A post about me, Ingmar Bergman and Shame
What’s the first thing you come to think of if I say “Swedish film”?
Back in the 60s it might have been a word that isn’t safe for work. I won’t print it out here though, because it will end up in web searches by people who are looking for something that we don’t offer at this café. There’s no need to trick them over using that word. But I think you know what I’m getting at. And it begins with a p or an s.
Nowadays I’m not sure what is top on mind. Maybe it’s some actor who has had a bit of success abroad, such as Noomi Rapace or the Skarsgård family.
But in film buff circles I’m also pretty sure that Ingmar Bergman would appear pretty high up on the list.
As I’ve said before I always feel a little bit embarrassed when I see some blogging colleagues going crazy about him.
I’ve only watched a small chunk of his collected work and to be honest I’ve only felt that I “got” or “loved” a few of them.
Obviously there are a few Bergman movies which I love and plug when I can, movies such as Fanny & Alexander and the TV series Scenes from a Marriage. The Seventh Seal is pretty cool too. I never tire of the chess game with the devil.
But there are many, many of his movies that I haven’t watched at all, or I watched them way too early in my life, at a point when I couldn’t appreciate them at all.
My childhood image of Bergman
Growing up in the 70s and early 80s I have vague recollections of Bergman.
There was one occasion when he won me over. It was when he made a set-up of The Magic Flute by Mozart in 1975. Everyone watched it. Everyone. Our teacher in second class even had us learn Papageno’s song by heart. I wonder if Bergman ever was as beloved as he was as an opera director.
But most of the time Bergman was just that grumpy guy in a beret who made more headlines in the newspapers for being in fight with the tax administration than he did for his strange movies. And finally he got so pissed off that he moved abroad, where they seemed to have taken a liking in him.
It happened that they showed Bergman movies on TV. I remember catching glimpses of them. Sometimes they were scary, like the dream scene in Wild Strawberries, showing watches without pointers. But mostly they were very dull and very silent. People barely talked at all. And when they did, they went into long arguments about something beyond my comprehension. I had no idea of what the grown-ups saw in those movies, as little as I could understand how anyone could like beer, olives or coffee.
Quick jump forward to 2012. This is the year when I’ll turn 45 and I’ve done my homework. I’ve learned to drink beer. I love olives (at least the black kalamata ones; I’m still skeptic to green olives stuffed with pepper). And I don’t dare to think about how much coffee I drink every day, but I’m pretty sure it’s at an unhealthy level.
So, at this age, can I appreciate Bergman as much as the other cinephiles? To be honest I don’t know yet. But I’m going to find out soon hopefully. It turned out that we actually have a number of his films at home, films that it’s about time that I watched.
von Sydow and Ullmann
First out was Shame from 1968, a black and white movie starring two of my favorite actors, Max von Sydow and Liv Ullmann, as a couple struggling with their relationship as well as for survival during a fictive civil war on the Swedish island Gotland.
Sadly enough I have to admit that I didn’t like it as much as I wanted to.
On the bright side is the cinematography by Sven Nyqvist. Sweden has stayed out of war for hundreds of years and the idea of a civil war on Gotland is pretty ridiculous. Yet he manages to make it seem believable. I also enjoyed seeing so many great Swedish actors, but at a younger age.
But that’s the positives. On the whole, I found it as disengaging and strange as I remember Bergman from my childhood. I was especially puzzled over the final act which included some dreamy sequences on a boat. Toss in a dream into a movie and I tune out, unless we’re speaking of Inception, where the dream sequences make sense.
Bergman’s view
Interestingly enough I found that Bergman didn’t like this movie all that much either, but from a different point of view than mine. Particularly disliked half of the film, a part that I don’t have any bigger problem with. I thought it was the ending that was problematic.
Here’s an excerpt from one of his autobiographies, Images: My life in film:
“”To make a war film is to depict violence committed toward both groups and individuals. In American film, the depiction of violence has a long tradition. In Japan, it has developed into a masterful titual, matchlessly choreographed. When I made Shame, I felt an intense desire to expose the violence of war without restraint. I did not understand that a modern portrayer of war needs a totally different fortitude and professional precision than what I could provide.
Once the outer violence stops and the inner violence begins, Shame becomes a good film. When society can no longer function, the main characters lose their frame of reference. Their social relations cease. The people crumble. The weak man becomes ruthless. The woman, who had been the stronger, falls apart. Everything slips away into a dream play that ends on board refugee boat. Everything is shown in pictures, as in a nightmare. In a nightmare, I felt at home. In the reality of war, I was lost.
