Metropolis (1927)Society is always straddling the line between what is good for some versus the needs of others. Nearly every revolution is founded on the idea that one group is underrepresented or believes themselves to be treated unfairly by another. Whenever you have any society comprised of disparate people with varied values, the diversity can be a strength if cherished, but all too often can easily dissolve into an incoherent lack of communication, erupting in violence and chaos. Metropolis (1927) showcases a largely automated world of the future, one where the class disparity is a cauldron ready to boil over.
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Metropolis largely follows the story of Freder (Gustav Fröhlich), who is effectively the prince of Metropolis, his father, Joh Fredersen (Alfred Abel), being the bureaucratic ruler of the vast city. Life is sweet for Freder, who cavorts in the pleasure gardens with lovely women seeking his affection, and sporting with other rich sons of the power elite. But when Maria (Brigitte Helm), the secret spiritual leader of the subterranean worker's city--the city beneath Metropolis in which the poor toil to power the city above--appears presenting children in rags as the "brothers and sisters" of the rich sons, Freder is moved by her passion, and sets out to visit the lower city first hand. But upon witnessing a terrible accident below, and shocked at his father's indifference at the loss of life and dismissal of a loyal employee named Josaphat (Theodor Loos), Freder resolves to infiltrate the worker's city in secret to learn what it is his city is truly built upon. He trades places with a worker called Georgy, or simply "11811" (Erwin Biswanger), and after experiencing the intensity of the labor for himself, he then finds that the same woman he encountered earlier (Maria), leads secret meetings for the workers, proclaiming through parable and sermon the need for the "head" (the elite of Metropolis) and "hands" (the workers of the city below) to have a mediator: the "heart". Freder appoints himself to be the heart of Metropolis, uniquely positioned to connect the two worlds, sympathetic to the exploitation of his fellow human beings. But Joh Fredersen, suspicious of his son's recent shift in attitude, has him followed by a sinister spy known as "The Thin Man" (Fritz Rasp), who attempts to intimidate Freder's allies in his clandestine reconnaissance of the world below. Fredersen consults with Rotwang (Rudolf Klein-Rogge), his erstwhile rival for his late wife, Hel, and fellow puppet master in the operations of the city, about the secret plans found on the bodies of the slain workers in the accident. After they witness the power Maria has over her flock, they conspire to use her image for Rotwang's newest creation, the "Machine-Man", so they may infiltrate the workers and control their movements by replacing their leader and sowing discord.
Metropolis is filled with bold, powerful, and fantastic images of the machine-driven dystopia, from the mighty machines and workstations which resemble the face of a clock--which the workers must align the hands of with alacrity--to the decrepit shack situated somewhere dark in the city where Rotwang conducts his twisted experiments. Metropolis is also steeped in apocalyptic symbolism, like the statues of the seven sins and Death. Many others are envisioned by Freder as he experiences a crisis of identity, his conscience exposing his heart to the iniquity of the two worlds. He envisions the deadly, massive machine where he first witnesses the death of many workers as being the manifestation of evil Moloch, into whose shrines people were sacrificed by fire. When Maria's image is appropriated by her robotic doppelganger, and Freder witnesses her with his father, he falls into a delirium, envisioning The Thin Man spouting a gospel of doom from a pulpit, and the false Maria clad (if barely) in a seductive dress, entrancing his fellow princes of the city, driving them to self-destruction out of lustful desire. Later, she sits upon a multi-headed beast, completing the image of her as the Whore of Babylon.
The parallels with Metropolis and the legend of Babel are abundant. Maria tells the parable to the workers, discussing how the architects wished to create the city to honor God (as well as themselves, although this is understated), and commissioned many workers to perform the unprecedented task. The workers could not understand the purpose of the job, and resented that they were put to work for inscrutable ends. In this, Babel was doomed, less because of hubris, but because of the lack of communication, the inability for people who are of the same nation to "speak the same language". It is really not until this point in Metropolis that it becomes evident that there is little in the way of established religion in this futuristic world, but the workers turn to faith to give their lives purpose, and Maria is favored because she gives them a calling, one that is more than just being taken for granted; she gives their role in society purpose. However, Maria knows that it is all for naught if there is not a "mediator", a kind of messiah, someone who will address the escalating resentment stewing within all the workers at their mistreatment. This religion is, ironically, what Rotwang and Joh Fredersen exploit in their effort to further cement their iron grip over the populous. They take the message and distort it by supplanting Maria with their cybernetic cipher, using her popularity to turn the message into one of hatred and anger, while the phony Maria fuels the decadence and vice, the cancer which has been rotting away the rich. For all the performances in Metropolis, it is Brigitte Helm which strikes me as the most outstanding, playing these two very different incarnations of Maria; one is innocent and kind, pious and benevolent, while the other is the licentious double with sinister eyes and a devilish smirk.
