METROPOLIS (1927). By the mid-1920s the boom time for German
cinema internationally due to strong inflation was over, meaning that the Universum
Film AG (Ufa) studio where such classic films as THE CABINET OF DR CALIGARI, DR
MABUSE and FAUST were shot had to enter into a partnership with Hollywood to
survive. The ‘Parufamet’ agreement was an agreement between Ufa, Paramount and
Goldwyn-Mayer (not yet merged with Louis B Mayer to become M-G-M). It loaned
Ufa 17 million marks in return for granting the Hollywood companies half of
their release output in Germany as well as giving the USA rights to Ufa ‘s own
films.
Around this
time, Fritz Lang and his wife Thea von Harbou wrote the script for METROPOLIS
whilst on holiday in June 1924. They then sailed on a sightseeing and fact-finding
trip to New York, where Lang and producer Erich Pommer bought highly-prized Mitchell
cameras for the filming and studied Hollywood special effects – while architect
Eric Mendelsohn photographed the NY skyscrapers. These would inspire his
stunning high-rise buildings for the film and later a book of the photos called
‘Amerika’.
METROPOLIS
began filming in May 1925 with 310 shooting days scheduled. The budget was to
over-run from 1.5 million marks to 6 million in bringing a hugely ambitious
epic vision to the screen.
The story
takes place in a dystopian future city in 2026 whose power rests in the hands
of one man, Joh Frederson (Alfred Abel). His playboy son Freder (Gustav Fröhlich)
is betwitched one day in the pleasure gardens by a beautiful young woman, Maria
(Brigitte Helm) bringing the workers’ children to see the rich at play. He is
utterly smitten by her and on pursuing her, sees for the first time the horror
of the workers’ conditions and witnesses the death of an exhausted operative at
the terrifying central Heart-Machine. He is stricken by a new conscience that
will not permit him to allow their slavery to endure. His father fires his
assistant Jehosophat for not preventing the disaster and Freder saves the
underling from committing suicide.
We’re soon introduced
to Rotwang, a mad scientist in the service of Frederson, whose great love Hel
left him to marry Frederson and tragically died giving birth to Freder. Rotwang
has kept a shrine to her all these years whilst building a humanoid robot that
he convinces Frederson will do the work of imperfect humans and physically keep
Hel’s memory alive by resembling her. In the city catacombs, Maria foretells
the coming of a saviour in the form of a mediator who can bridge the gap between
brain and heart and heal the terrible conditions imposed on the labourers.
Rotwang kidnaps her and in his laboratory transfers her physical essence into
the Maria robot. The android version with her exact likeness cavorts lasciviously
in front of the city’s rich men, inflaming their basest desires – and then
incites the workers to a huge revolt that neglects their children and machines
till the resulting chaos floods the city with water. Grot, a supervisor,
desperately urges the rebel employees to rescue their forgotten children. They
burn the false Maria at the stake in their fury at being brainwashed; the real
Maria along with Freder and Jehosophat manage to coral the hordes of kids above
ground to safety. Rotwang and Freder fight atop the cathedral as Grot once
again appals to the crowd not to harm Frederson who watches in terror. Rotwang
falls to his death and it remains for Freder to assume the role he was destined
for, to link the seemingly unbridgeable divide between worker and employer, the
brain and the heart.
As a film,
METROPOLIS is a staggering achievement, albeit one of contradictions. We cannot
resist being spellbound by the jaw-dropping techno-beauty of the cityscape,
though it comes at a grisly human cost. Also there is something hugely impressive
about the reveal of the Maria robot, its design somehow still seeming ‘modern’
despite being conceived almost a century ago. I also find the fully-human transplanted
version of Maria powerfully erotic and persuasive, from her suggestively-cocked
eyebrow to her maniacal unbridled lust for storming the barricades and causing
mayhem – due to Brigitte Helm’s thrillingly alive performance. She effortlessly
switches from this to the beguilingly sweet and gorgeous ‘real’ incarnation.
At the same
time, Lang and Von Harbou draw parallels between techno-fear of the malevolent
power of industry and a harking-back to mediaeval methods of solving the
problems of life. The Moloch – the Heart-Machine - and the lascivious gyrating
of Maria in humanistic robot state herald a biblical return to Babylon and the
coming apocalypse; Rotwang, (a gleeful, Expressionist, high-voltage vivid
characterisation by Rudolf Klein-Rogge) is at the cutting-edge of science but resembles
a Middle Ages blacksmith in his tunic. The
android rebel-leader is notably burned by the crowd just like a mediaeval witch
at the stake. (This may follow on from the subtle occult tease of the pentagram
spotted above Maria as she is energised by the neon rings encircling her, as
well as the discovery that initially the Tower of Babel was to have a
pentagram-shaped flat roof). It’s not always easy to tell which period we are
meant to prefer – or which is the more dangerous. In its time, the film also
sits on the cusp between being considered the last Expressionist film and the
first of the ‘new objectivity’ era.