In other words, we are talking about poorly constructed manuscript. The first half of the film is really nothing more than an endlessly drawn-out prologue that ought to have been over and done within ten minutes. What happens later could have been built upon, fleshed out, and developed as much as was needed. I didn’t ever see that. I didn’t see it when I wrote the screenplay; I didn’t see it when I shot the film; I didn’t see it when I edited it. During that time I lived with the idea that Shame was self-evident and emotionally logical all the way through”
I hear what he’s saying, but it doesn’t help me appreciate Shame more. I just don’t love it. If I was to introduce someone to Bergman, this would not be what I’d suggest them to watch first. Perhaps I’m still not old enough.
Shame (Skammen, Ingmar Bergman, SWE, 1968) My rating: 3/5
How I saved Hesher from the bargain bin
There is no sadder place for a movie to end its life than in the bargain bin in the supermarket.
Usually I just pass it, turning my eyes in a different direction. I can’t bear seeing all those labours of love, the dreams and ambitions that once were, in this shape. Ruled out as close to unsellable. Broken and tossed away like a piece of junk with a price tag equalling a chocolate bar.
Of course most of those movies are crap and nothing that I’d care for to own – not even if they gave it to me for free. They’d end up as dust collectors, nothing I’d want to invest my precious time in watching.
However there is always this chance that somewhere in that mess there’s a hidden gem, a movie that undeservedly is rotting away together with movies that it wouldn’t come near under other circumstances. At the film graveyard everyone’s an equal, regardless of the amount of festival awards or how it made on the box office.
So sometimes I stop at the miserable heap to make a quick dig-through. Perhaps I can find a movie interesting enough to be saved from the humiliation, a film that I can give a little bit of love, a viewing and a new home in my bookshelf.
Unimpressive cover
It was during one of those excavation sessions that I laid my eyes on Hesher. My spontaneous reaction was that this was not one of the movies that needed to get out of that bin.
The cover did very little to impress me. I’m sure that blogs and websites such as “Gordon and the Whale”, “Cinematical” and “Hollywood and Fine” are decent places. But when that’s the best sources you can come up with for selling quotes, it triggers my warnings systems.
Not to speak of the quotes! “Everyone , it would seem, needs a Hesher in their lives”. What kind of statement is that? But I understand why they cut it there and just there, because when I looked up this particular quote, at Hollywood & Fine, I found what came next:
“Everyone, it would seem, needs a Hesher in their lives. Although not necessarily “Hesher.” Though Spencer Susser’s dark comedy hangs in there for about half of its running time, it eventually runs out of ideas and goes soft, when it’s been hard-edged from the jump.”
No wonder they shortened the quote! Not that it managed to sell anything to me.
There was only one reason that made me decide to buy the film. His name is Joseph Gordon Levitt. On the cover he looks pretty ridiculous, dressed in a huge wig, with the intention to make him look like a heavy metal guy, but which rather makes you think of comedy and masquerades. But who cares? I knew that my 17 year old daughter with a crush wouldn’t. The happy smile she’d give me when I gave this to her would be worth far, far more than three bucks. Regardless if it was as crappy as the quotes indicated, I knew already that this was a bargain.
About Hesher
Hesher tells the story about a family in crisis, stuck in grief after the mother/wife has died in a car crash. One day a mysterious long haired guy named Hesher enters out of nowhere, becoming some kind of “friend” with the young boy in the family, T.J. Hesher does all sorts of things. In one scene he vandalizes the car of an obnoxious boy who has bullied TJ and you start feeling pretty good about him. He also has those nice little talks with T.J’s grandmother. But then he turns the other way round and behaves like an egotistical ass, not to be trusted. And you never get to know all that much about Hesher. He’s more like force of nature than a real person and sometimes I wonder if he actually exists at all or if he’s just a metaphor for… something, whatever.
Assuming that you don’t have a Joseph Gordon Levitt addicted daughter in your household, would I recommend you to dig out from the bottom of the sales bin to snatch a copy of this one? Well, to be honest it’s not a bad movie, but it’s not particularly good either. I happen to not have anything against indie quirkiness, but if you’re sensitive about such things, I suspect you might find it a little annoying.
Fair debut
The randomness of the Hesher character makes him fun to watch to begin with, but it also makes it hard to like him and all of this puts a distance between me and the grieving family. I can’t help comparing it to Rabbit Hole from last year, also about the grief after losing a family member. That movie went under my skin. The pain of the couple who had lost their son was real and heartbreaking. Watching Hesher I felt close to nothing since that Hesher guy was standing in the way.
