Ophüls lays the artifice on thick. A mise en scene that feels forever within a canopy of shadows from environs off-screen; the continuous overlay of nearby tree tops, of cathedral appendages. Fairbanks prances through dungeons and gothic interiors the size of aircraft hangars, through billowing plumes of smoke and mist that emanate from the cookery, the Canals. Faces half obscured by darkness, half lit by refractions of light through stained-glass windows. This is some peng ass shit.