Metropolis
Whole new sections give greater meaning to the characters' actions... it's staggering to think they were missing in the first place.
The most influential sci-fi movie ever made is returning to UK cinemas this week, complete with 25 minutes of footage previously thought lost to the world.
German director Fritz Lang was forced to cut nearly half an hour from his dystopian epic upon its release in 1927, owing to the demands of cinema distributors. In a cinephile's miracle, a damaged original print was discovered in a Buenos Aires museum in 2008, and now the missing footage has been painstakingly restored.
The gaps have been filled in the now 150 minute film, and although the new scenes are jarringly in bad condition and 16mm compared to the pristine condition of the digital print, they are hugely fulfilling and worth the revisit.
The iconic Metropolis needs little introduction. Lang's visionary silent film was politically naive, but its visual effects were revolutionary, influencing practically every single piece of sci-fi that came after it. A fable where decades of oppression can be forgiven with a handshake, its real power comes from the eerily brave portrayal of capitalism and the industrial revolution in a visually stunning futuristic city. What's jawdropping is Lang's ambitious handling of vast sets and thousands of extras, and the audacious depiction of a modernist skyline.
Foreshadowing George Orwell's 1984, it depicts the totalitarian drudgery of the workers who keep the city alive. Forced literally underground, their thankless lives are shown during the haunting opening, shuffling through their shift changeovers. Meanwhile, those who reap the benefits live in luxurious skyscrapers, with founder Joh Fredersen in a Babel-like tower. Over all this is a gloriously realised science fiction episode, with a bitter inventor creating a man machine, regardless of the havoc it would wreak. Fredersen's son Freder, played with incredible passion by Gustav Fröhlich, becomes infatuated by a lower class teacher, Maria, a peaceful activist. Brigitte Helm's striking visage has been immortalised in history, as the inventor uses her likeness for the robot. As Freder becomes aware of the awful conditions workers face, he becomes imbroiled in their rebellion.
So what's new? Some scenes are merely extended by seconds - for example, an extra cut-away to an actor - and they could've happily been left on the cutting room floor this time, as their bad condition is distracting. However, whole new sections give greater meaning to the characters' actions, and watching this film again for the first time in years, it's staggering to think they were missing in the first place.
We see in greater detail what happens to 11811, the worker Freder replaces on the clock-like machine. Sitting in the back of Freder's car, he is dazzled by the glamour of life above ground, and we see the nightclub that he ends up in. More is seen of Josephat, the clerk Frederson fires, giving the film a better narrative, rather than being a montage of awesome imagery.
The "slim man" that spies on Freder is shown carrying out his mission, spying from a surreal newsstand. The tension between Frederson and the inventor Rotwang has greater emphasis, although a physical fight between the men is explained with place cards, as the film was too damaged. Also extended is the scene where the robot Maria drives men to jealous rage, this time murderous.
Utterly essential for passionate movie lovers, film historians and sci-fi fans. Not only is it a chance to see one of the most extraordinary films ever created on the big screen, but to see a director's true vision three decades after his death.
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