This is the 564th movie I've seen from the 1,172 movies on the "Before You Die" list that I'm gradually working my way through:
Director: Fritz Lang
Why was it that European directors were the ones to make so many of the greatest noir films - a genre distinctively American? Whatever the reason, The Big Heat provided me with my favorite moment when watching movies - discovering a great film about which I had previously known nothing.
Right from its opening, there is something unusual and captivating about this movie. We're looking over the shoulder of a man in a plush den of a comfy home. He looks at a letter which he has just sealed, and then he commits suicide. His wife runs downstairs. Instead of panicking, though, she calmly takes a moment, looks at the letter, ponders it, and then calls another man with whom she has a cryptic and sinister exchange. Within these few minutes, we get the sense that something very dark is happening here.
Once the wife does decide to call the police to report her husband's suicide, the story shifts its focus to Sergeant Dan Bannion, the detective assigned to the case . Bannion begins to unravel an unsavory chain of corruption and self-interest that tests his will and morality right to their cores. Bannion's tale becomes one of the most memorable crime tales from the classic age that I've ever seen.
The Big Heat is very often classified as noir, with good reason. While one could debate whether it satisfies all of the requirements of the varying definitions of noir, it clearly has much in common with the best of the genre. A vast, looming criminal organization and conspiracy. Not one but two femme fatales. A protagonist caught in the middle of a dangerous maze and desperately trying to solve one murder and prevent others. These can all be found in movies like Double Indemnity, Out of the Past, and other greats. What sets The Big Heat apart is that Bannion is not the disturbed protagonist of those other movies. He is actually a decent man who is trying desperately not to lose self control as he confronts moral corruption at every turn. As much as I love those other classic noir flicks, it was great to see a truly admirable character at the center of the proceedings.
Yes, that's a young Lee Marvin on the left. His turn as the sadistic Vince adds a truly sinister darkness that few films in the 1950s were willing to include.
For a film released in 1953, this one was surprisingly dark in a few ways. Whereas other noir movies tend to create their own shadowy landscapes, both visually and psychologically, The Big Heat includes elements of the post-WWII "American Dream" which you might see in a Frank Capra movie. Early on, we get glimpses of Bannion's home life, complete with a loving wife and cute little daughter. Before too long, some horrific things shatter his little slice of heaven and send him down a rather dark path. On top of that, the actions taken by a few of the criminals are especially violent and brutal by 1950s movie standards. Though not nearly as visceral as more modern films, The Big Heat still packs an emotional punch with its exploration of the darker, unsavory aspects of personal and social corruption.
This movie is one that I put, if not exactly at, then very close to the same level as the other great noir movies of the '40s and '50s. I'll certainly go back and watch this one again every few years.
That's 564 films down, only 608 to go before I can die...
This original poster from Germany suggests how titanic the title character is, looming over all.
This is the 550th of the 1,160 films on the "Before You Die" list which I'm gradually working my way through.
Director: Fritz Lang
A clear and engaging step forward for film, if not exactly as "timeless" as some would have you believe.
Dr. Mabuse bears all of the typical trappings of silent films. The acting is physically exaggerated. The plot must be kept relatively simple, given the lack of sound and, hence, true dialogue. The pacing is rather slow, by any cinema standard after the advent of sound five years after this movie's release. Despite these, I found myself drawn into much of the film. It struck me as a far superior version of the 1915 film series Les Vampires, a "classic" which I found interminably dull.
The story is essentially a crime drama/suspense tale, focusing on a complex cat-and-mouse game between a nefarious mastermind criminal, Dr. Mabuse, and the state's attorney, Mr. von Wenk. Mabuse is a sort of prototype of Hannibal Lector - a brilliant but sociopathic psychoanalyst who uses his knowledge of the human mind to manipulate others into giving him what he wants. While Mabuse never does anything as grisly as the cannibalistic Lector, he does bend various people to his will, taking from some their tangible goods like money and jewels, while evoking from others their blind and unquestioning loyalty. As a concept, he's a rather terrifying figure who was a sort of twisted amalgam of the arch-villain Moriarty and a soulless Sigmund Freud, the latter of whose theories were still quite fresh upon this film's release in 1922.
The search for and pursuit of Mabuse is mostly what drives the plot and the movie. In truth, the story takes far too long to tell. The movie was actually two films that add up to a four-and-a-half hour epic. If the same story had been told with more efficient pacing, though, it should really only have been two or two-and-a-half hours, maximum. There are still many sequences that were clearly products of their time - scenes of simple movement of bodies and props, rather than any actions or interactions which further or deepen the story. I only assume that, like all other films of its time, such scenes were enough to dazzle audiences for whom movies were far from a typical part of life. Fortunately, the movie is divided into many acts, which made for convenient pausing when the length got too taxing for me.
