Metropolis

One of the best 75 films I’ve ever seen.** ** The Mother of Science Fiction and the Reflection of the Human Soul. One of the most important events in the history of humankind. One of the most innovative creations ever brought forth by humanity. And without a doubt, one of the greatest stories ever told. Ladies and gentlemen, all of that —and more— is Metropolis by Fritz Lang. A film set in a world that may seem distant, but which explores themes that are much closer to us than we think. If 2001: A Space Odyssey is the father of modern science fiction, then Metropolis is the mother of science fiction as we know it on celluloid. A story of biblical proportions that has influenced —and will continue to influence— cinema until the end of time. Potentially the most important film in history, alongside Battleship Potemkin. Fritz Lang delivers what is undoubtedly his magnum opus. Yes, he has created other masterpieces, but I truly believe it’s almost impossible to surpass the level of majesty achieved here. Nearly 100 years have passed since its release, and yet it still astonishes. How many films can claim that? Very, very few. It would be my favorite film of 1927 if Napoleon by Abel Gance didn’t still hold that title for me. But it’s a very close call. And in fact, both films are remarkably similar: they both depict revolutions, though from different perspectives — one focuses on a leader, the other on a people. One raises the voice of history, the other the voice of the collective soul. Even La Marseillaise is part of both musical compositions, serving as a symbol of struggle and redemption. Just as I did in that other review, I want to offer a heartfelt thank-you to each and every participant behind this masterpiece. But this time, my gratitude goes especially to the technical team, because they are the true architects of this marvel. I’ll talk about the cast later — but today belongs to those who worked behind the curtain. My eternal thanks to: Director: Fritz Lang Screenplay Original screenplay: Thea von Harbou (based on her novel of the same name) Co-writer: Fritz Lang Cinematography Director of photography: Karl Freund Director of photography: Günther Rittau Additional photography: Walter Ruttmann (special effects, abstract sequences) Production Design / Art Direction Otto Hunte, Erich Kettelhut, Karl Vollbrecht Set Design and Miniatures Miniature design: Erich Kettelhut Special effects and miniatures: Eugen Schüfftan (creator of the “Schüfftan Process”) Assistant Direction / Actor Direction Assistant director: Erich Pommer (also producer) Second assistant: Werner Hochbaum (uncredited) Music Composer: Gottfried Huppertz (original score for live orchestral performance) Editing Editor: Fritz Lang (with contributions from Thea von Harbou and other uncredited collaborators) Production Producer: Erich Pommer (for UFA – Universum Film AG) Thank you, because without you, this wonder would never have existed. Every dazzling effect, every melody, every frame — none of it would have been possible without your work. I know none of you are still with us, but you delivered one of the greatest compositions in human history. While the technical team built the bones of Metropolis, the performers gave it life, soul, and flesh. Brigitte Helm, in her dual role as Maria and the Machine-Man, delivers what might be one of the most iconic performances in the history of cinema. She doesn't just act — she transforms. As Maria, she becomes the voice of morality, of peace, of divine compassion. She is a biblical figure in every sense of the word — not just in name, but in symbolism. Maria is the moral compass of the story, the beacon of hope, the heart that the film so desperately claims must exist between the head and the hands. In many ways, she is a parallel to the Virgin Mary, a mother figure of salvation and faith, advocating for unity, love, and understanding between the ruling class and the oppressed. Her presence is messianic. But then, as the Machine-Man — the false Maria — she becomes the inverse of that: a demonic seductress, a prophet of chaos, a symbol of sin and manipulation. That transformation, both in performance and in visual impact, is pure cinematic alchemy. And what can be said of Gustav Fröhlich, who plays Freder, the mediator between classes and the son of the city’s master? His journey from innocence to awareness to action mirrors the spiritual awakening of humanity itself. His character is the bridge — not just in narrative terms, but symbolically — between cold intellect and suffering labor. Alfred Abel, as Joh Fredersen, embodies the calculating, god-like ruler whose control is absolute — and yet, whose heart is blind. He is a modern Pharaoh presiding over a technological Egypt. His arc is not just personal but structural: through his failure and eventual willingness to listen, we understand that even power must bow to the human soul. Rudolf Klein-Rogge as Rotwang, the mad scientist, completes the mythological triad. He is Faust and Frankenstein rolled into one — the fallen intellect, the man who plays God, whose genius is corrupted by obsession. His creation — the Machine-Man — is not just a technological marvel, but a prophecy: what happens when we create without empathy. Each actor is essential. Each one reflects an aspect of humanity — and its downfall or redemption. Without them, Metropolis wouldn’t resonate as deeply. The myth needs its gods and demons, and Metropolis gave us both. Metropolis is a film that, more than reminding me of the story of Babel, brings to mind what happened to Sodom and Gomorrah: a wealthy city destroyed — not by natural disasters, but by human sin. Lust, wrath, pride... each of the deadly sins erased that city from the map. In Metropolis, that sin takes form when the Machine Man is created — a kind of embodiment of evil — and is presented to the men in that mythical dance scene. Suddenly, all of them see her not with admiration, but with desire, with lust. Many would say the city's downfall began there, but no. The rot had already taken root long before. The city was not built by human ingenuity or wisdom, but by greed. A tower of power raised on the backs of countless workers, condemned to live in the shadows while the elite revel above, blind to their suffering. And yes, here the parallel with Babel becomes inevitable. Metropolis is not a city trying to reach God — it’s trying to replace Him. And like all structures built on pride, it is destined to fall. What appears to be a monument to civilization and progress is, in truth, a mirror of sin and dehumanization. The film reminds us that without a heart, there can be no justice, no redemption. And that’s why its final message remains as necessary today as it was in 1927: “The mediator between the head and the hands must be the heart.”Thanks for reading and God bless you all! 100/100