Directed by Fritz Lang

Position on the list (at time of viewing): 43

Fritz Lang’s Metropolis needs very little introduction. It is one of the most famous and easily-recognized films of the silent era. It is the film that basically invented the science fiction genre within the medium of film. It is an epic, sweeping narrative of a world gone mad in the far future of humankind. The question is if all of this prestige amounts to an enjoyable experience for the modern viewer.

By and large, the answer to that question is ‘yes,’ but the film is not without its problems, despite its outsized reputation. It is perhaps one of the most notable examples of style elevating a film above its substance in the history of film. I don’t mean that as too serious a denigration, though. The style is truly remarkable, and there is nothing else like it from that entire decade of film. It will be years before anyone produces visuals and costumes that even come close to this fever dream of a movie. The real problem with the underwhelming substance of the film are the issues that affect almost all films from this time period: the need to belabor points and linger on things far beyond the duration where a modern viewer will get tired of it. It is a movie that would probably legitimately benefit from being played at 1.2 times its base speed. Functionally nothing would be lost, and so long as the viewer was a quick reader they’d have no problem keeping up with the plot. The vast majority of the movie’s scenes seem to last for one or two beats too long from a modern perspective. Many scenes play out as follows: there’s an establishing shot to set up the idea, then a character gets involved in what’s going on, then the movie drives home its point about the scene, and then it goes on for a another thirty seconds to a minute continuing to drive its point home. Part of this is Lang’s (deserved) love of his visuals and world-building, but other examples are more puzzling. These slightly overextended scenes are far from fatal to the movie, however.

The plot of the film is relatively simple (despite how convoluted it seems thanks to multiple extended hallucinations), and works primarily on an archetypal level of man vs. machine and capitalism vs. socialism. In the far future, Freder (Gustav Fröhlich), the son of the city’s foremost industrialist (Alfred Abel) becomes dissatisfied with the life of idle pleasure afforded him by his father’s success when his eyes are opened to the suffering of the working underclass thanks to the activism of a beautiful young labor organizer named Maria (Brigitte Helm). His newfound moral idealism brings him and the workers of Metropolis into conflict both with his father and with a scheming inventor named Rotwang (Rudolf Klein-Rogge), whose automaton servant assumes Maria’s image to sow dissent among the uprising workers. Freder and Maria must struggle to improve the lot of the workers and reconcile the differences between societal forces. The story is notable for the nuance it brings to this basic scenario, portraying neither the industrialists nor the proletariat as wholly good or evil, which automatically places it head and shoulders above many of the more moralistic movies of the day. Only Rotwang is left to be truly villainous, and his madness is clearly born out of personal trauma. But the plot clearly plays second fiddle to the themes here, and it’s enough that the story doesn’t get in the way of the broader societal interest that the film has. Although its allegorical messaging can definitely grate a little, for the most part this works really well as a movie concerned with societal ills, and the collateral damage those struggles cause.

More important than the plot or even the symbolism, though, it must be noted that even in its most reflexive, self-absorbed, or obvious moments the film is a splendor to watch. The scenes are not simply creative, they are visually marvelous, and convey a scope and range that no movie before had ever captured. Although few of the concepts the film uses were completely new, they were translated to the screen for the first time in history, and with such moment and bombast that the overall affect on the viewer is nearly overwhelming. It’s hard to believe that any of this got made, frankly. The movie was famously influenced by Lang’s 1924 trip to the U.S., where he walked the streets between Manhattan skyscrapers and visited the oversized lots of Hollywood. All this impressed upon him the need for his next film to be bigger and broader than anything ever made in Germany before, and he succeeded with aplomb. The final product is both phantasmagorical and monumental, although its splendor came at a famously high cost, both in terms of money and human suffering. Lang, because of his titanic aspirations for his movie, pushed his actors and extras to dangerous lengths in the pursuit of his vision. Not only did the production run more than three times over budget (finally clocking in as one of the most expensive German films of all time), but he also put many of his employees at significant risk. Perhaps most famously, he actually forced hundreds of child extras to act for days in water he deliberately kept at frigid temperatures just for the sake of realism. He also insisted on having real fire for his climactic scenes, which resulted in Brigitte Helm actually catching fire during filming. Pretty much everyone who was involved with this film in any way has a shockingly disturbing story about conditions on set or some borderline abusive thing Lang did to achieve his vision.

As always, it will remain an open question as to whether the final work of art in any way validates the sacrifices made to create it, but the technical accomplishment of the work is undeniable. Totally apart from the human element, there are technical elements at work here that are totally new to cinema. This was actually the first movie to use mirrors to make it appear as though characters were moving through miniature sets. This was called the Schüfftan process after the film’s cinematographer, who invented it. This became pretty much the technique for large scale visuals until blue screen was developed, and was incredibly popular among high-caliber filmmakers like Hitchcock. The technique is so effective that it’s actually still used in films today, depending upon the particular filming situation (The Lord of the Rings trilogy is a great example). There’s also use of a swing camera, which was a relative rarity at this point in film history. Without getting too lost in the weeds, this movie really reinvented the way that filmmakers could craft visuals, especially large-scale or fantastic ones. The effects were felt for years after. In addition, Lang demonstrates nearly flawless technique here, drawing and moving the eye of the viewer effortlessly within and between scenes. He seems to show boundless ability to invent and reinvent genres through his work, endlessly innovating. Mabuse did it for spy movies, Metropolis for science fiction, and in a couple of years he will invent another type of film out of nearly whole cloth. The man’s creativity seems to know no limits, and he brings these visions to life with such simple competence that it looks easy. The world of Metropolis feels very real. Some of the incidental detail is fascinatingly observed. While some people may find that attention to detail boring, I find it wonderful. As bizarre and extreme as the far future Lang imagines is, it still has a basic reality that shows the effort that Lang and his wife put into the screenplay. In the end, that is what makes this movie such a lasting masterpiece. While it isn’t perfect, the world of Metropolis feels like a real, if bizarre, place. The visuals and performances transport the viewer to a heightened, alternate reality, and it’s decidedly a place worth visiting, even with some of the inconveniences and idiosyncrasies of the period.

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