(11/23/00)
The film is dominated by the figure of death. I don't know the actor's name, but he is a towering, commanding presence. It is interesting that in the early part of the film he is very stern, but as we get to know him and understand how reluctantly he carries out his duty he takes on a very sympathetic dimension. I think it would be interesting to compare him with Bengt Ekerot or this film with Fahrmann Maria.
I very much like the presentation of an old-fashioned German (or Flemish) town. I think I like the sets (or the "production design") better than The Golem, but I would have to see it again to be sure. I like the idea of the high wall around Death's residence and the interior of his castle. I think the most powerful moment in the film (for me) is when Lil Dagover sees the spirits of the dead approaching the wall.
The three episodes in which the girl attempts to defeat the inevitability of death seem inspired by Griffith's Intolerance. They come across as action pieces and don't match the seriousness of the first part of the film. They are jarring in this respect and I was particularly disappointed in the first one. I'll admit that they are both colorful and lively.
The second episode, set in Venice during a carnival, has a kind of Hitchcockian twist in that the heroine sets one man up to be killed, but it is her lover who dies instead. The third story, set in ancient China, is the best of the three. The magician A Hi and the lustful emperor are both entertaining characters and it is a lively fantasy full of magic and special effects in the tradition of The Thief of Bagdad. In fact, I wondered if Fairbanks' The Thief of Bagdad may have been inspired to some degree by Destiny.
The film has a sort of coda in which the heroine can still save her lover if she can find someone who is willing to give up the remaining portion of his life. Everyone she asks underatandably turns her down--the old, the decrepit, a woman who complains of nothing left to live for. This brings squeals of laughter from a contemporary audience. Was that how it was originally intended?
At the end the girl learns the lesson of compassion when she sacrifices herself rather than allow Death to take a child from a burning building. In surrendering her life she is reunited with her lover. I don't think that last scene really convinces. I left with the feeling that it was a cliche put there to wrap things up rather than a point to which the film meaningfully built.
Showing posts with label Fritz Lang. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fritz Lang. Show all posts
Monday, August 9, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
The Woman in the Window. 1944. Directed by Fritz Lang.
(July or August 2000)
Another man comes to ruin because of a woman. Fritz Lang's film is a nightmare--literally. The whole film is brutally disfigured by the ending which reveals the whole thing to be a dream.
Dream or not, there is a sadness which hangs over the film. Edward G. Robinson has an affectionate relationship with his wife who goes away on a vacation, yet he admits he hates the restrictions placed on his life and the fact that he can't seek adventure. His middle-aged friends tease him about this.
He has a dream about an involvement with a glamorous young woman, murder, blackmail and eventual suicide. It is like this film skirts dangerous territory but had to pull back and provide the relief of a dream ending. And the ending really does provide a great sense of relief.
I really enjoyed the shots of city streets at night, particularly when it was raining. The film revels in its description of police work and it is delightful when Robinson makes slips which indicate that he is more familiar with the events than he would like the others to realize. My favorite is when he and his detective friends go to visit the spot where the body was discovered and Robinson starts leading the way, like he knows just where the body was found. (He does.)
There is a real spark to the scene where blackmailer Dan Duryea comes to Joan Bennett's apartment. There is a real chemistry between the two of them.
The dream ending actually covers up at least one hole in the story. Robinson knows that Dan Duryea can't go to the police with his information because he is wanted on other charges. So why all the worry and fuss? The fact that it's a dream also takes care of the problem that Robinson and Bennett never even consider the factor that the killing was done in self-defense.
It's quite fascinating how the dead Dan Duryea is taken for the killer. This is omething which will happen again in Scarlet Street, only in that film he is quite alive when it happens. In both cases he becomes what is referred to in gangster films as "the fall guy."
Another man comes to ruin because of a woman. Fritz Lang's film is a nightmare--literally. The whole film is brutally disfigured by the ending which reveals the whole thing to be a dream.