When not trying one's patience a bit with overlong scenes, though, the plot is a classic criminal pursuit. What sets this apart from others from the era, though, is the relative psychological complexity of Mabuse himself, as well as a few of the secondary characters. Admittedly, most of the characters are typically one-dimensional "heroes" or "villains;" but Mabuse and a few of his victims show more depth than one would find in contemporary films like those of D.W. Griffith. Mabuse's motivations go beyond mere greed, and the swell of his boundless megalomania can be fascinating.
Just one of the many scenes which exhibit Lang's eye for striking set designs and shot framing. These techniques, along with overlap dissolves and other special effects, really set this movie apart from nearly all of its contemporaries.
The other obvious merit of this movie is the highly skilled film technique which Lang was employing. While there are plenty of "filler" sequences which are no different from any other silent films of the time, there are many striking scenes. With a keen eye for framing, composition, and set design, Lang put together many truly artistic moments in this movie. You can easily see some of the creative seeds that would eventually grow into the style that he would use several years later in his masterpiece Metropolis, the film that is widely regarded as the "Omega" of German expressionist movies.
Though there were some contemporary films that probed the human condition and social woes with more depth and pathos, such as Micheaux's Within Our Gates, Dr. Mabuse is clearly a titanic film. I suppose it to be too long and simplistic to win over viewers with no interest in silent films. However, those with any curiosity about a major early step in the evolution of film will find much to appreciate in this 93-year-old classic.
That's 550 films down. Only 610 to go before I can die...
The Story: Metropolis tells the story of a dystopian future in which the elite live in radiant splendor high above the earth, while the laborers toil endlessly on massive machines underground. Freder, the highly privileged son of Joh Fredersen, the creator and operator of the city, meets Maria, a woman of the people who has a dream of bringing together the two disparate parts of society. He plans to help her peacefully dissolve his father's constant repression of the workers. Freder's father learns of this and enlists the aid of the mad scientist/warlock Rotwang, who builds an android doppelganger of Maria. Unbeknownst to Joh Fredersen, Rotwang wants to destroy the entire city as cold revenge for Fredersen's having stolen Rotwang's one true love years past. Rotwang's robot impersonator sows discord so strongly that the workers rise up in armed rebellion, wreak complete havoc, and nearly annihilate the city. Maria and Freder eventually emerge to uncover the lies, calm both sides, vanquish Rotwang and his mechanical minion, and bring the two halves of society together.
My Gut Reaction: (Done before doing any research on the making or history of the film)
"The mediator between the head and the hands must be the heart."
This is the opening and closing statement of the film, and there's nothing very subtle about how the film steers you right towards this preachy message. Still, this isn't what immediately stands out. What does is just how much more advanced and artistic this film looks when compared to it's contemporaries. Having just watched the 1924 Buster Keaton comedy Sherlock, Jr., the contrast was stunning. Going from a silly little guy running across the tops of trains to massive and angular expressionist sets, elaborate costumes, and a weighty orchestral music score told me not to expect too many chuckles.
Going back to the original epigram on "the head, hands and heart," it was appropriate to me as a viewer. While watching Metropolis, my heart couldn't get into a film with themes that have been used again and again in science fiction, despite my head telling me that it was all highly innovative and thought-provoking in 1927. In the end, my head won out and prevented my hands from ejecting the DVD from the player mid-movie. Metropolis was, quite obviously, a marvel in its day. The themes of class divisions, the struggle of the worker, and the attempts to find peaceful reconciliation were all still very much at the forefront of the developed world's consciousness in that period. I can appreciate this, but as a man born in 1975, they aren't as relevant in film to me any more.
Director: "Remember, you have to look really crazy!!"
In addition to the now-stale themes is the acting. Silent films, of course, require a very high degree of physical exaggeration in both facial expressions and overall body language. I'm sure viewers of the day barely noticed, if at all. Watching now, though, it just looks goofy in a drama. It's one thing when it's a silent era comedy, which is supposed to be over-the-top in terms of physical acting; it's another thing when I'm supposed to gain sympathy for or against the characters. Dramatic film acting has simply evolved far too much to take the silent-era style at all seriously. I know some modern aficionados of silent films can ignore this, or even like it, but not me.