I don’t want to be too hard on it though. This was a debut movie and I think the director did well enough to not only deserve to have his film rescued from the bin, but also to get the chance to make another one.
Hesher (Spencer Susser, US, 2010) My rating: 3/5
A film for us who like to listen to people talking on a train
I’ve never understood the idea of silent compartments on trains. Isn’t that the most boring of places? People there are missing one of the points of travelling: to overhear other people’s conversations.
Most people say that they hate that. I’m just the opposite. I love it. Sometimes it beats going to the movies. If you only care to listen, there are some excellent pieces of drama played up right there, in front of you. It’s an exclusive performance – played only one time, with the smallest of audiences. Speaking of exclusivity!
I would go as far as to say that I even enjoy listening to phone conversations, which others generally seem to hate. I think they tickle my imagination.
When you only hear half of what’s said, you can work on your skills as a screenwriter filling out the rest. What I like most of all is how cell phones seem to have this magical impact on people’s normal sense of privacy and integrity. All of a sudden nothing is too private or sensitive to share with an audience. For someone who is hopelessly curious about the lives of other people, especially the ones of complete strangers, it’s a treat.
Equally I’ve never understood why there’s so much hating on movies with a lot of talking.
If I get it right, the general idea is that it’s better to show than to tell. The audience is supposed take in the atmosphere and study the faces and body language of the people on the screen, reading their minds rather than listening to their lines. The less people say the better. Cinematography > words, appears to be the general consensus.
But for me it’s the same thing as with the train compartments. I don’t mind listening to long conversations in a movie. On the contrary: I absolutely love it. At least as long as the writing is good, as it is in Before Sunrise, which I finally got around to see the other day.
Recommended
Over and over again has this film been brought to my attention by regular blog guests. People whose judgment I trust on urged me to watch it since they knew I would like it. Finally I ran out of excuses about not having access to it when it turned out that I could buy it online for just a handful of dollars. So I watched it and it turned out that they were completely right, as so many times before.
The story in this film is simple: boy meets girl. Two strangers start to talk on a train and hook up for one night in Vienna. They fall in love, briefly, despite, or perhaps because of the fact that they might never meet again. The next day they’ll continue on their temporary interrupted journeys, heading in different directions, geographically and in their lives. This is the one and only night they’ll ever get. So they talk and talk and talk and stroll in romantic settings and kiss their way through the night until it’s time to say goodbye.
It is simple, but a movie doesn’t necessarily improve with complexity.
And of course I loved to see this couple falling in love, with equal measures of bitterness and sweetness. I loved to hear them talking about life, the universe and everything. I loved how natural and young and unspoiled they appeared, mercilessly reminding me of how middle-aged and jaded I am. For good and for bad.
It reminded me a little bit of Lost in Translation in the way it captured the magic of travelling: the accidental meetings, the sense of being on the way to a yet-to-be-determined future and the glimpses of self discovery.
Allowing some time
If I ever was to make a top ten list over my favorite romance movies I’m pretty certain that Before Sunrise would stand a good chance to appear on it.
I’ve been told that the sequel, Before Sunset, is even better and I can’t wait to find out this is true. I suspect it might resonate even more with me since the characters have grown a bit older and closer to me in age and life experiences.
But before proceeding I’ll give Before Sunrise some time to mature and sink in. The people who watched it as it came out had nine years to digest it. I should at least spend a few days with it lingering in my mind before diving into the next piece of conversation.
Before Sunrise (Richard Linklater, US, 1995) My rating: 5/5
Extra scenes in the text credits – are they tasty Easter eggs or just annoying?
“Are there any extra scenes during or after the text credits?”
This is the first frequently asked question to be posted at the IMDb page of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.
Please observe that the question is put in plural. You can’t be too careful these days.
Without any proof of it, I have the feeling that extra scenes have become more common over the years. And there are more of them in every movie. You can’t be certain there’s just one extra scene and that you’ve seen all when you’re through it. There might very well be another one around the corner that you don’t want to miss out.
Not missing out is crucial. If you once or twice have experienced the humiliation of discussing the movie with your friends only to found out that you left the theat5re too early, you don’t want to do that again.
Research required
Theatre visits nowadays requires careful research in advance. Is there one extra scene? Two? Maybe as many as three?
There’s nothing that can surprise me anymore. For all I know they could very well let the screen go all black, turning on the lights for a few minutes to wait for the clueless people to leave. And then, when they would be absolutely certain that only the geekiest of the geeky still were around in the theatre, would they turn on the film again, treating them with yet another shot. The ultimate post-post-post extra, the special nod that only True Fans deserve.