Dream or not, there is a sadness which hangs over the film. Edward G. Robinson has an affectionate relationship with his wife who goes away on a vacation, yet he admits he hates the restrictions placed on his life and the fact that he can't seek adventure. His middle-aged friends tease him about this.
He has a dream about an involvement with a glamorous young woman, murder, blackmail and eventual suicide. It is like this film skirts dangerous territory but had to pull back and provide the relief of a dream ending. And the ending really does provide a great sense of relief.
I really enjoyed the shots of city streets at night, particularly when it was raining. The film revels in its description of police work and it is delightful when Robinson makes slips which indicate that he is more familiar with the events than he would like the others to realize. My favorite is when he and his detective friends go to visit the spot where the body was discovered and Robinson starts leading the way, like he knows just where the body was found. (He does.)
There is a real spark to the scene where blackmailer Dan Duryea comes to Joan Bennett's apartment. There is a real chemistry between the two of them.
The dream ending actually covers up at least one hole in the story. Robinson knows that Dan Duryea can't go to the police with his information because he is wanted on other charges. So why all the worry and fuss? The fact that it's a dream also takes care of the problem that Robinson and Bennett never even consider the factor that the killing was done in self-defense.
It's quite fascinating how the dead Dan Duryea is taken for the killer. This is omething which will happen again in Scarlet Street, only in that film he is quite alive when it happens. In both cases he becomes what is referred to in gangster films as "the fall guy."
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Die Niebelungen. 1923-24. Directed by Fritz Lang. (Part 1: Siegfried; Part 2: Kriemhild's Revenge.)
(4/8/00-4/12/00)
This is a true epic film. It is majestic and stately. The characters are larger-than-life. It is Shakespearean in its feel and it reminds me of Ivan the Terrible as well. And it builds to a grand climax which resounds with a ring of inevitability. The two parts do form a unified whole and seeing the two of them together is remarkable.
It starts off kind of dull. It feels cold. It doesn't involve--or it didn't involve me, and I was left admiring the set design and the pagentry. I didn't find Siegfried very interesting as a character--he seemed vapid and, like the film, dull. But that all changed when Brunhild came on the scene.
The Nibelungen is about a crime and the consequences of that crime and the people who are trapped in the wake of that crime. And the crime is fraud. Gunther wants Brunhild as a bride, but Brunhild will only wed a man who can defeat her in physical combat. Siegfried comes to Gunther's court in hopes of wedding his sister, Kriemhild. Gunther offers Siegfried his sister if Siegfried will help him win Brunhild. And Siegfried does this. He does it by performing the physical feats while wearing a cloak (or some sort of garment or cloth) which makes him invisible.
This is a sleazy thing to do. It is a crime of fraud perpetrated on Brunhild. What I find interesting is that Gunther's court at Worms is shown as so elegant and pure. It has a lightness about it and it appears to be situated ata high altitude. But beneath this rarefied surface there lurks a shabbiness.
It is sad that Siegfried would consent to something like this and it is also sad that he would consent to become a blood-brother to such a shady character. Siegfried and Gunther swear an oath to protect each other. It is an oath that Gunther does not live up to. As I said, Siegfried doesn't seem like the sharpest guy in the world.
So Brunhild comes to Worms. She is not happy about the situation and it is evident to her that her husband is not the hero who could conquer her (and to whom I suspect she would be happy to surrender). And eventually the truth comes out. Gunther has Siegfried impersonate himself and remove from Brunhild the bracelet that gives her strength. Kriemhild finds it and Siegfried confesses the truth to her. And when Brunhild persists in referring to Siegfried as Gunther's vassal she can't help but spill the beans. The scene when the two argue on the steps of the cathedral is probably the best scene in Siegfried. By that time I was totally involved.
Brunhild demands Siegfried's death and Gunther reluctantly goes along with it. He appears to be breaking his "blood-brother" oath, but Brunhild has deceived him by telling him that Siegfried took her virginity while impersonating him. Does this justify having him killed? It might, given their code of honor, but he shouldn't have just taken her word for it. I would think that being someone's blood-brother implies an obligation to trust.
