complex performances that gave her the reputation as one of the most enigmatic movie stars of her generation. However, The Song of Songs is a slightly different experience for those expecting the steadfast, strong-willed characters Dietrich was so adept at playing. The character of Lily sees the actress at her most vulnerable, taking on a part that plays on a side of her that isn’t often remembered, a kind of quietness that didn’t always rise to the surface when she was at her peak. However, DIR knew exactly what he was doing casting Dietrich in the role of a lowly village girl who ventures to the big city and finds herself impacted by the radical change of pace that overtakes these places, especially since he’s able to extract the same complexity from his star, albeit in the form of a more simple, subtle performance that pays tribute to her exceptional skills in different ways. Dietrich is as radiant as ever in The Song of Songs, her expressive face lighting up every frame, and guiding us through this world, alongside a protagonist who may not be particularly notable for her skills or prowess, but whose level-headed honesty and kindhearted nature make her a figure we have very little trouble empathizing with. Dietrich is just magnetic, playing Lily with a mix of subtle humour and sentimentality, crafting a character that is far more than just an archetype, but rather a fully-formed individual with her own unique desires and intentions, which the actress makes sure to draw attention to, especially when the film seems to be slightly losing interest in the more internal side of the character.

A common question that often serves as the thesis for many films that focus on creative individuals is whether art imitates life, or if its the other way around, whereby life begins to take the form of the art that is created within it. The Song of Songs joins this resounding chorus of voices asking the same question, although the extent to which it is willing to provoke the idea before becoming ensconced in the parallel narrative about social cues and misguided romance, remains to be seen. Art is a reflection of the world around it, and as we see in this film, the central motif is a gorgeous sculpture that is gradually completed by one of the co-leads, who is besotted with a young woman who he genuinely believes is someone who he can envision spending his life within, only to have her taken away by someone richer and more influential, thus not only robbing the young man of his romantic interest, but also removing the inspiration from the art, causing the artwork to decline and gradually lose the lustre it had when it was the centre of attention. Its a small but pivotal detail that does require some degree of attention, but its one that pays off beautifully, especially during the melancholy ending, when (during the process of being used as a weapon of defence), it is destroyed, while the inspiration behind it – namely the mutual love that existed between artist and muse – is rekindled, making the deconstruction of the work meaningless, since something more beautiful is re-established. One of the most unexpectedly touching manifestos on the subject of artistic expression, but one that still carries a lot of depth, The Song of Songs is certainly very effective in conveying this underlying meaning without become too overwrought or muddled in tone or intention.

Ultimately, The Song of Songs may not do anything particularly unique or unexpected, and it is almost entirely adherent to the unspoken conventions that governed this era of romantic melodramas, only adding in some sophisticated comedy in the beginning to make it appear less bleak from the outset. However, it succeeds in keeping to traditions, since it has a heartfulness that is often missing in later interpretations of such concepts, where the premise overtakes the more interesting undertones that often define such films and give them the nuance they require to be more than just heavy-handed dramas that don’t hold much credence outside of their overall storylines. Mamoulian directs with precision, and extracts only the most meaningful commentary from a story that feels profoundly effective in how it runs the gamut of authentic emotions, each one coming across with an unexpected sincerity that makes for some truly compelling viewing. Simple but never unconvincing, The Song of Songs is a beautiful film, which is due to both the masterful work being done behind the camera, and the staggering performance being given by its lead actress, who is playing slightly against type, but still bringing the same complexity to the part, anchoring the film and giving it the elegance it needed to thrive. Not much more than a sweetly-sentimental ode to the relationship between the love of art and real-life romance, Mamoulian crafted a stunning, earnest film that says so much without needing to ever be more than it promises to be at the outset.