Metropolis, by Fritz Lang

Metropolis is one of Fritz Lang’s most perplexing films. Throughout its eighty years of life, it has provoked diverse polemics and reactions from each generation that has watched it. Nevertheless, no matter the vantage point taken for its analysis, a recurring criticism, or observation, has been the disjunction between its visuals and its story, with the former supposedly greatly surpassing the latter in quality.

It cannot be denied that the special effects and visuals of Metropolis have a mesmerizing quality. The expensive budget and extensive time allocated to its production completely paid off in this regard. The city featured in the film, composed of imposing buildings and machines, is only part of the grandiose world projected by Metropolis. The meticulous attention paid to details was probably the cause of this success. For example, the movement of actors through the sets is synchronized so perfectly that they look either like machines or like chaotic waves, depending on the evolution of the story. The workers are one with the machines; they completely lose traits of individualism and psychological qualities. Their black uniforms, coordinated movements, and similar physiognomies and facial expressions make them amalgamate and become part of the mise en scène. According to Siegfried Kracauer, such “visual depiction of crowds [is] pleasurable to the eye but politically totalitarian[.] Lang’s geometrical forms in Metropolis deprive the masses of a will and reduce their public participation to a demagogic reflex.” In fact, even when the workers are apparently out of control by the robot Maria’s incitement, their movements are not so much willed by them as programmed and imposed by a greater force, in this case the robot, and thus by its master Joh Fredersen, here representative of the state.

Even if Metropolis is not scrutinized under the same political magnifying glass as Kracauer’s, the narrative behind its elaborate mise en scène is significantly lacking in quality and effectiveness. The film’s core message could not be more clichéd and simplistic: “the mediator between head and hands must be the heart.” This emphasis on the need for a savior becomes a call for inertia. The workers should wait for a magical solution to descend from the heavens and fix their problems. It becomes somewhat comical that the recommendation to rise against the oppressive machines in order to demand their rights would come from the robot Maria rather than the human one. Nevertheless, it is fairly insulting the minimal brain activity granted to the working class in Metropolis. They can be hypnotized and lured into either madness or lethargy with the same ease. These deliberate plot choices, however, might be a reflection of the society of the time. Thus, as Kracauer noticed, “Metropolis was rich in subterranean content that, like contraband, had crossed the borders of consciousness without being questioned.” For such a reason, Metropolis can be considered a document that records the social conditions that created the environment for the rise of the Nazis.

Metropolis is therefore valuable evidence and material when trying to perform an autopsy of the Weimar society. By dissecting this kind of document, both direct products and emblematic representation of the period, important aspects of its society are unveiled. This is true because, as Kracauer points out in “The Mass Ornament,” “the surface-level expressions, […] by virtue of their unconscious nature, provide unmediated access to the fundamental substance of the state of things.” Thus, Metropolis’ society, one whose individuals could only act and react as atom-like parts of a mass, is a startlingly close representation of the society that would soon cheer for Hitler’s indoctrinations as it was apparent in his propagandistic, yet documentary film, The Triumph of the Will. Adding to such a tendency for mimicry, society’s need and desire for a strong leader and savior is also a characteristic that Metropolis identified and addressed. The same blind admiration and devotion for both Marias can be identified in the footage from Hitler’s early rallies across Germany. Germans were going through a time of great depression and economic distress and needed a father-like figure who would reorganize the chaos they were in. Coincidentally, this is exactly what Maria was supposed to do in Metropolis. She is the connection between the workers and the mediator who would save and release them from the enslaving machines of the city.

Nevertheless, even if Thea von Harbou was able to transcribe the collective unconscious of the time, the romantic plot between Freder and Maria is trite and irrelevant. They fall in love after their first glance, and they declare such mutual love after only knowing each other’s names. Their kiss of celebration and triumph is completely extraneous to the flood that is threatening to destroy the future of the city, its children. Moreover, it seems that Freder is not, like Jesus, sent from the heavens as the prophet that the working class is waiting for, but is rather another marionette controlled by the intoxication of Maria’s seduction or love. Such development of the plot makes unmistakable the mark and influence that Hollywood’s box-office films had on Metropolis. Their asphyxiating cloud of romantic, unrealistic, and simplistic plots had finally reached the skies of German films.

