To say that Rudolph Valentino best embodies Russell's idea of a hero is not to imply that Valentino was genuinely heroic in every aspect of his life and character, but that the real-life Valentino provided Russell with the raw material out of which he could fashion a cinematic hero that approximated his concept of greatness without distorting the latter's life and character in the bargain….

It may seem somewhat incongruous to compare a superstar of the primitive silent screen to composers and practitioners of other art forms which are all more exalted and sophisticated than silent movies ever were. But Russell's point seems to be that a man achieves greatness by living up to his personal code of behavior regardless of the circumstances in which he finds himself. (p. 131)

In his films Russell has often examined a problem that is endemic to all artists, regardless of their particular field of artistic endeavor: the conflict of illusion and reality in the artist's life. Because an artist devotes himself to manufacturing illusions for others, he runs the decided risk of confusing the world of illusion with which he is constantly involved with the real world in which he lives. This problem surfaces often in the present film, but is particularly evident in terms of Valentino's relationship with Natasha.

Although his screen image is that of an overwhelmingly strong-willed male, Valentino can be easily dominated by the women in his private life. Valentino seems unaware that Natasha has gradually managed to subjugate him not only in their personal relationship but by taking charge of his career as well. Perhaps because he has begun to believe in his own screen image, he refuses to believe that she has such a strong hold on him.

Russell illustrates the painful gap between reality and illusion in this instance by building a scene in which Natasha proves her power over Valentino. At the end of a day of shooting on The Shiek, Natasha entices Valentino into the shiek's tent on the set, where she coyly arouses his ardor and then coolly refuses his embraces. (pp. 138-39)

This portrayal of Natasha's conquest of Valentino the man is followed immediately by a scene from The Shiek in which Valentino the actor ravishes a helplessly passive female with all of the fiery passion and determination that was so conspicuously lacking in his foregoing real-life encounter with Natasha.

But Valentino is not alone in his inability to sort out fantasy and fact in his life. As June Mathis watches this seduction scene unreel on a movie screen, she tearfully fantasizes that it is she that is being crushed in the strong arms of the shiek. The implication is that no one in tinsel town, even the no-nonsense June Mathis, is completely free from this syndrome of mixing reality and illusion.

The Mathis sequence just described represents the only serious failure in narrative logic in the entire movie. The recollections in this part of the film are being narrated by Natasha Rambova; hence June Mathis's private fantasies about Valentino simply have no place in a flashback presented from Natasha's point of view. But this exception proves the rule that by and large Russell is careful to derive exposition in a given flashback only from the person whose memories are being depicted for the viewer at that point in the movie. (p. 139)

In discussing Mahler Russell made the point that, because screen time is so short, it is often necessary to say two things at once in a scene, "which is why I frequently introduce symbolism into scenes of reality." In the jail sequence Russell was indeed saying two things at once. First of all, he wished to comment on the callousness of a studio executive who would allow his biggest star to languish in a jail cell for the sake of free publicity. Secondly, the director wanted to use the scene to depict the enormous hostility which Valentino had unwittingly evoked in the American male population, which had become increasingly jealous of the sexual prowess which he exhibited on the screen. (p. 142)

As an object lesson in Russell's method of cutting across the biographical facts of a person's life to create a dramatic sequence in a biopic, it is well worth noting that he has dramatized the incidents surrounding this episode in Valentino's life into a spectacular manner which goes beyond the known facts in many details, but which nonetheless is faithful to the facts in essence. (p. 143)

Russell has mounted the prize fight so elaborately in the film in order to make it serve as an important metaphor for man's struggles in the contest of life. Valentino takes a lot of punishment in the battle of life, just as he does in the boxing ring; but he always goes down swinging and is the ultimate victor according to the standards of his venerable code of honor. Consequently, though the match which Valentino fought in real life was in private, the director had reason to orchestrate it in the grand manner which he employed in the motion picture to underline its importance to Valentino's personal honor and to his public image. (pp. 143-44)

In the film Valentino sees the boxing and drinking bouts as the twentieth-century equivalents of a traditional duel, whereby he can establish once and for all his masculinity and thus prove that he is no effeminate weakling offscreen who is unworthy to represent genuine masculinity onscreen. In making this point in the movie, however, Russell does not ipso facto resolve the questions surrounding Valentino's private life and personality. Russell implies but does not say for certain that Valentino was a latent homosexual whose sexual ambiguity caused the breakup of his unconsummated first marriage and left him prone to the domination of overbearing women like Natasha Rambova.

But what Russell does insist upon in his concept of Valentino is that this man was a professional artist devoted to his work, who transcended the personal problems of his private life to become one of the first legendary actors of the screen. In Russell's view, what makes a great artist is the ability to transcend one's personal inadequacies in practicing one's art; what makes a great man is the ability to transcend one's personal drawbacks in living one's life in harmony with one's principles. The Valentino who emerges from Russell's film gets high marks in both categories. (p. 144)

This, then, is the man and the artist who seems best to embody Russell's notion of a hero: someone who has more good qualities than bad and who uses the former to transcend the latter, not only to realize his artistic talent but also to mature as a human being. In creating a full-length portrait of a man and artist of this stature, Russell has in the bargain made a movie that will in time be recognized as one of his richest and warmest motion pictures. (p. 145)