La Ronde
La Ronde is basically a game of romantic pass-the-parcel, except everyone unwraps each other. Anton Walbrook plays the ringmaster, slipping in and out with a smirk, keeping the whole contraption spinning while reminding us it’s all artifice.
Ophüls directs with his trademark elegance: the camera glides through bedrooms, ballrooms and boudoirs with such grace it’s as if seduced by the material itself. The cast deliver what’s needed — charming, witty, sometimes sly — but it’s the staging that lingers, not the faces.
And that’s my sticking point. I admire the elegance, the irony, even the bite, but I never felt swept up in the whirl. La Ronde is powered by lust and fuelled by hypocrisy — stylish, slyly sharp, endlessly in motion. I was left outside peering through the glass, which, come to think of it, may be exactly the point.
Ophüls directs with his trademark elegance: the camera glides through bedrooms, ballrooms and boudoirs with such grace it’s as if seduced by the material itself. The cast deliver what’s needed — charming, witty, sometimes sly — but it’s the staging that lingers, not the faces.
And that’s my sticking point. I admire the elegance, the irony, even the bite, but I never felt swept up in the whirl. La Ronde is powered by lust and fuelled by hypocrisy — stylish, slyly sharp, endlessly in motion. I was left outside peering through the glass, which, come to think of it, may be exactly the point.
Mini Review: La Ronde plays like romantic pass-the-parcel, except everyone unwraps each other. Walbrook smirks as the ringmaster, Ophüls’ camera floats through bedrooms, ballrooms and boudoirs, and the whole carousel spins on lust and hypocrisy. Elegant and ironic, but I still felt like an outsider looking in.
Watch the Trailer