Fritz Lang is unquestionably one of the most celebrated filmmakers of the 20th century, and there's no question as to why. No other director has been able to capture the sense of darkness and loneliness Lang saw in the human condition, and combined with his obsessive work ethic, he was able to make dozens of films in his lifetime, all with a distinct visual style, some standing out as the best films of the century. Unlike many of his contemporaries, Lang didn’t hide his motifs and messages for devoted critics to find decades later. He moved the camera with a purpose, and employed overt symbolism even after he transitioned from silent films to talkies.
Lang was born in 1890 in Austria-Hungary, and moved to Germany after fleeing the Nazis to begin his movie career. It wasn't only Lang's Jewish ancestry that made him undesirable with the rise of the Nazi party, it was also in part because he sympathized with the sort of “undesirables” that the Nazis were trying their best to eradicate. Once in America, Lang broke through in the film industry, becoming internationally known, by incorporating elements in his movies audiences had never seen before. The job became more difficult the longer Lang stayed in America and both internal and national crises arose, but he worked on, making everything from westerns to war movies, proving his versatility. Lang rarely made a movie that wasn't worth watching, and he always managed to incorporate an underlying message that said something worth saying.
The 1927 film Metropolis is perhaps Lang's most ambitious piece of work, despite it being much shorter than many of his previous films. It's somewhat of a fairy tale as it follows the society-changing relationship between a privileged young man and a working-class activist. The film takes place in the eponymous Metropolis, an unimaginable vast city of the future lead by Joh Fredersen (Alfred Abel). The city is powered by the grueling labor of a huge underclass whose lives consist of nothing but work and sleep, wearing them out from an endless cycle. Above them, in the massive skyscrapers that make up the whole city, the wealthy live in fabulous luxury, none more fabulously than Freder (Gustav Fröhlich), the son of Joh Fredersen. What's wonderful about Metropolis is that, though the story is simple in nature, the visuals are anything but. Is it not true that a mere two decades later, we already look to Jurassic Park with an air of nostalgia? I remember seeing the new Hobbit movies in theaters and thinking to myself that the effects seemed a little cheesy, the action less brutal and immersive when done on the computer rather than with practical methods. But Metropolis is a film that I can never re-watch without dropping my jaw a little several times throughout the movie when I realize the massive scope of what is at play. Everything about it is ambitious. The movie’s conception of hellish industrial rooms, glamorous urban buildings, and sexy robots offered a new way of visualizing the future that continues to influence artists nearly ninety years later.
Four years later, Lang released the film that would be nearly universally recognized as his magnum opus: M. Peter Lorre plays Hans Beckert, a serial child killer whose murders send Berlin into a panic, leading the police to conduct raids throughout the city. Unlike Metropolis, M is deeply rooted in realism, filled with accurate details regarding police work and pathology, as well as Lang's thoughts about an increasingly divided and dangerous Germany. But what really makes M such a consensus classic is the way Lang retains his silent-film techniques: telling much of the story without any dialogue, staying visually efficient, and finding ways to integrate sound in ways that serve a purpose. The fate of one abducted girl is communicated in merely two brief shots: the ball she was playing with earlier rolls to a stop, and the balloon she was holding is seen tangled in overhead wires. It's not that lang shows more sympathy towards the murderer than he does towards the children or the ordinary citizens, but he does expose a more intimate side to him. Beckert is a psychopath, but somewhere inside of him there is a good man that grapples with his perverse impulses. In one scene he cries: "I have no control over this, this evil thing inside of me,” he insists. “The fire, the voices, the torment! It's there all the time, driving me out to wander the streets, following me, silently." Truly, M is the root of every modern serial-killer-drama. Most of the modern psychological character studies can be directly traced back to this film, the first of its kind to approach the vicarious subject matter from critical angles in order to understand the motivation of its perpetrator as well as the fear he inspires. From Hans’ repeated whistling of “Hall Of The Mountain King,” to the ambient sounds that were added in post-production, Lang creates an atmosphere that is just as realistic as it is unsettling.
In 1953’s The Big Heat—the toughest and the best of Lang’s 1950s noirs—Glenn Ford plays a cop who quits his job so he can break the law to bring down a local gangster responsible for the death of his wife (Jocelyn Brando). Lee Marvin co-stars as a nasty thug, and Gloria Grahame all but steals the picture as his smart-aleck girlfriend. The Big Heat is relentlessly, uncompromisingly brutal, and one major way the movie signals that it means business is how its violence makes its way into placid suburban homes and upscale mansions. The most famous scene in the film has Lee Marvin's character disfiguring Gloria Grahame with a pot of hot coffee to the face, which, along with showing the cruelty of the business they're in, is symbolic of how the criminal lifestyle can ruin something that was once beautiful.