Hagen is appointed to kill Siegfried and Kriemhild is easily tricked into telling him about Siegfried's vulnerable spot. Once again, she isn't smart enough to keep her mouth shut, but then you have to wonder how anybody knows that Siegfried has a vulnerable spot in the first place. They are all clucks. Gunther starts to be sympathetic at this point in that he is very reluctant to let the deed take place. And later Brunhild boasts about how she tricked him. Brunhild has manipulated him into avenging her honor. Now it is Kriemhild's turn to demand justice and demand she does.
But her kinsmen will not take her part in this. They all claim to have a commitment to Hagen and Siegfried ends with Kriemhild stewing for revenge.
Kriemhild doesn't have much presence in the first part, but as her bitterness obsesses her she takes center stage. She seems justified at first, as was Brunhild, but her desire for revenge becomes a madness, willing to destroy anything that gets in her way.
In Kriemhild's Revenge, King Etzel asks to marry Kriemhild. His emissary, Rudiger, mentions that as Etzel's wife no insult to Kriemhild would go unpunished. She asks him to swear to that and later asks Etzel to swear the same. This vow by honorable men entraps them is the key to Kriemhild's revenge.
When Kriemhild leaves to be taken to Etzel she refuses to say goodbye to her brother Gunther. Her mother and a priest ask herto reconsider, but she refuses them both.
Etzel turns out to be the leader of a group of nomads who live in tents. His kingdom is of the earth, about as far away as you can get from the rarefied atmosphere of the court at Worms. Etzel himself is a sort of lovable wild man. Kriemhild bears him a son and when he offers her anything she desires as a reward she asks him to invite her brothers.
Etzel is happy to do so, but he is not happy to be drawn into Kriemhild's plot of revenge. He tells her that as long as Hagen does not disturb his peace he will not disturb Hagen's.
Here I have to wonder why Kriemhild's brothers were so dumb as to bring Hagen with them onto Kriemhild's turf. It is the feast of the solstice and she has her people ambush the soldiers that her brothers brought with them. Hagen then kills her infant son and forgoes the protection of the rules of hospitality.
The Nibelungen then turns into a full-fledged action picture with Kriemhild's brothers and Hagen holed up in a building, fending the assaults of Etzel's troops (if you can call them that). Rudiger arrives and Kriemhild forces him to go and fight the Nibelungen. He doesn't want to because one of Kriemhild's brothers is married to his daughter, but she holds him to his oath. When her brothers plead for mercy Kriemhild replies that if they will just hand over Hagen they are free. But they refuse.
Hagen offers to give himself up, but Gunther will not let him. A code of honor has now turned into a destructive force, pulling down just about everyone. Kriemhild finally has them set the building on fire. They are smoked out and Hagen is killed by Kriemhild herself.
Gunther is wonderful in the second part of the film. So much of this was his fault and he suffers for it. And Hagen does try to do right at the end himself after participating in a heinous act. Kriemhild, I think, violates the spirit of the code that she holds others to. Her plot to destroy Hagen violates the spirit of hospitality and her abuse of Rudiger is totally without honor. She asked him to swear an oath to defend her when she was already planning toinvolve him in a personal vendetta. That was shameful. Her cause was just but not her methods.
I felt sorry for Etzel who loses his troops or his people in great numbers, just to satisfy the agenda of this woman who was merely using him. He even loses his child. Etzel and Rudiger were the true victims in all this.
It is a harrowing tale in which everything fits together. It is a grand drama of powerful people in high places and was made in a style which suited its subject matter. It is stately but not stodgy and when viewed in a print preserved by the Munich Film Museum and shown at the correct speed with the intertitles translated I think I liked it even more than Metropolis. A real surprise.
This is a true epic film. It is majestic and stately. The characters are larger-than-life. It is Shakespearean in its feel and it reminds me of Ivan the Terrible as well. And it builds to a grand climax which resounds with a ring of inevitability. The two parts do form a unified whole and seeing the two of them together is remarkable.