That aside,
METROPOLIS has always been secure as a source of influence on dystopian sci-fi
and horror ever since its release. Klein-Rogge’s Rotwang, with his shock of
white hair, electrifying emotive peaks and not forgetting that perverse, glistening
surgical glove on his right hand has been the model for all mad scientists from
Universal’s FRANKENSTEIN films through Hammer and beyond. Incidentally, Lang
sensitively balances his and Helm’s heights of fervour against more restrained
work by Fröhlich and Abel (the latter has a compellingly subtle sadness in his
eyes throughout, no doubt marked by the loss of his wife before her own humanising
guidance on him was extinguished, to the destriment of all).
Seen a
futuristic overhead monorail in a film? - the design of METROPOLIS got there
first. Credit for the astounding visuals must be shared. Stunning artwork and
design elements for the city were prepared by Erich Kettlehut, some of which
exist on screen as simply unfilmed paintings. The marvellous photography was by
Karl Freund and Gunther Rittau, the former going on to a career as a director himself
on Universal’s THE MUMMY, MAD LOVE and then cinematographer for TV’s I LOVE
LUCY! – the latter credited by Lang for his ground-breaking multiple-exposure
shots made in-camera by continually shooting images, then rewinding the film
and shooting again. There is also the technically-innovative ‘Shuftan Mirror
Trick Method’ named for Eugene Shuftan who enabled live-action such as the strip
line of trudging workers at the base of the city skyline to be seamlessly
blended into a shot composed above them of painted skyscraper scenery.
Another new
tool used in filming METROPOLIS is the surprising material that created the
body of the robot Maria: a flexible type of wood. On screen it is superbly
disguised as metal. This was part of the striking sculpture work by Walter
Schultze-Mittendorf who also created the macabre Grim Reaper and Seven Deadly
Sins that come to chilling life in the climax.
Let’s not
forget as well the prophetic video-screen used by Frederson at one point in the
movie. Since even television was in its absolute infancy then, such an invention
had to be cleverly crafted by projecting the filmed portion of the conversation
from behind onto Frederson’s screen and then phase-connecting it to synch with
his live responses in the scene.
Highly
visual film-makers like Ridley Scott were clearly inspired by METROPOLIS. Whilst
you could argue the cyborg Maria is in essence a BLADE RUNNER-style replicant,
the strongest connection is with Scott’s seminal TV commercial introducing the
Apple home computer in a suitably Orwellian 1984 (filmed that year) populated
with the familiar grey-overalled interchangeable drone-like workers
mechanically trooping in to be fed a video-screen of totalitarian hectoring.
On the subject
of the ‘subjects’, the choreography of the labourers in Fritz Lang’s vision is
more fuel to the flames of paradox; at the Heart-Machine it is eerily appealing
in its dynamism, like a form of contemporary dance as each man goes from a neutral
A-stance then flits to one side or the other, building almost a Busby Berkeley composite
dance number of slavery. Certainly, the pain and tyranny of exhaustion is there
in close-up, as when Freder takes over from the worker at the ‘clock-face’ display
whose hands must constantly re-connect around the dial to keep electricity
flowing – but even there the framing of him recalls Da Vinci’s spread-eagled Vitruvian
Man in its odd beauty of form.
The
evocative score by Gottfried Huppertz, who wrote also for DIE NIEBELUNGEN, was
composed using leitmotifs, themes attributed to characters or structures, for
example the Workers Theme, the Machines and the Tower of Babel itself. You can
also hear the Dies Irae during the ghostly Grim Reaper sequence and ‘Le Marseillaise’
amidst the workers’ uprising.
Whilst
METROPOLIS was shooting, one of the senior team from Ufa went over to New York
to see the historic first talkie THE JAZZ SINGER and came back demanding that
now their film must have sound sequences. Lang refused, insisting that going
from silent scenes to sound and then back would be too disturbing for the
film’s rhythm. In response, the studio temporarily stopped paying his contract
till he won his argument.
Lang
credited the great cameraman Karl Freund with amongst other effects the
sequence of the woman Maria becoming the robot part by part gradually without a
straight full dissolve shot.
After a glittering
premiere in Berlin in 1927, surprisingly METROPOLIS was considered unreleasable
by Ufa’s Hollywood paymasters. They re-edited it for release, removing a
quarter of the film and bringing in a less-than-respectful screenwriter
Channing Pollock to write all-new intertitles to cover the gaps. This would
cause confusion if, like me, you saw one of the restored versions in the 1980s
that occasionally switched Frederson’s name with the Americanised ‘Masterman’.
The Buenos
Aires 2008 edition I obtained for this review may be the most complete at two
and a half hours, and though its intertitles were in German and the added
footage is of very rough quality, it’s still a pleasure to see more added to
the scenes - rather than extra scenes to be found.
It’s easy to
see Rotwang’s android creation and the dehumanising state depicted in METROPOLIS
as a foreshadowing of Hitler and his National Socialist Party’s rise to
monstrous power (much like Caligari and his somnambulist Cesare, and Nosferatu
elsewhere in his country’s Expressionist cinema), yet Frizt Lang maintained this
was never a conscious aim. Lang liked METROPOLIS at the time of making it, but
this feeling changed to disappointment in the sixties when he listened to
counter-culture criticisms of modern society by his students. They felt their
world had become ruled by computerised and lacked feeling for the workers. He
reflected on this and felt he had not connected consciously enough with this
central theme when making METROPOLIS, oversimplifying the work instead, though
many fans would disagree, feeling that compassion for the unjust treatment of
the proletariat comes across most strongly.
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