The alternative to do your homework is to wait it out. Better safe than sorry. Hang around in the theatre, pick your teeth, rub your nose until every single person involved in the film production down to the boy who refills the coffee machine has had the pleasure to see their name on a big screen. Then, and only then, can you rise up and leave at your own risk.
The problem with this is that not all theatres are keen on having you hanging around. They’re in a hurry to clean up the worst mess and people in for the next screening.
In some theatres they’ll turn up the light as soon as the first name rolls over the screen. This will make leave their seats even quicker, and you can bet that those early leavers will end up standing right in front of your seat, taking up half of the screen while they frenetically check their cell phones to see what they’ve missed during their two hour absence from social media.
Even if you try hard to stay calm and sit through all the names to see what’s hidden in the very end, it might be a so-and-so experience due to all that is going on around you.
I’m not an advocator of piracy on the web, but if there’s any circumstance where I think it’s justified to put out films on the web for others to see, it’s in situations like this. I don’t encourage anyone to upload the entire movie, because I think it’s wrong. But if you share the extras, I won’t argue against it. After all it means that you save the day for a whole bunch of unhappy theatre visitors who paid to see the entire movie but who left the cinema too early since they had no idea that they should have waited it out.
Easter egg or annoyance?
So what’s my personal view on extras? Is it a nay or a yay?
Well, there’s no doubt that extras causes a bit of annoyance, most recently in The Avengers. All of a sudden people on the net were discussing something about “shawarma” in connection to the text credits and I had no idea of what that was referring to. For a moment I speculated on if that was some extra terrestrial life form, since I had seen something relating to this, but finally I found out the truth: it had to do with food. However, since I live inEurope, I hadn’t seen it. Only the North American audience got to see this extra-extra scene. Bummer.
On the other hand, believe it or not after all this whining, I’m also sucker for extras during the text credits. I freaking love it, as much as I love to get a little surprise “on the house” in restaurants (as long as it’s more creative than a fortune cookie or a piece of mint candy).
It often feels as if the filmmakers finally are allowed to relax when they come to the extras, getting sillier and more creative at the same time. Even such a simple thing as photos of what “happened next” is enough to amuse me. I still remember how much I enjoyed the images in the end of Four Weddings and a Funeral, Duckface marrying someone you might not have expected, accompanied by some real up-beat music. I loved the bloopers that Pixar included in some movies such as A Bug’s Life. I would even go as far as to say that there are cases where the extra scene during the text credits is one of the best things about the entire film, such as in Super 8.
We’re talking about Easter eggs here. And what it boils down to is that they’re wonderful as long as you get one. The moment you’re not included, you’ll think of them as annoying.
What I wish for
I wouldn’t want the extra scenes to go away. But if I could ask for something, I wish that the film distributors could make sure to inform the theatres about their existence. Just tell them to keep the lights off at least until the extra scenes are over. It would work as a gentle signal to the theatre audience that they shouldn’t hurry so much to leave their seats, that there might be more to come.
And to all of you film fans who are active on the webs, be it forums, blogs, Twitter or IMDb: keep spreading the word when there are extras worth waiting for!
Don’t reveal the content. We don’t need it to be spoiled to us. But just let as know when we need to stay. Sharing the eggs with others won’t make them less delicious.
This blog post does not have any sponsor – yet
Recently I wrote a post about product placement and how it irks me if it’s too obvious. I illustrated it with a screenshot from The Greatest Movie Ever Sold, so I reckon people just assumed that I had watched it and become inspired. I hadn’t. I just stole the picture.
But as it happened, it turned out that the documentary had been broadcasted on Swedish television only a few days earlier and it was available to watch for free on the public television’s website for a few more days.
Such a coincidence couldn’t be neglected, especially since I’m professionally as well as privately interested in marketing (while also a bit appalled by it). So I watched it, and good for me I did.
More than making fun
This is exactly the kind of documentary I fall for, with a delicious mix of intelligence and humor. I was properly entertained, but it was more than just someone making fun of the product placement phenomena. Seeds were sown and I’ll never watch movie advertising the same way again.
I’ve always known it was present of course and I complained about that it sometimes is just too obvious in my blog post. But I didn’t see the full extent of it, how big the business has grown with companies specialized in finding suitable partnerships. I didn’t see what influence the sponsors may have through the contracts that are written; I didn’t realize how brands and movies go into long-term partnerships, boosting each other for mutual winning. Not until now, after this hands-on-lesson where Morgan Spurlock gives us access to places, people and conversations I never imagined existed.