In addition to such an unnecessary romantic subplot, as Tom Gunning puts it, “everyone hates the ending” to which it leads. It seems as if Lang and von Harbou had tried to assume Hollywood’s equation for profit maximization: an unrealistic happy ending. As it might be expected, Kracauer also finds such an ending objectionable. He criticized it as veiling its audience’s eyes with easy resolutions that would make them forget about the politically charged problems initially posed by the film. In this case, he points out that the apparent victory of the working class is only an illusion, part of Joh Fredersen’s plan to ensure his continuous domination over his city and over his son. By letting the workers become intoxicated with the idea of having won over the ruler and considering themselves at his same level, they will be back to lethargy, since there is nothing else to fight for. “[Joh Fredersen’s] concession […] amounts to a policy of appeasement that not only prevents the workers from winning their cause, but enables him to tighten his grip on them” (Kracauer). Therefore, the ruler’s influence is now exerted upon the worker’s hearts, making it even easier than before to manipulate them. Joh Fredersen’s plan goes beyond the domination of the city into his personal life. “On the surface, it seems that Freder has converted his father; in reality, the industrialist has outwitted his son” (Kracauer). He conveniently makes his rebellious son believe that he was finally worth something since his actions made the conciliation between the ‘head’ and the ‘hands’ of Metropolis possible. After believing in such a victory, Freder can rejoicingly return to his comfortable nest and stop contradicting his father.

It seems oddly simplistic to believe that the valid criticism raised by Kracauer would have passed unnoticed by someone with the mental sharpness of Lang and von Harbou; which makes one wonder whether such an ending was cynically constructed. This theory takes on greater weight when noticing that the workers are represented by Grot, “a management spy and informer, who cares only for the machines of Metropolis. And the heart is the boss’s son” (Gunning). Therefore, it becomes apparent that the ending’s facility might have been a way of appealing to both the mass audiences, who prefer compact endings, and to the intellectual niche, who would decode the criticism of the state in such absurd ending. Upon understanding the ironic final twist, one’s perspective of the film drastically changes. However, such interpretation is obscure and not easily recognized, and thus, the majority of its viewers would not walk away from the cinema thinking that the film’s final resolution is a criticism of the political system.

Dr. Mabuse, The Gambler, by Fritz Lang

During the 1920s, Germany was suffering from having a government that was perceived as weak and incompetent. The Weimar Republic faced numerous problems such as hyperinflation and strong opposition from the right and left wings. Such political instability echoed through all Germans’ paths of life. Thus, it is not uncommon to find elements in art works that reflected and were directly linked to the society’s mental uneasiness and worries of the time. Fritz Lang’s Dr. Mabuse films are a clear example of such works. These films provide a face and a name to the invisible hand perceived to be responsible for all of society’s problems. In fact, Lang claimed that Dr. Mabuse represented “not simply some man from 192[2], but the man of 192[2];” converting the films into documents of their time.

The story line is rooted in worries about criminals who can blend perfectly into society. Lang was especially successful at discerning and delineating society’s intertwined web of common fears. Such fears were incubated and growing as the result of the country’s complex historic episodes. In fact, there are unsettling similarities between sequences of the film and later Nazi propaganda against Jews. Such similarities could indeed be the result of Lang’s direct influence in the creative department of the Nazis. However, it cannot be ignored that the means used by the Nazis to sway the population to engage in horrifying actions was through the magnification of the collective fears explored by Lang in his films. In fact, Lang was able to translate such latent fears into the character of Dr. Mabuse. For example, Dr. Mabuse is able to hypnotize people to do inexplicable things they would not do otherwise. He seems to embody a godlike figure with an uncanny ability to control people’s minds at his will. As if playing with people’s actions were not enough, he is also a master of disguise, which allows him to work his magic without being recognized by those around him. His precise understanding of disguise, such as costumes and the forgery of documents, allows him to steal and manipulate identities.

Throughout the film, a main anxiety explored is the manipulation of monetary systems and society’s struggle to cope with inflation. Thus, in Dr. Mabuse, The Gambler, Germans are finally given a name to blame for all of their monetary adversities. Dr. Mabuse plays with stockbrokers through the manipulation of information, as if they were marionettes. He is a master at reading people and understanding the appropriate time to release and withhold information from public knowledge to generate the desired reactions.

