Several years ago, I went to a film party held at a friend’s big-ass house in, of all places, the Lincoln Square neighborhood. The hood was once heavily German, an irony that will be apparent shortly.

The crowd was a motley crew of film students, history buffs, and just plain hangers-on. I wound up there because I’d had dinner with friends who knew about the party and dragged me along.

The first few films at the event were funny World War II-era shorts, many requiring a trigger-warning disclaimer today but still riotously funny. I’m talking stuff like Looney Tunes’ “Tokio Jokio,” Paramount’s Superman cartoon “Japoteurs,” and then British intelligence’s “The Lambeth Walk: Nazi Style.”

Right after the Teutonic “Lambeth Walk” came the film that had provided its inspiration: Leni Riefenstahl’s “Triumph of the Will.” On the surface? A propaganda machine oiled and prepped by the Nazis.

But dive deeper, and you’ll see the sinister craftsmanship — the kind that seduces you with visuals, as tempting as a fresh streuselkuchen straight out of a Berlin bakery.

Artistic? Sure. George Lucas thought so, snatched that Nuremberg Rally three-person strut for “Star Wars” (1977). Brian De Palma? He nabbed it for “Mission to Mars” (2000). Tinsel Town got its claws on Riefenstahl’s shots a long time ago.

Yet, here’s the deal: No one’s lauding the message, just acknowledging the craft. Is it kosher to admire a snake’s beauty, knowing it can bite?

This post came about because I’ve finished reading “Leni Riefenstahl: The Seduction of Genius” by Rainer Rother, which prompted me to watch “Triumph of the Will” again.

My favorite scene? The one where Hitler looks up from his motorcade Mercedes-Benz and locks eyes with a cat. The cat’s perched at a window beside a swastika flag, taking in the show. A moment of serendipity in a film otherwise dense with choreography. Those eyes, Hitler’s and the cat’s, a dance of curiosity in a world on the cusp of darkness.

But I’ll be clear: Nazis? They’re the storm cloud in every silver lining. Admiring Riefenstahl’s work isn’t a salute to them. It’s a nod to a filmmaker’s ability to make evil look good, a reminder always to question what we see.

FOR MORE INFORMATION

“Triumph of the Will” analysis.

The real “Lambeth Walk” from “Me and My Girl.”