Film review: METROPOLIS (Fritz Lang, 1927)

The city of Metropolis is separated into the wealthy upper class, who live an opulent lifestyle above the ground. Below the ground are the impoverished labourers, who’s hard work keeps the city running so the rich can enjoy themselves.

Freder, the son of the calculating overlord who oversees Metropolis, Joh Fredersen, was living in blissful ignorance until one day, Maria, a saintly woman who instils hope in the beleaguered workmen, infiltrates his lavish habitat and implores him for his help.

In his quest to find her, his eyes are opened about how the other half of the city live in squalor. He begs his father to do something about this injustice, but Joh enjoys his position of privilege too much. Blaming Maria for incepting all these frivolous ideas about equality into his son’s mind, he seeks to disrupt Freder’s relationship with her, via a robot woman that has been built by a mad scientist. This robot’s actions lead to a class war between the two segments of societal that threatens to have devastating consequences.

Filmed in over 17 months between 1925 to 1926, Fritz Lang’s ideas were ahead of his time, and the director’s meticulous detail into his film has resulted in some striking imagery, such as eyeballs filling the screen in a scene where 'Robot Maria' dances for a group of leering, transfixed guys in a nightclub.

Lang fled Germany in 1933 and from 1934, went to America. His Hollywood films, whilst being several notches above their counterparts (The Woman in the Window is very watchable and one of the first films to audaciously toy with the ‘… and it was all a dream’ trope), really lacked the magic that his older silent films boasted.

Metropolis’ lack of dialogue or sound effects mean that it is up to Gottfried Huppertz’s score to do the heavy lifting, which it certainly does. The orchestra are present throughout the film, navigating Freder’s adventure as it traverses the education, exciting and the life-threatening.

The central plot conceit, over the exploited poor (the have-nots) working their fingers to a bone to please the haves, could not be more topical, given the wealth inequality that is prevalent in even the most developed of countries. But, even moving away from these eerily prescient social commentaries, the influence Metropolis has had on films is immense.

The art direction of Blade Runner was clearly influenced by Metropolis' sterile, high-rise buildings. The scale of Metropolis, employing thousands of extras, and with visual effects that were incredible for the 20s, are used well to help tell the story. The sets, effects and sheer scope of cast numbers are enhanced with the dramatic camerawork, all foreboding angles and chiaroscuro. 

Together, these technical elements contribute to the tension and sense of disorientation when watching Metropolis, which was surely Lang’s intention.

The contrast in living standards between the extravagant rich and the penniless poor, for me, recalled that between the Capital and District 12 in The Hunger Games, and it makes me postulate whether it wasn’t just Battle Royale which Suzanne Collins was ‘inspired’ by, when she penned her novels.

The film’s only flaw is that the performances in it are not subtle. Understandably, nuance all but goes out of the window in silent films, as the only dialogue is expressed in just the odd few subtitles. Characters have to overtly telegraph plot points using their facial expressions and body language more than would a modern performance.

This balance is difficult to strike, and unfortunately Brigitte Helm, the actress playing the Madonna ‘Maria’, and then her robot form, doesn’t quite achieve it. When the robot is given the same likeness as Maria, she stirs feeling of lust and madness in the lavish upper class. Helm’s portrayal of a robot playing Maria is extremely over-the-top, with her eyes twitching manically in such a manner that it induced giggles, and it’s some of a contrivance that such a bizarre-looking woman could induce maddening jealousy in all the men.

In 2011’s multi-Oscar-winning The Artist, Jean Dujardin and Bérénice Bejo (who both made my hottest guys and gals of 2011 list), showed that even without dialogue, it is possible to deliver affecting, nuanced performances. Helm’s performance is world’s away from their’s, and it is ironic that Dujardin and Bejo’s performances, some 84 years after Metropolis, capture the spirit and essence of silent movies more capably than Helm’s ham-fest.

That foible aside, Metropolis is a majestic cinematic artwork which works in many levels. Lang’s futuristic story combines political allegory, religious imagery and a cautionary tale about the pitfalls of greed.

At its heart, it contains the life-affirming message that, if you expend all your energy chasing superficial items and dreams, you stand to lose that which matters the most to you.

It was revelatory film-making that was ahead of its time, and that, 91 years on from its release, it still stands tall ahead of the vast majority of its contemporary counterpoints, is a remarkable achievement.

8.5/10

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