While watching Metropolis, the other obvious area in which films have progressed is in overall sophistication. When watched with a half-discriminating eye, a ton of plot holes can be found. We never know exactly how the workers can so easily mob together and destroy their own machines. If Fredersen is such a cold, calculating mastermind, how does he not anticipate such uprisings? And, of course, the way that Rotwang is foiled is through his exposition of his own plan. Seen as a modern viewer, the story gaps are glaring, and what may have been fresh elements 80 years ago now seem very hackneyed.
Lest you think that I totally despised this film, allow me to mention several things that I really enjoyed. Firstly is the look of the film. Sure, it's way too easy to see which sets are simply paintings and models, but they are pretty spectacular. The choreographed movements of the masses of proletariat are truly impressive. Here's one scene (with a really cool, redone modern score):
In addition to this and several other hypnotically striking visuals is the use of some classic standard elements of adventure stories and fairy tales. The mad scientist/wizard, Rotwang, is easily the most intriguing character, being a psychotic, one-handed genius, complete with his own sanctum which houses a laboratory, secret underground chambers, and a massive statue head that serves as a memorial to his lost love. Plenty of food for psychoanalysis, just with him alone. There's also a pretty solid climactic, rooftop fight at the end between Rotwang and Freder.
One other solid merit is that, despite the few irrelevant or overplayed themes, a highly relevant one remains: technology and its place in reducing our faith in our senses. The android Maria represents how we can get hoodwinked by what we see, just as easily as ever. Her role in this movie serves as a cautionary tale to me. What leads to the destruction of large parts of the city in Metropolis is that the masses take her for authentic simply because she looks like the genuine Maria. In our culture of celebrity worship, where many of us somehow still are surprised when seemingly decent or admirable people (as told to us by Entertainment Weekly) prove to be far less than so, we may be playing out certain aspects presented in Metropolis more than we think.
So those are my knee-jerk feelings. Metropolis is a heady film that was way ahead of its time, and its no mystery as to why it has continued to garner recognition. That being said, I now demand far more from my speculative fiction. Through no fault of its own, Metropolis has become the shoulders upon which later, more advanced films have stood.
Upon Further Review; or, Why Film Geeks Love this Movie(a closer look at the movie after doing some research)
This DVD is loaded with extras: a full running audio commentary, a 45-minute documentary on the history of the film, and other bios and photos of the filmmakers. After pouring through all of it, several things come to light.
One is that this film was quite obviously meant as pure allegory and metaphor. This is probably the best explanation as to why the characters are very one- or two-dimensional and the interpersonal storylines overly simplistic. For allegory and metaphor to work, things need to be relatively simple.
In keeping with the idea of metaphor is that literally everything in the film was meant to be symbolic. The movements, gestures, props, costumes and, especially, the characters. This, as film historian Enno Patalas said, is part of the fun of watching this kind of film. I have to agree, since this is what kept me watching. Drawing from the Bible, the occult, Freudian theories, and plenty of other sources, Metropolis contains endless fodder for analysis, some very obvious and some very subtle or vague. Every scene has something to seek out and ponder. These, as much as anything, is why the film has remained in the consciousness of movie-watchers for over 80 years. Here's what the guys at TIME magazine had to say about it.
A Bit of History
The other interesting aspect of the film is its connection to historical context. It is considered the last of German expressionist art films, with The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1919) being the first. Coming out during Germany's own post-World War I "Roaring 20s," it features a lot of the flashy, angular style seen in the paintings of the day. Director Fritz Lang was quite the artiste, being a poet, writer and painter, as well as film director. Metropolis made such an impression on Hitler that, in 1933, he requested that Lang become the chief film maker for the Nazi party. Lang wasted no time in refusing, then leaving Germany, post haste.
A final interesting note is the checkered history of the editing of the film. For the longest time, no one was really sure about exactly how long the original theatrical release was. This was because it was shown for a few weeks to great success. Then, however, it was pulled and had roughly a quarter of the footage removed. Over the succeeding decades, more and more prints were lost, and more and more hatchet jobs were done on the movie, leaving viewers in the 80s and 90s with a patchwork version of the original film. Interestingly, in 2008, a complete copy of the original film was discovered in Buenos Aires, Argentina. The nearly-complete version, said to clock in at a massive three-and-a-half hours (the current version is 2 hours) will be given special premiers starting in February of this year. Film nerds are no doubt foaming at the mouth for this one. Personally, I'll probably skip out on that mammoth.
That's a wrap. Two Films down. 103 to go. Next - Sunrise (1927):
Unlike the first two films, I know absolutely nothing about this one going in. The two lovebirds in the poster look happy enough, though. We'll see if the "Song of Two Humans" advertised at the bottom of the bill makes me want to sing along or just get drunk and find some earplugs.