It starts off kind of dull. It feels cold. It doesn't involve--or it didn't involve me, and I was left admiring the set design and the pagentry. I didn't find Siegfried very interesting as a character--he seemed vapid and, like the film, dull. But that all changed when Brunhild came on the scene.
The Nibelungen is about a crime and the consequences of that crime and the people who are trapped in the wake of that crime. And the crime is fraud. Gunther wants Brunhild as a bride, but Brunhild will only wed a man who can defeat her in physical combat. Siegfried comes to Gunther's court in hopes of wedding his sister, Kriemhild. Gunther offers Siegfried his sister if Siegfried will help him win Brunhild. And Siegfried does this. He does it by performing the physical feats while wearing a cloak (or some sort of garment or cloth) which makes him invisible.
This is a sleazy thing to do. It is a crime of fraud perpetrated on Brunhild. What I find interesting is that Gunther's court at Worms is shown as so elegant and pure. It has a lightness about it and it appears to be situated ata high altitude. But beneath this rarefied surface there lurks a shabbiness.
It is sad that Siegfried would consent to something like this and it is also sad that he would consent to become a blood-brother to such a shady character. Siegfried and Gunther swear an oath to protect each other. It is an oath that Gunther does not live up to. As I said, Siegfried doesn't seem like the sharpest guy in the world.
So Brunhild comes to Worms. She is not happy about the situation and it is evident to her that her husband is not the hero who could conquer her (and to whom I suspect she would be happy to surrender). And eventually the truth comes out. Gunther has Siegfried impersonate himself and remove from Brunhild the bracelet that gives her strength. Kriemhild finds it and Siegfried confesses the truth to her. And when Brunhild persists in referring to Siegfried as Gunther's vassal she can't help but spill the beans. The scene when the two argue on the steps of the cathedral is probably the best scene in Siegfried. By that time I was totally involved.
Brunhild demands Siegfried's death and Gunther reluctantly goes along with it. He appears to be breaking his "blood-brother" oath, but Brunhild has deceived him by telling him that Siegfried took her virginity while impersonating him. Does this justify having him killed? It might, given their code of honor, but he shouldn't have just taken her word for it. I would think that being someone's blood-brother implies an obligation to trust.
Hagen is appointed to kill Siegfried and Kriemhild is easily tricked into telling him about Siegfried's vulnerable spot. Once again, she isn't smart enough to keep her mouth shut, but then you have to wonder how anybody knows that Siegfried has a vulnerable spot in the first place. They are all clucks. Gunther starts to be sympathetic at this point in that he is very reluctant to let the deed take place. And later Brunhild boasts about how she tricked him. Brunhild has manipulated him into avenging her honor. Now it is Kriemhild's turn to demand justice and demand she does.
But her kinsmen will not take her part in this. They all claim to have a commitment to Hagen and Siegfried ends with Kriemhild stewing for revenge.
Kriemhild doesn't have much presence in the first part, but as her bitterness obsesses her she takes center stage. She seems justified at first, as was Brunhild, but her desire for revenge becomes a madness, willing to destroy anything that gets in her way.
In Kriemhild's Revenge, King Etzel asks to marry Kriemhild. His emissary, Rudiger, mentions that as Etzel's wife no insult to Kriemhild would go unpunished. She asks him to swear to that and later asks Etzel to swear the same. This vow by honorable men entraps them is the key to Kriemhild's revenge.
When Kriemhild leaves to be taken to Etzel she refuses to say goodbye to her brother Gunther. Her mother and a priest ask herto reconsider, but she refuses them both.
Etzel turns out to be the leader of a group of nomads who live in tents. His kingdom is of the earth, about as far away as you can get from the rarefied atmosphere of the court at Worms. Etzel himself is a sort of lovable wild man. Kriemhild bears him a son and when he offers her anything she desires as a reward she asks him to invite her brothers.
Etzel is happy to do so, but he is not happy to be drawn into Kriemhild's plot of revenge. He tells her that as long as Hagen does not disturb his peace he will not disturb Hagen's.
