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Metropolis
There is a scene early on in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis in which the hero (Alfred Able) is so moved and mesmerized by the beauty of the Christ-like Maria (Brigitte Helm) and all of her oppressed disciples that he follows them, trance-like, from the surface megalopolis of buildings and architecture into the dark bowels of the underground world of the machines that run the city and the men that operate them. This is a moment that basically sums up the trance-like state that Lang places us in during the whole of Metropolis. One look at the unforgettable world that he has created and we are helpless to do anything but follow where he leads. Metropolis is the pioneering epic science fiction film, unparalleled in beauty, vision, and storytelling. It is a film with many different themes, all of which are developed with superb storytelling skills. It is a film filled with countless rich ideas and unforgettable images. It created the visual archetypes for science fiction that H.G. Wells and Jules Verne created with words—archetypes that other great science fiction films would draw their inspiration from. These qualities certainly make it one of the truly great silent films, and the greatest science fiction film of all time. Before we can talk about the plot, it is important to know that this is a film about its images. Its story is effective and engaging, but it never rises far from a fairy-tale level. Its theme—“There can be no understanding between the hands and the brain unless the heart acts as mediator,” as the tagline reveals—is simple and archetypal. Its characters fall either on the side of extremely good or extremely evil. But for Fritz Lang, Metropolis is an opportunity to take these simple motifs and use them to create unforgettable images that stir our imagination and feed our senses. Consider the city itself—an ocean of buildings almost gothic-like in their cathedral shapes, and the airplanes that buzz constantly through the air like small, insignificant bees. Or the underground world of machines that make sure the city runs. This underground workplace is a fortress unto itself, inhabited by faceless, soulless drones who have accepted their fate as the ones who feed the wealthy city above. Some of the first shots that Lang is the back of these men’s heads as they shuffle along to their workplaces, and the image produces goose bumps in its ability to strike us with awe and pity at the same time. Once these images begin, Lang casts a spell on us that is never released, and just when we think that Metropolis has created the ultimate visual achievement, it tops itself with another, and then another (I have two personal favorite images: 1) The clock-like machine in which the protagonist chooses to operate, and 2) the socialist retelling of the story of Babel, with the ocean of bald, moaning heads). The story involves Maria, a saintly woman who comforts these discouraged underground workers, telling them bible stories and insisting that one day, a modern-messiah will come that will restore order and fairness between the workers and the rich men who live in the above city. She falls in love with Freder, the son of the brain behind the metropolis, Joh (Gustav Fröhlich). Freder is horrified to learn of the enslavement that his father has placed on these people, but Joh judges quality and goodness on the scale of the holy dollar. In fact, his top scientist, Rotwang (Rudolf Klein-Rogge, whose frizzled hair and hunched-over manner more or less created the cinema’s archetypal mad scientist), has created a prototype android that, when reproduced, will create perfect workers who will never tire. Freder likes the idea, but in order to implement it, he must remove the human workers. The only way he can do that, he concludes, is to inspire them to revolt. His plan is to turn Rotwang’s android into a flawless replica of Maria and to use it to encourage them to make war with the above city. The result is more or less a resounding success, and as the laborers move to destroy the underground machines, their built-up anger finally unleashed in a maelstrom of rage, Freder and the real Maria rush to stop the revolt and destroy Rotwang and his demonic creation. Perhaps you think that I have given too much away, but I must reiterate that this is not a film about its plot, but a film about its images. Look at the way that the two Marias move—one is clearly angelic and graceful, and the other is jerky, dark, and just a little too—what is the word? Robotic? Look at the steam that blasts from the main building, as the lights of the city above grows dim. Look at the flood waters, and the funeral pyre, and the creation of the robot, the cast of thousands leading an assault on the rich men. In a world of mostly unconvincing CGI, here are simple, intelligent effects and images that are to be cherished for their remarkable way of creating their futuristic vision. On top of that, Lang’s simple story creates a clear social commentary on labor forces in capitalistic societies. Metropolis is a very angry film, and when we are finally shown the downcast faces of the workers as the false Maria speaks of violent revolution, we cannot blame them for taking up arms. Maria herself is a clear analogy for Christ, speaking of revolution to be found through peaceful means and patience, whereas the antichrist (the robot) dons the guise of the righteous in an attempt to lead her flock astray. If the story of Christ had taken place in the future, and if Christ had been God’s daughter instead of his son, we must conclude that this is an acceptable scenario for how events would have unfolded. Lang’s achievement is therefore two-fold: He outdoes himself with visionary images and still manages to work into his fairy-tale these quieter, complex themes, and they are never overshadowed by the raw power of the visual spectacle. Though the tale is simple, there is no style-over-substance to be found here. Images and story go hand in hand, and like the tagline suggests, they find a mediator in Lang. It is possible to compile a list the great and/or most influential science-fiction/fantasy films. It is a lengthy list to be sure, though Metropolis certainly stands at first place. Other entries on such a list would include, off the top of my head and in no particular order, the Star Wars trilogy, Star Trek, Blade Runner, 2001, E.T., Forbidden Planet, Brazil, On the Beach, Alien, The Terminator, Dark City, A Clockwork Orange, The Matrix, Highlander, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Tarkovsky’s Solyaris, and Rintaro’s anime-remake of Metropolis; the list goes on. Consider those titles, many of which are great films unto themselves. Now, consider the fact that in them all, traces of inspiration from Metropolis can be found and that, indeed, Fritz Lang’s vision of the future surpasses them all in visual imagination. That’s not counting the film-noir that would go on to draw ideas from Lang’s film—Welles’ Citizen Kane, Huston’s The Asphalt Jungle, and even Burton’s Batman come to mind. What we see here are many great films that have stood the test of time, and what you are reading now is a review of their father—the original dark, science-fiction epic that helped to create them all. This alone merits Metropolis as one of the most important films ever made. Because of Fritz Lang’s vision and execution of flawless filmmaking skills, it is also one of the best. Cast: A Universum Film release.
Directed by Fritz Lang. Written by Lang and Thea von Harbou (from
a novel by Harbou). No M.P.A.A. rating (some intense images and
a brief, racy dance, though all of this is very mild by today's
standards). Running time: 123 minutes (new 2002 restored version).
Original release date: January 10, 1927 (Germany premiere). Questions? Comments? E-mail me: danel_the_tinman@hotmail.com |
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