Lang was born in 1890 in Austria-Hungary, and moved to Germany after fleeing the Nazis to begin his movie career. It wasn't only Lang's Jewish ancestry that made him undesirable with the rise of the Nazi party, it was also in part because he sympathized with the sort of “undesirables” that the Nazis were trying their best to eradicate. Once in America, Lang broke through in the film industry, becoming internationally known, by incorporating elements in his movies audiences had never seen before. The job became more difficult the longer Lang stayed in America and both internal and national crises arose, but he worked on, making everything from westerns to war movies, proving his versatility. Lang rarely made a movie that wasn't worth watching, and he always managed to incorporate an underlying message that said something worth saying.
The 1927 film Metropolis is perhaps Lang's most ambitious piece of work, despite it being much shorter than many of his previous films. It's somewhat of a fairy tale as it follows the society-changing relationship between a privileged young man and a working-class activist. The film takes place in the eponymous Metropolis, an unimaginable vast city of the future lead by Joh Fredersen (Alfred Abel). The city is powered by the grueling labor of a huge underclass whose lives consist of nothing but work and sleep, wearing them out from an endless cycle. Above them, in the massive skyscrapers that make up the whole city, the wealthy live in fabulous luxury, none more fabulously than Freder (Gustav Fröhlich), the son of Joh Fredersen. What's wonderful about Metropolis is that, though the story is simple in nature, the visuals are anything but. Is it not true that a mere two decades later, we already look to Jurassic Park with an air of nostalgia? I remember seeing the new Hobbit movies in theaters and thinking to myself that the effects seemed a little cheesy, the action less brutal and immersive when done on the computer rather than with practical methods. But Metropolis is a film that I can never re-watch without dropping my jaw a little several times throughout the movie when I realize the massive scope of what is at play. Everything about it is ambitious. The movie’s conception of hellish industrial rooms, glamorous urban buildings, and sexy robots offered a new way of visualizing the future that continues to influence artists nearly ninety years later.
Four years later, Lang released the film that would be nearly universally recognized as his magnum opus: M. Peter Lorre plays Hans Beckert, a serial child killer whose murders send Berlin into a panic, leading the police to conduct raids throughout the city. Unlike Metropolis, M is deeply rooted in realism, filled with accurate details regarding police work and pathology, as well as Lang's thoughts about an increasingly divided and dangerous Germany. But what really makes M such a consensus classic is the way Lang retains his silent-film techniques: telling much of the story without any dialogue, staying visually efficient, and finding ways to integrate sound in ways that serve a purpose. The fate of one abducted girl is communicated in merely two brief shots: the ball she was playing with earlier rolls to a stop, and the balloon she was holding is seen tangled in overhead wires. It's not that lang shows more sympathy towards the murderer than he does towards the children or the ordinary citizens, but he does expose a more intimate side to him. Beckert is a psychopath, but somewhere inside of him there is a good man that grapples with his perverse impulses. In one scene he cries: "I have no control over this, this evil thing inside of me,” he insists. “The fire, the voices, the torment! It's there all the time, driving me out to wander the streets, following me, silently." Truly, M is the root of every modern serial-killer-drama. Most of the modern psychological character studies can be directly traced back to this film, the first of its kind to approach the vicarious subject matter from critical angles in order to understand the motivation of its perpetrator as well as the fear he inspires. From Hans’ repeated whistling of “Hall Of The Mountain King,” to the ambient sounds that were added in post-production, Lang creates an atmosphere that is just as realistic as it is unsettling.
In 1953’s The Big Heat—the toughest and the best of Lang’s 1950s noirs—Glenn Ford plays a cop who quits his job so he can break the law to bring down a local gangster responsible for the death of his wife (Jocelyn Brando). Lee Marvin co-stars as a nasty thug, and Gloria Grahame all but steals the picture as his smart-aleck girlfriend. The Big Heat is relentlessly, uncompromisingly brutal, and one major way the movie signals that it means business is how its violence makes its way into placid suburban homes and upscale mansions. The most famous scene in the film has Lee Marvin's character disfiguring Gloria Grahame with a pot of hot coffee to the face, which, along with showing the cruelty of the business they're in, is symbolic of how the criminal lifestyle can ruin something that was once beautiful.
Metropolis (1927) Restored Film
Usually I end my monthly post with three shots that I think sum up the essence of the director, but in this case, I discovered a restored HD version of Metropolis on YouTube for free. It is a rescore by The New Pollutants, so there is some music (and I like the way it sounds with it) but if you want to enjoy it in its original glory, the way Lang intended it, just press mute. Enjoy!