Here I have to wonder why Kriemhild's brothers were so dumb as to bring Hagen with them onto Kriemhild's turf. It is the feast of the solstice and she has her people ambush the soldiers that her brothers brought with them. Hagen then kills her infant son and forgoes the protection of the rules of hospitality.
The Nibelungen then turns into a full-fledged action picture with Kriemhild's brothers and Hagen holed up in a building, fending the assaults of Etzel's troops (if you can call them that). Rudiger arrives and Kriemhild forces him to go and fight the Nibelungen. He doesn't want to because one of Kriemhild's brothers is married to his daughter, but she holds him to his oath. When her brothers plead for mercy Kriemhild replies that if they will just hand over Hagen they are free. But they refuse.
Hagen offers to give himself up, but Gunther will not let him. A code of honor has now turned into a destructive force, pulling down just about everyone. Kriemhild finally has them set the building on fire. They are smoked out and Hagen is killed by Kriemhild herself.
Gunther is wonderful in the second part of the film. So much of this was his fault and he suffers for it. And Hagen does try to do right at the end himself after participating in a heinous act. Kriemhild, I think, violates the spirit of the code that she holds others to. Her plot to destroy Hagen violates the spirit of hospitality and her abuse of Rudiger is totally without honor. She asked him to swear an oath to defend her when she was already planning toinvolve him in a personal vendetta. That was shameful. Her cause was just but not her methods.
I felt sorry for Etzel who loses his troops or his people in great numbers, just to satisfy the agenda of this woman who was merely using him. He even loses his child. Etzel and Rudiger were the true victims in all this.
It is a harrowing tale in which everything fits together. It is a grand drama of powerful people in high places and was made in a style which suited its subject matter. It is stately but not stodgy and when viewed in a print preserved by the Munich Film Museum and shown at the correct speed with the intertitles translated I think I liked it even more than Metropolis. A real surprise.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Metropolis. 1926. Directed by Fritz Lang.
(3/10/00)
Metropolis is always enjoyable. It grabs the attention by its visual conception of a futuristic city and holds it by good storytelling. There are so many fascinating moments: the mysterious plans found on the bodies of the workers, Rotwang's abduction of Maria in which he trains his flashlight's (or some kind of light's) beam on her, the creation of the robot, the flooding of the city, the fight with Rotwang on the roof of the cathedral. It's continually inventive, continually interesting.
There is a really beautiful sense of design in the early parts of the film. I'm thinking of the masses of workers going towards the elevators, the giant machines. And it is exhilarating. But then we come to Rotwang's home and we're in a totally different world. Rotwang's house is like something out of The Golem. It is old, hinting of ancient knowledge and ancient secrets--which is puzzling because Rotwang is an inventor working on modern technological marvels.
I have a problem with Metropolis. There is something spatially wrong with it. By that I mean that I find it difficult to relate things to each other. There are these vast views of the great city, but then we see Rotwang's house and it is hard to locate it, in my mind, in relation to such things as Fredersen's office. The same thing with the cathesral--is it in the worker's city or above the ground? We only see workers in at at first and Maria tells Fredersen's son to meet her there, so it could be in the former, but at the end when the crowds approach it seems clear that it is above ground. Rotwang has a tunnel down to the catacombs which are below the workers' city which is below the machine rooms which are below ground. It is difficult to think of the tunnel going down that far. There is one scene in which we see cars on the ground and it just looks out of place. And the workers' city looks as if it has regular buildings which would be out of place under ground. The film is confusing in a spatial sense.
Metropolis is a film about men and machines. The workers are de-humanized, turned into machines. Fredersen plans to replace them with robots. The robot is made to imitate a human--Maria. One fascinating touch is that Rotwang has one mechanical hand; he is the perfect image of man and machine merging.
Brigitte Helm has a tour de force, playing both the real Maria and the false Maria. The look alike, yet they are about as opposite as they can be. One is totally good and the other is evil incarnate. Helm plays what seems like a female version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
John Fredersen, master of Metropolis, seems to me to be the most interesting character in the film. He is dynamic and has presence. His son, supposedly the hero, seems something of a simp. Maybe it's because we first see him at play in a garden of the idle rich, but even though he obviously means well he doesn't seem very forceful. He even passes out when he sees the false Maria with his father.
