You can’t frighten Mata Hari. She is her own master. But there is always one way such a strong and domineering femme fatale can unravel; falling in love.
The 1931 film Mata Hari is not a historically accurate biopic, let’s just get that out of the way right now. But it does happen to be one of the most visually mesmerising and emotionally brilliant films you are ever likely to see. Mata Hari (real and fictional) rose to fame as an exotic dancer in Paris during World War I. While many would criticise her appeal for being borderline pornographic, there was scarcely a soul on the planet who couldn’t be drawn in by her seductive performances and poison-ivy-like aura. But fittingly enough, behind her beautiful exterior lay a rebellious streak. Mata Hari was a German spy.
Whether the real Mata Hari was in fact stealing secrets for the Germans is the subject of eternal debate. In any case, she was prosecuted for it in 1917.
Beyond the incredible real life Mata Hari, the film exists as something entirely different. As Mata, Greta Garbo floats through every scene like a distant apparition, letting only a select few even remotely close.
I will never understand why Ramon Novarro didn’t have a longer film career. For a while, during the cross-over from silent to talkies, Novarro was A-list gold. He was the star of the original Ben-Hur, and of-course had equal billing in Mata Hari alongside Garbo – arguably the most famous woman in the world during her time. Novarro’s performance in this film is a testament to why he was so popular at least for a while. His every line, every movement, even every small expression is so precisely in character. It’s impossible not to fall in love with him, as Garbo’s Mata Hari does.
Late in the story, as Mata is visiting a hospital, we get to see a snippet of her contradictions. Despite her insistence on doing everything her own way, regardless of the consequences, she can’t help but feel her own pain expressed through the face of a blind man. She leaves him her flowers, yet no sooner has she walked out the door that it becomes painfully clear that her “friends” may not be as close as she thought. Like many a worshipped celebrity, Mata Hari has made the fatal error of confusing friends with fans. Fans don’t know loyalty.
Often when watching films of generations gone, things must be taken with a grain of salt, understood in their context. Mata Hari isn’t like that; it’s a hypnotic vision all of its own. Ridiculously dramatic. Incomparable.
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