The 2025 Winchester Pride Festival was held at the Museum of the Shenandoah Valley in Winchester, Va. on Saturday, Oct. 4.

(Washington Blade photos by Michael Key)

She was an exceptional woman of the early 20th century, an ambitious powerhouse with beauty, intelligence, and a bold creative vision, along with a determination for success that helped her become a pioneering female artist. She rose to prominence as a dancer, actress, photographer, and filmmaker who helped to define the aesthetic of an era, and reached the top of her profession in a male-controlled industry. Her career was relatively short, but her life was long enough to see her movies held up as cinema masterworks, studied by filmmakers and scholars for their blend of technical prowess and poetic vision, before eventually dying at the impressive age of 101 in 2003. 

Yet today, you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone eager to celebrate her legacy with anything more than carefully calculated appreciation.

That’s because her name was Leni Riefenstahl, and her filmmaking career ended prematurely not in retirement, nor from illness, nor even because of some scandalous gossip-column tale of adultery or sexual deviance. It ended because she built it in Germany, collaborating with Hitler and hob-nobbing with a who’s-who of infamous Nazis while enthusiastically creating spectacular documentaries that implicitly promoted a romanticized vision of the Third Reich. Her celebrated films were tarnished at the end of the war, their artistic merit eclipsed by the circumstances under which she had made them, and she spent much of the rest of her life as a relative pariah.

Indeed, as the cinema buffs out there probably already know, her name became practically synonymous with the idea of an artist whose work cannot be separated from their “problematic” ethical choices or political views; and while she would resurface when her films found muted-but-sincere appreciation from a new generation of critics, participating in interviews or appearing on the occasional talk show, she would spend the rest of her long life trying desperately to rehabilitate her image and her reputation in the public eye. Yet however often she repeated her claims – that she had never believed in the ideals of the Nazi movement, that she was never aware of the atrocities that took place under Hitler’s reign, that she had always only been motivated by “art” – most of the world seemed to never quite believe them.

Now, with an exceptionally comprehensive documentary from director Andres Veiel, Riefenstahl’s culpability in the Holocaust is up for examination again, and the timing couldn’t be any more perfect.

Granted unlimited access to Riefenstahl’s personal archives by her estate, Veiel draws deeply from the rich collection of imagery, writings, and artifacts contained there to assemble a measured and methodical portrait that is largely drawn from her own words and the pictographic record she chose to keep as part of her official legacy. Tracing her from her upbringing as the child of a stern authoritarian father and a mother who pushed her aggressively to succeed, it follows her rise in the German movie industry, where she gained fame as an actress before making her own first film as a director – “The Blue Light” (1932), a successful debut that caught the attention of Germany’s future führer, eventually leading to her first commission as a filmmaker for the Nazi government.

It goes on to examine the records of her associations with the Nazis during the wartime years, including an implied affair with Joseph Goebbels and an eventual marriage to a leading Wehrmacht officer, as well as a friendship with Nazi architect Albert Speers that would endure beyond his 20-year post-war prison sentence. Even more provocative, it explores her participation in the filming of location scenes for a propaganda film that used child inmates from a nearby concentration camp as extras – something that casts her claimed ignorance of the Nazi agenda in an even less convincing light.

It also utilizes the copious material that documents her lesser-known history after the war, during which she undertook the writing of her memoirs and returned – briefly – to the limelight with an extensive photographic study of the Nuba tribes of Sudan. But it’s her frustrated attempts to escape the stain of her past that provides the recurring theme for this portion of her life, punctuated by footage of her confrontations with interviewers, talk show hosts, and documentarians who asked her the questions she didn’t want to answer. In these moments, we can witness her unfiltered; we take note of her imperious manner and her quick temper, of the vanity which shows through her demands over lighting and makeup, and of the tongue-slips that inadvertently offer a glimpse at something we suspect she’d rather we didn’t see.