It's interesting that at the meetings in the catacombs all the workers that we see are male. The only female is Maria who wields a hell of a lot of influence over all these men. It appears that the workers' city is completely populated by men, although later on when they tear up the place we see women too. But the image I remember is Maria acting as priestess to a crowd of men and nothing but men.
When they revolt the workers become a great natural force, something like a tidal wave. The film certainly doesn't speak well for the proletariat in that they are so easily influenced. When Maria urges peace they are patient; when the false Maria tells them to riot, they riot. The masses are presented here as so irrational as to destroy their own city, completely forgetting about their children.
The end when Fredersen and the foreman shake hands is well-acted. They actually give some poignancy to the scene. After the cdrisis has passed both men want to make up, but they are tentative about it. The son manages to help them surmount their hesitancy.
Metropolis is always enjoyable. It grabs the attention by its visual conception of a futuristic city and holds it by good storytelling. There are so many fascinating moments: the mysterious plans found on the bodies of the workers, Rotwang's abduction of Maria in which he trains his flashlight's (or some kind of light's) beam on her, the creation of the robot, the flooding of the city, the fight with Rotwang on the roof of the cathedral. It's continually inventive, continually interesting.
There is a really beautiful sense of design in the early parts of the film. I'm thinking of the masses of workers going towards the elevators, the giant machines. And it is exhilarating. But then we come to Rotwang's home and we're in a totally different world. Rotwang's house is like something out of The Golem. It is old, hinting of ancient knowledge and ancient secrets--which is puzzling because Rotwang is an inventor working on modern technological marvels.
I have a problem with Metropolis. There is something spatially wrong with it. By that I mean that I find it difficult to relate things to each other. There are these vast views of the great city, but then we see Rotwang's house and it is hard to locate it, in my mind, in relation to such things as Fredersen's office. The same thing with the cathesral--is it in the worker's city or above the ground? We only see workers in at at first and Maria tells Fredersen's son to meet her there, so it could be in the former, but at the end when the crowds approach it seems clear that it is above ground. Rotwang has a tunnel down to the catacombs which are below the workers' city which is below the machine rooms which are below ground. It is difficult to think of the tunnel going down that far. There is one scene in which we see cars on the ground and it just looks out of place. And the workers' city looks as if it has regular buildings which would be out of place under ground. The film is confusing in a spatial sense.
Metropolis is a film about men and machines. The workers are de-humanized, turned into machines. Fredersen plans to replace them with robots. The robot is made to imitate a human--Maria. One fascinating touch is that Rotwang has one mechanical hand; he is the perfect image of man and machine merging.
Brigitte Helm has a tour de force, playing both the real Maria and the false Maria. The look alike, yet they are about as opposite as they can be. One is totally good and the other is evil incarnate. Helm plays what seems like a female version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
John Fredersen, master of Metropolis, seems to me to be the most interesting character in the film. He is dynamic and has presence. His son, supposedly the hero, seems something of a simp. Maybe it's because we first see him at play in a garden of the idle rich, but even though he obviously means well he doesn't seem very forceful. He even passes out when he sees the false Maria with his father.
It's interesting that at the meetings in the catacombs all the workers that we see are male. The only female is Maria who wields a hell of a lot of influence over all these men. It appears that the workers' city is completely populated by men, although later on when they tear up the place we see women too. But the image I remember is Maria acting as priestess to a crowd of men and nothing but men.
When they revolt the workers become a great natural force, something like a tidal wave. The film certainly doesn't speak well for the proletariat in that they are so easily influenced. When Maria urges peace they are patient; when the false Maria tells them to riot, they riot. The masses are presented here as so irrational as to destroy their own city, completely forgetting about their children.
The end when Fredersen and the foreman shake hands is well-acted. They actually give some poignancy to the scene. After the cdrisis has passed both men want to make up, but they are tentative about it. The son manages to help them surmount their hesitancy.
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