etropolis is the twining of two tales, that of Maria and Freder, and that of the two visages of their city. Iconic Maria belongs to the worker caste that tends the machines; she takes care of the workers' children by day and serves as their spiritual leader by night. Freder is the son of the autocrat of Metropolis -- inoffensive, yet ignorant and pampered. When Maria escorts the children from the medieval, decaying workers' catacombs to steal a glimpse of the monumental, futuristic world of above, Maria and Freder meet, profoundly impacting one another.
His conscience stirred, Freder voluntarily searches out the workers' realm and sinks into it, taking his turn manning the dehumanizing, exhausting machines. He emerges from the crumbling, Gothic depths haunted, yet emboldened to confront his father about the workers' conditions. Unmoved, his glacial father seeks out the inventor-alchemist, Rotwang, and they conspire to supplant Maria with an evil robot duplicate -- to supplant hope and patience with riot and self-destruction.
The plot succeeds. Incited by the false Maria, the workers revolt and abandon the machines, wreaking explosions and floods. They surge upward to the surface en masse, to storm the autocrat's steely citadel of power. Meanwhile, Freder has chased Rotwang to a cathedral rooftop and they struggle, witnessed by the workers and Freder's horrified father below. Rotwang falls, and Metropolis' autocrat, who had been sure his son was lost, is reconciled with the workers, and there is promise of a new, more equal synergy between the rulers and the ruled.
"Classic" doesn't mean "flawless"
Arguably the first SF film ever made, Metropolis deserves recognition for much more. Its aesthetic tastes are solid: the vaulting, Art Deco of the ruling, futuristic upper-world contrasted with the crumbling mortar of the oppressed who build the future, yet are barred from it. The special effects were groundbreaking for their time, yet still have the power to awe. Today's is the digital and computerized reign of Industrial Light and Magic, but Metropolis' effects and techniques demand homage still -- for their surreal elegance and sheer "wow" power.
Despite this, Metropolis has striking, jarring inconsistencies and incoherence. It is at times ambiguous without purpose. It is sometimes melodramatic and didactic, even beyond the fashion of its own day. Passing judgment on Metropolis' flaws is difficult, however, because the film has not survived intact through the 70 years since its creation. Various releases from 1927 through today have running times between 83 and 128 minutes -- a far cry from the director's original three hours.
The rewards that make Metropolis especially worthwhile are also probably the difficulties that must be surmounted by the average, modern-day filmgoer. Director Fritz Lang's style is German expressionism: highly manneristic, exaggerated, redolent with symbolism -- not the realism of present-day shoot-'em-ups and character-driven plots. Metropolis is also a silent picture, with few subtitles -- another obstacle for audiences used to very commercial, dialogue-studded modern films. The rewards are worth the labor, though, because the effects and art design are beautifully wrought and the worker-ruler-technology conflict, however simplified, reaches beyond the average scope of SF.
