This review refers to both the silent film and the novel. If I get around to the anime film, you’ll be the first to know.
UPDATE! 9/27/08: Missing pieces of the film seem to have been recovered. With any luck they’ll be preserved at released on DVD.
I have this great set of DVDs at home – 50 Classic Horror movies, for which I paid like $20. By “classic” they mean “so old that the rights were hella cheap”, meaning there are some true classics, some bad-hysterical, and some bad-awful films packed onto these discs. They were initially purchased to aid in my quest to watch all of Wicked Magazine’s list of most influential horror films*, but I’ve found myself watching the other discs as well.
I decided on Metropolis one recent afternoon home alone on the basis of two facts: that I kept hearing it referenced by self important film snobs, who never seemed to actually know what it was about, and that it’s a silent film. I’d never really sat down and watched a silent movie before, and my curiosity for a new experience beat out my desire to laugh (or wince, depending on whose opinion you believe) at The Beast of Yucca Flats.
In reflecting on this film, I had initially hoped to link to a summary and get right on with my numerous opinions, but the the credit of all those vague-talking film snobs, and straight synopsis is pretty hard to pin down. Suffice to say, the story starts with a clear divide between the workers and the thinkers (any talk of workers vs. owners is conspicuously absent) and what happens when that divide develops a crack.
The breach of class division comes from both directions. First, a young woman from among the workers brings children from the underclass into the pleasure gardens of the spoiled sons of the ruling class: addressing both her young charges and the bewildered elites, she asks they “Look upon these, your brothers.”
While most of the sons of privilege quickly forget the pale, solemn little intruders, Freder, the son of the very most powerful man in Metropolis, is entranced by Maria’s beauty. He descends into the underground sections of the city to find her, and experiences firsthand the sufferings of the workers. As Freder pursues his beloved, and Maria eventually returns his affection, their action come to effect the city to its very core.
While I know the style of the film, with the grainy old quality (I’m watching the one of the 50¢-a-film set, remember? Not the restored version released in 2002) and the need to *gasp! faint!* actually read the words on the screen, is not everybody’s cup of tea, I thought the film was beautiful. A whole different set of tools is needed to make a black and white film look good as opposed to a color one, never mind the limitations in film processing, and I loved trying to figure out what was used to create various effects. As Maria, Brigitte Helm is made up ghostly pale with dark eye and lip color – refreshingly novel in comparison to the tanned-skin-and-pink-lips palette of the modern movie love interest. Freder is done up in a slightly less stark version on the same colors, which makes a perfect match to the character’s facial expressions: when he fears he’s lost Maria forever, the lighting, make-up and acting all join perfectly to portray his suffering, and as he resigns himself to this loss, he’s left looking like a living bruise.
Despite the beauty of the film, I was distracted by the number of plot points left hanging. A little research showed that portions of the original film were lost, and that the same story was also a novel by the director’s wife Thea Von Harbou. To the ILL librarian, Robin!
The novel fills those story gaps and then some. Motives left only to facial expressions on film are here revealed in dialogue and reminiscence. The relationship between Joh Fredersen, the leader of Metropolis, and the inventor Rotwang is clarified, as is both the reason for and the intensity of Josephat’s loyalty to Freder.
The use exclusively of words, rather than the film’s scant cards of text between long visual expositions, made for a much different feel as well. I suspect part of this comes out of the translation. As English lacks German’s capacity for home-made compounds, the translator tries to capture the same effect with a “this which was also that” sort of phrasing. The writing has a smoothness approaching monotone, and with the frequent use of repeated phrases, it has the quality both of a recited prayer and the endless rhythm of machines. The result is an immersive, almost hypnotic feeling to the text.
While I’d definitely recommend seeing the movie before reading the book, it isn’t really sufficient to stand alone. Fritz Lang’s film gives you an outsider view of the great machine city, Metropolis through a camera lens. But it’s Thea Von Harbou’s book that puts you inside the city, walking its streets, with an ear to the secrets locked in the hearts and minds of its inhabitants.
A great watch-and-read combo for anyone looking for something just a little different.
*Say, does anyone but me remember Wicked? The debut issue had two different covers (I had the Sleepy Hollow one) and it only lasted three more issues or so after that. I think the fact that they gave equal credit (and analysis) to psychological terror, instead of focusing solely (with lots! of! enthusiasm!) on gore, is what did them in.