Veiel organizes all this information in a sort of kaleidoscopic narrative in which the various periods of his subject’s life bleed across and into each other, forming recognizable patterns which acknowledge and revel in her singular artistic vision, yet come to form an inescapably damning assessment of her long-held denials; though there’s no “smoking gun” that proves her unequivocally to be a liar, there are far too many of those “tongue-slips” to ignore. In the end, it leaves us with the inescapable conclusion that Leni Riefenstahl, whether she believed in the party agenda or not, was willing  – at best – to overlook Hitler’s monstrous crimes against humanity for the sake of her own ambitions; even more, it suggests that the only thing she regretted afterward was the loss of her career and the stigma that was steeped upon her. In the end, it’s hard to avoid the conclusion that she, like so many Germans of the Nazi era, wanted to simply pretend they didn’t know what was happening, when they were tacitly condoning it every step of the way.

With its leisurely pace and its brooding, minimalistic score by Freya Arde, “Riefenstahl” weaves a hypnotic effect that makes its two-hour runtime drift by like a dream, but there’s a meticulous logic and a rigorous empiricism to it all – marked by a sparseness of narration from its director, who merely supplies essential context to material he allows to speak for itself – that crystalizes the facts in way that’s entirely rational, and leaves us with an ominous feeling of familiarity with the world in which its controversial subject made her contribution to cinematic history; it’s this which renders Veiel’s documentary with such a profound sense of relevance, an ominous feeling of déjà vu that might be best illuminated through Riefenstahl’s own words from the final recorded conversation included in the film, in which she predicts that it will take “one or two generations” for Germany to reawaken to the “morality, decency, and virtue” to which its people are “predestined.” 

Doing the math, her calculations feel chillingly accurate, though perhaps the spirit that has reawakened has more to do with a particular worldview than a specific national identity.

“Riefenstahl” premiered at the Venice film festival in 2024, with an American debut at Telluride earlier this year. Released in New York and screening at venues across the U.S. and Canada this fall, it’s a movie to watch for. Set your radar accordingly.

‘The Elements’
By John Boyne
c.2025, Henry Holt
$29.99/496 pages

You weren’t proud of it.

Something you did in your past, yesterday, five years ago, a lifetime, you think of it sometimes and poke it like a bad tooth. You’re not proud of it but you paid for it anyhow, with time, money, apologies, or through a jury of your peers and you know this: as in the new novel, “The Elements” by John Boyne, the condemnation is harshest when the jury is you.

She changed her name again.

It was the first thing Willow Hale did when she rented the cottage on an island not far from Dublin. Isolation would help her sort things out: to figure out why her husband was in jail, why her daughter avoided her. Willow didn’t want anyone to recognize her as she came to terms with her role in what happened.

Though he was born with the skills of an athlete, Evan Keogh didn’t want to be a soccer star. He wanted to be an artist after he left the island, but he wasn’t talented enough. Coming to terms with that took a while, and he sold his body to older men to get by in the meantime. When he finally accepted his athleticism, it was not because he loved the game. It was because he loved revenge but satisfying that itch would ruin his life.

Medical students were annoyances that Freya Petrus had to endure.

Though she was a highly regarded burn surgeon, the truth was that she disliked humanity in general, perhaps because of childhood trauma she couldn’t forget. So, teeth gritted, no family, no friends, no close colleagues, she endured people, relying instead on a sordid hobby to soothe her memories.

Rebecca didn’t ask Aaron Umber to bring their son from Australia to Ireland, but there was a reason he did so, though Emmet balked at the trip. Emmet was at a tender age, not an adult but not a child anymore, either – 14, the same age as when something happened to Aaron that affected him forever.

Where to begin?

How about: “The Elements” is an incredible book.

How about from the very beginning of it, you’ll be captured by what feels like “The Twilight Zone” without the paranormal; like reading the news, and wincing.

Here, the lush Irish background that author John Boyne so lovingly portrays is secondary to his characters, each of them flawed, maybe irretrievably so, as they wrestle with culpability and self-indulgent recognition of the past. You’ll dangle from a string as four intertwined tales eke out in a delicious tease, detonating a little TNT on a page every now and then to keep you on the edge of your chair.

No spoilers here but the end of these four stories isn’t quite really an end, which will leave you flabbergasted, staring at the back cover for a few minutes after you close it.

Beware that there are adult themes inside this book, and they could be triggering. If that’s not a worry, let yourself be stunned by “The Elements.”

Love it? Guilty.

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