This manipulation of the flow of information can only be achieved by skillful maneuvering through the systems of modernity. By elaborating this particular theme, Lang portrayed German society’s state of breathlessness in catching up with the numerous technological advances of the time. There is a vast difference between Dr. Mabuse and the rest of the ordinary population in their understanding and internalization of technological systems. While most people tried to make some sense of the invasion of trains, cars, telephones, and the like, Dr. Mabuse comprehended their reliability and great potential for his plans.

For example, he knew that the railroad system, rather than being detached from the lives of its passengers, directly affects their destiny and future. Even though the railway is thought of as riding parallel to a “world of random encounters,” if the time is taken to thoroughly study the system, it is possible to adapt its “internal complexity” to individual needs. This is precisely what Dr. Mabuse is able to do by studying and understanding the schedules of trains. Consequently, schedules and time have a key role throughout the films. The scheming plans could not be carried out if the criminals were not in perfect synchronicity. Schedules become the spinal cord of Dr. Mabuse’s operations, necessary for every plan to function.

Departures from schedule are what Dr. Mabuse tries to control with the aid of telephones. Even though his body is in one place, his mental powers travel outwards over the telephone wires, affirming his will and presence in more than one place. Thus, Dr. Mabuse has assumed and embodied the qualities of telephones, which make “travel almost superfluous, partly [fulfilling] humankind’s dream of becoming omnipresent.” Nevertheless, he knows the high likelihood of telephone messages being intercepted by third parties, and thus in Dr. Mabuse, The Gambler, he prefers the passage of important information through encoded messages that travel from hand to hand. In fact, he passes messages by writing indications on currency bills and congratulation cards. It is interesting to notice that in the end of Dr. Mabuse, The Gambler, his operations are still at a high peak that seems unreachable by the inspector. However, that mountain starts to crumble in the second part of the film, as he increasingly relies on telephones.

Therefore, as the story of Dr. Mabuse develops through the two halves of the film, the complexity of the role of telephones builds up. As a medium of control and penetration into closed systems, the telephone goes from being the glue of Dr. Mabuse’s operations to become one of the principal causes of the fall of his empire. At first, he is the only one understanding the ability of telephones to reach sealed places, access to which would otherwise be impossible. In addition, they help him to completely master his plans. They become the mean to “be present and absent at the same time, by making [his] bod[y] invisible and [his] voic[e] infinitely transportable.”

However, after always being at least a step behind Dr. Mabuse, inspector von Wenk stumbles onto the usefulness of telephones. By simply scanning through a telephone directory, von Wenk finds the key to Dr. Mabuse’s fortress: his telephone number. He now has the power to contact and reach Dr. Mabuse whenever he desires. More importantly, Dr. Mabuse starts losing control when von Wenk and the Count begin using the telephone to communicate between themselves instead of through him. This is the reason why he demands the Count to cut communication with the outside world in order to get treatment for his mental disorder. Dr. Mabuse foresees great risks if the Count stays in contact with von Wenk because they could connect loose ends that might unveil his identity and the kidnapping of the Countess.

It is interesting that what ultimately causes the fall of Dr. Mabuse is not the government but women. It seems as if German society had returned to a childish state of mind in which a maternal figure was needed to comfort and save it. There is angst in men which results from the dramatic “transition from being a baby, dominated by instinctual need, to an adult individual who has to negotiate social reality.” These worries are mirrored in the conclusion of German films of this period such as Dr. Mabuse and Nosferatu. Women are the ultimate heroes. They sacrifice themselves, as only a mother would for her children, in order to save men from the horrors greater than life that they have encountered. The acting style and casting decisions of these films are in direct correlation with the protagonists’ sensation of helplessness as they face their adulthood. For instance, as Kracauer noticed, the flimsy and spineless male protagonists’ recurrent way to deal with problems is to throw themselves into bed and bury their heads in women’s laps in search of maternal protection. The adversities that life has put into their paths, similar to the German audiences’ of the time, were too overwhelming for them to cope with. Thus, they wished to go back to a time in which their mothers would have safeguarded them. In fact, Dr. Mabuse’s malicious plans are ultimately cracked by the heroic act of women. Carozza and the Countess are the only two characters that directly defy Dr. Mabuse and his plans. Motivated by love and the admiration of its purest kind, both women break the closed circles that were holding Dr. Mabuse’s operation together. Therefore, even if Dr. Mabuse is a master of disguise and the interlocked systems of modernity, he cannot factor into his frivolous and precise calculations the irrational reactions triggered by love and obsession.