As tensions heighten in Metropolis, the false Maria successfully provokes the workers to allow the machines to "die", to go unattended, which ultimately results in a terrible collapse of the reservoir, which in turn floods the worker's city below. It is Maria and Freder who brave the disintegrating underworld to recover the children of the workers who had been neglected in their parents' rage, saving them since they are motivated by the "heart", the link in humanity which must bind those who "think" and those who "do". The children are also a metaphor for those who are often sacrificed on the altar of liberty, progress, or whatever convenient banner people waive to justify their anger. Though not a bloodless revolution, in the end, Freder and Maria do not offer reproach, but the olive branch of peace, knowing that only by forgiveness can one put aside the bitterness left behind when the dust settles. Metropolis has the distinction of being a film which has been seen in its entirety by very few (if any) surviving people. Edited significantly upon release, much of the content was thought lost forever. The most recent restoration of the film has come courtesy of a near complete print recovered from Buenos Aires in 2008, which adds scenes that give more relevance and complexity to characters, strengthening the work. Nearly one hundred years old, Metropolis is a testament to the importance of archiving works of artistic merit and value, so that the voices of the past may ring true in the future--no matter how that future looks.
Recommended for: Fans of a classic silent film and one which has survived over decades, even miraculously growing more complete following the discovery of lost footage. It is a striking view of a future, which remains as compelling with regards to social issues of equality today as it has always been.
Metropolis is filled with bold, powerful, and fantastic images of the machine-driven dystopia, from the mighty machines and workstations which resemble the face of a clock--which the workers must align the hands of with alacrity--to the decrepit shack situated somewhere dark in the city where Rotwang conducts his twisted experiments. Metropolis is also steeped in apocalyptic symbolism, like the statues of the seven sins and Death. Many others are envisioned by Freder as he experiences a crisis of identity, his conscience exposing his heart to the iniquity of the two worlds. He envisions the deadly, massive machine where he first witnesses the death of many workers as being the manifestation of evil Moloch, into whose shrines people were sacrificed by fire. When Maria's image is appropriated by her robotic doppelganger, and Freder witnesses her with his father, he falls into a delirium, envisioning The Thin Man spouting a gospel of doom from a pulpit, and the false Maria clad (if barely) in a seductive dress, entrancing his fellow princes of the city, driving them to self-destruction out of lustful desire. Later, she sits upon a multi-headed beast, completing the image of her as the Whore of Babylon.
The parallels with Metropolis and the legend of Babel are abundant. Maria tells the parable to the workers, discussing how the architects wished to create the city to honor God (as well as themselves, although this is understated), and commissioned many workers to perform the unprecedented task. The workers could not understand the purpose of the job, and resented that they were put to work for inscrutable ends. In this, Babel was doomed, less because of hubris, but because of the lack of communication, the inability for people who are of the same nation to "speak the same language". It is really not until this point in Metropolis that it becomes evident that there is little in the way of established religion in this futuristic world, but the workers turn to faith to give their lives purpose, and Maria is favored because she gives them a calling, one that is more than just being taken for granted; she gives their role in society purpose. However, Maria knows that it is all for naught if there is not a "mediator", a kind of messiah, someone who will address the escalating resentment stewing within all the workers at their mistreatment. This religion is, ironically, what Rotwang and Joh Fredersen exploit in their effort to further cement their iron grip over the populous. They take the message and distort it by supplanting Maria with their cybernetic cipher, using her popularity to turn the message into one of hatred and anger, while the phony Maria fuels the decadence and vice, the cancer which has been rotting away the rich. For all the performances in Metropolis, it is Brigitte Helm which strikes me as the most outstanding, playing these two very different incarnations of Maria; one is innocent and kind, pious and benevolent, while the other is the licentious double with sinister eyes and a devilish smirk.
As tensions heighten in Metropolis, the false Maria successfully provokes the workers to allow the machines to "die", to go unattended, which ultimately results in a terrible collapse of the reservoir, which in turn floods the worker's city below. It is Maria and Freder who brave the disintegrating underworld to recover the children of the workers who had been neglected in their parents' rage, saving them since they are motivated by the "heart", the link in humanity which must bind those who "think" and those who "do". The children are also a metaphor for those who are often sacrificed on the altar of liberty, progress, or whatever convenient banner people waive to justify their anger. Though not a bloodless revolution, in the end, Freder and Maria do not offer reproach, but the olive branch of peace, knowing that only by forgiveness can one put aside the bitterness left behind when the dust settles. Metropolis has the distinction of being a film which has been seen in its entirety by very few (if any) surviving people. Edited significantly upon release, much of the content was thought lost forever. The most recent restoration of the film has come courtesy of a near complete print recovered from Buenos Aires in 2008, which adds scenes that give more relevance and complexity to characters, strengthening the work. Nearly one hundred years old, Metropolis is a testament to the importance of archiving works of artistic merit and value, so that the voices of the past may ring true in the future--no matter how that future looks.
Recommended for: Fans of a classic silent film and one which has survived over decades, even miraculously growing more complete following the discovery of lost footage. It is a striking view of a future, which remains as compelling with regards to social issues of equality today as it has always been.