M (1931). After Fritz Lang’s bitter experience
of tussling with Ufa over their attempt to force sound upon METROPOLIS, he made
two more films SPIES and WOMAN IN THE MOON before temporarily retiring from the
business, sickened by studio demands. (The latter film was intended to be an
ending for METROPOLIS, allowing Freder and Maria to take a rocket to the moon
together). He even considered becoming a chemist before an independent producer
came trying to tempt him back into directing. Lang resisted for nine months till
finally he agreed on condition that he would have total control over the
budget, the casting, the final cut, every aspect – and these were the only
terms that persuaded him out of retirement to make M.
For a story,
Lang discussed with his wife Thea the limits of criminal depravity that they
could get away with portraying on screen and settled for possibly the strongest
taboo, a child-murderer. This was before the notorious real-life ‘Monster of
Dusseldorf’ was caught in Germany around that time. By now Lang had spent a lot
of research time with the police of Alexanderplatz district. In casting the
killer, Lang unconsciously disproved the accepted theory of Lombroso’s that
criminals all were the product of inherited bestial, primitive natures that
manifested in physical defects such as sloping foreheads, heavy brows,
abnormally long arms. The original title for M of ‘Murderer Among Us’
strengthened the terrifying normality of appearance that may hide these
monsters from the easy detection Lombroso suggested. Lang searched for the most
unlikely-looking actor and found Peter Lorre working in ‘Stegreif-Theater’,
built around improvisation. Lang felt no-one would believe such a gentle
unassuming person could commit the most awful of crimes so Lorre, who had never
made a film before, was given the role.
Born in
Hungary In 1904, Peter Lorre began life as László Löwenstein, eldest of five
children to a textiles manager and a mother from whom he inherited his dark
expressive eyes. She died from blood poisoning. He found his talent for acting
at school. To satisfy his father’s concern for his future, the young László
agreed to a day-job as a bank teller whilst pursuing becoming an actor at
night, till his resulting exhaustion got him fired. His father eventually acceded
to his son’s drive to follow his dream full-time. In 1925, László moved to
Berlin and changed his name to Peter Lorre.
Berlin had a
thriving arts scene at this time, drenched in Expressionism as we have seen and
the teachings of Sigmund Freud. Lorre had already worked with a
psycho-therapeutic theatre group inspired by Freud and once said that he
thought a good actor should be in part a psychologist. He impressed esteemed
playwright Bertold Brecht enough to be given a leading stage roles, prompting
one critic to single him out as: ‘A new face…a terrifying face’.
Lorre’s
growing fame as a theatre actor was almost cut short before he could establish
himself when an operation (possibly an appendectomy) led to him being
prescribed morphine, the use of which would sadly become a dependency for him.
M is a
powerfully naturalistic crime procedural telling the story of a city in fear as
its children are being murdered one by one by a mysterious killer. We see kids
in the opening scene playing a game involving the chanting of a sinister
nursery rhyme about the ‘man in black’. A mother, Mrs Beckmann shouts at them
not to keep singing that ghoulish song. They ignore her. Our introduction to Hans
Beckert the killer is a tease device of showing him in shadow talking to the
mother’s little girl Elise. “What a
pretty ball”, Lorre coos with disarming friendliness.
Lang shows
great tact in focusing on the poor mother’s increasing panic as her daughter’s
non-return grows later instead of any prurient hint at whatever hideous
behaviour the killer indulges in with his victim. When we see her balloon rise
up and bounce off the telegraph wires, our worst fears are realised by what we
are not shown. The director also wisely chooses to concern the narrative almost
exclusively with the effect on the community. M does not attempt to understand
and sympathise with the sickness of a homicidal paedophile till the climax.
Till then, we see how the strain of trying to keep a city’s children safe tears
its citizens apart. Accusations damage friendships as paranoia takes hold and
the community turns on itself.
While Inspector
Lohmann and his police officers struggle to hold the public’s confidence, his
men reduced to only twelve hours sleep a week, it is left to the underworld
crime kingpins to take matters into their own hands at their weekly meeting.
The most perceptive clue yet about the killer’s identity comes from one of its
members (It takes one to know one?) who observes that for a murderer to still
be at large after six years, he must be the kind of person “who wouldn’t hurt a fly”, someone who could easily seem nice
enough to earn a child’s trust unnoticed. Beckert writes goading letters to the
police, showing that he either has a compulsion to be caught or that he is in
such control that he can afford to drop hints.
Eventually,
Beckert is revealed by his distinctive whistling of ‘In the Hall of The
Mountain King’ recognised by the blind man who sold his victim a balloon. He is
chased into an office building whereupon a criminal gang seizes him before the
cops come. They take Beckert to an abandoned distillery where in a
highly-effective climax, a kangaroo court presides as judge and jury over him. They
see themselves in a sense as a trying court of his peers though obviously none
would confess to his type of terrible crime – “We are all law experts here” declaims the ‘judge’. (Real criminals were used in the filming of
this scene to add veracity). It is tense and dramatic, pitting the demands of
the prosecution against the thrust of not only the luckless appointed ‘Defence
Counsel’ but also the impassioned pleading of Lorre.
Here, Lorre grabs our attention with what
would become his trademark eye-popping, snivelling cowardice and a real actor’s
skilful sensitivity in earning a measure of sympathy despite his awful
character. The vigilante court want to execute him for fear that under
Paragraph 51, he would be sectioned under a verdict of diminished
responsibility and thus they would risk having him released into the city again.
He attempts to counter their condemnation, appealing for mercy: “I can’t help myself. The fire, the voices,
the torment!” This is Lang and co-writer Von Harbou’s only time of allowing
his killer a chance to make the case for redemption, and to his credit it’s
ambiguous rather than an opportunity for a liberal soapbox. Whilst Lorre fully
commits his performance to the belief that he is out of control, I’m reminded
of those killers who seem to miraculously find God or some other fast salvation
conveniently when probation might be around the corner. Lang and Von Harbou
equally give both sides time to state their case – a possible trump card being
laid down after the Defence Counsel’s plea of sickness is when the mothers must
have their say. “He does not have
children,” one points out damningly. The quality of mercy perhaps droppeth
less certainly when it is we who have been rained upon so tragically.
Whatever
the verdict would have been from this criminal court, we will never know as
just then, the police turn up and everyone surrenders with hands up...
Despite
Lang’s demand for final cut, his ending for M was cut from the finished version
for its original release. We are fortunately able to see it reinstated. As the real court passes sentence on Beckert, the
mother of the first child victim pleads that in future we must all watch our
children better.
M is an
excellent crime thriller that handles the ultimate taboo with restraint and
taste, giving due weight to the corrosive effect of understandable terror on a
city whilst enabling the murderer to be more of a three-dimensional human being
than perhaps the former Expressionist cinema vogue would permit, yet never taking
understanding for him into unjustified apology.
No comments:
Post a Comment