Metropolis (1927)

 "The mediator between brain and hands must be the heart..."

I've been resisting watching the fully restored print of this film for some time. Not because I wasn't keen to see it, but because, well, when you're choosing which film to watch, the one with the three hour run time might, in the moment, seem off-puttingly long. But I've seen it now, and my mind is reeling. The film is, in some ways, not one might expect from a science fiction classic, but its aesthetics and its themes are very much of the Weimar Republic, after hyperinflation but before the Wall Street Crash.

One thing must be addressed, though: the writer, Thea von Harbou, would later co-operate with the Nazis, whereas Fritz Lang would divorce her, leave Germany, taking his magnificent monocle with him. I don't think this can be said to taint the film at all, quite frankly. Von Harbou's Nazi ties can be seen as quite passive, she had an Indian husband... and no one in 1927 could have known what was to come, Hitler being seen as a bit of a Farage figure. But... yeah, let's be a bit more wary of those Farageists, shall we?

The look of the film is incredible. One could make the obvious observation that this is Fritz Lang doing German Expressionist cinema, but this 1927 vision of the future is fascinating. An age of Modernism, a future Metropolis that looks VERY Le Corbusier. And the plot revolves entirely around the extremities of social class. Realism is nowhere to be seen. Acting is deliberately expressive, and characters are vehicles for the film's ideas rather than three dimensional people- said as observation, not criticism. It's just that sort of film.

Hence the shuffling misery of the underclass being quite obviously choreographed, and the exaggerated leisure pursuits of the wealthy young men. The work, which we see Freder voluntarily undertake for a shift, reminding me of the myth of Sisyphus. The long, lingering visual shots which are what makes this fairly simple film, in which relatively little happens, so very long. Yet it doesn't drag: the visuals are the point.

There is religious imagery here aplenty- the Tower of Babel, apocalyptic stuff from the Book of Revelation, but this is really there to serve what is very much a political rather than religious subtext: the immense gap between rich and poor, the intense inequality. As Freder says to his father early on, there is a risk of revolution, and this in a Germany where Bavaria had relatively recently erupted into Communist revolt. Yet, in the frightening violence of the mob, we also see the potential horrors of populism, of Fascism.

The film is a triumph of visual cinema, but also a fascinating political artifact of its time, eschewing realism for a type of satire that almost reminds me of Voltaire's Candide or Zadig. Not one for the casual viewer, but a true cinematic masterpiece.

The Unknown (1927)

Up until yesterday, I'd never heard of this wonderful late Hollywood film, directed by Tod Browning and starring Lon Chaney Sr and Joan Crawford, together at last. And it is a thing of dark beauty.

Sadly, ten minutes or so of the film are apparently missing; given the poor survival rate of films from this era, I suppose we're lucky to have it at all. Because this isa deliciously dark bit of black humour that's recognisably Tod Browning and certainly has DNA in common with the great Freaks. Set in a circus in "old Madrid", at first it seems to concern a love triangle between Alonzo, a man with no arms who uses his feet to shoot bulletsand throw knives at his beloved Nanon, who is also loved by Malabar, the kind strongman. At first it seems as though this is to be a straightyforward love triangle... but all is not what it seems.

Slowly, we learn of Alonzo's secret, and his true nature. We learn the extremes he will go to in order to win his lady's love, with body horror and cruel irony played on that very edge between tragedy and comedy.

The three main performances are superb. Lon Chaney is, of course, magnificent, but so too is the very young Joan Crawford. I particularly love how Alonzo is seen doing all sorts of things with his feet- smoking a cigarette, drinking a glass of wine, playing the guitar. 

This is, in short, superb. I have perhaps neglected silent cinema a bit lately. This sort of film is the reason why I shouldn't.