The concept of the film sounds a little bit nutty. Spurlock decided to go not just make a film about product placement: he also financed it with product placement. We see him chasing for sponsors, which is a little bit hard to begin with. But lo and behold, finally a juice sponsor turns up. And woops – from that moment and onwards, all other drinks are blurred out from the screen.
A balance act
It’s a tricky balance act. On one hand you contracts with sponsors, which Spurlock needs to honor. He can’t afford putting them in a bad light. On the other hand; this is a documentary, and in that genre credibility is essential. Documentary makers aren’t necessarily journalists, bound to follow a professional code of conduct. But they’re damned close. Spurlock has his own brand to think of here. If we start thinking of this film as too much of a sell-out, his credentials will fall and we’re less likely to be interested in what he has to say in his future.
Does he pull it off? Yes, absolutely. I didn’t feel as if I had been tricked into liking the product placed companies, but I don’t think they have anything to complain about either. They got good exposure for their investment.
What also makes me love this film is that he never goes preachy. Spurlock doesn’t require anyone to hate or to love the product placement. What he does is to make us more aware of it, while giving us quite a few laughs at the same time.
I’ve never watched any other of his documentaries, but after this first encounter I’m definitely up for more.
The Greatest Movie Ever Sold (Morgan Spurlock, US, 2011) My rating: 4/5
A two hour vacation from real life crap
Halfway through my expected lifespan, I’ve come to terms with the fact that life inevitably contains a bit of misery.
Everybody has some crap going on. The broken relationships, the dreams that shattered and the small decisions that led to a one-way road in the wrong direction. Someone turns out to be an alcoholic, someone near you tries to kill herself, a painful divorce appears out of nowhere.
Sadness, illness, death and despair. Sooner or later we all run into it, one thing or another.
A little bit of misery is a part of the deal and if you haven’t seen it yet, you will, trust me.
Two hour vacation
But some people get more than the average share of crap. They seem to be cursed, magnets of misfortune. I have a friend like that, who desperately needed a vacation from her life. If I had been wealthy I would have hijacked her, telling her to pack her toothbrush, taking her to a far distant place, releasing her from the responsibilities. Instead I took her to see The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.
It wasn’t the two weeks on a paradise island that she might have needed; it was two hours on a shabby hotel. But hey, you take what you can get. Her weightless laughter throughout the movie, the relaxed expression on her face as the lights went up, telling me that she had been elsewhere, reminded me of one of the things I love so much about going to movies. They give us instant relief. They take us to places. They allow us to forget.
If I was grumpy and put on my high brow face expression, I could point out that the plot about this bunch of retired Brits going to India for various reasons where they grow and reach insights and (mostly) end up better than before they went, is a bit predictable, bland and cheesy. There are stereotypes. While I too laughed quite a few times, not all jokes worked for me. Some of it felt as old as the actors.
But you know what? Sometimes you need to just tell your inner film snob to sod off. Because this is another of the things you learn as you get older.
There is a place for backpack travelling to far distant places with no comfort at all where nobody else has been. But sometimes you’re at a point in your life when you’re better off with a charter trip to somewhere where the water is clear and warm, the beach is endless, the food is decent and the beds are nice. Even if it’s utterly, utterly uncool.
So: sod off, the snob in me!
I enjoyed our two hour charter trip to The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. I enjoyed it because it gave me an injection of color, warmth, light and hope. I enjoyed it because of the wonderful cast of British veteran actors. I enjoyed it because I was charmed.
Love Geriatically
A user at IMDb called it “Love Geriatically” and apologize it for sounding cynic. I think the label is pretty good though. There are those multiple storylines, there’s the mix of comedy, romance and drama and it all ends pretty well, or at least as good as it gets. What makes it different to other films in this genre is the average age of the actors, which is way higher than the normal. Off-putting? No, rather refreshing.
The movie is full of the kind of life wisdom one-liners you used to find on postcards and magnets that my mother-in-law puts on her refrigerator.
One of the statement got sticky, and no wonder, since it’s repeated over and over again by Sonny, the young and enthusiastic Indian who tries to run the hotel despite bad odds:
“Everything will be all right in the end… if it’s not all right then it’s not the end.”
To be honest, this isn’t exactly eloquent standing on its own. I’d rather say it’s clumsy, shallow and pointless. But somehow it worked at this time, in this movie, and as we shared a bottle of wine, making an update on the last miserable events, we couldn’t refrain from quoting it with a wry smile.
Life can and will get better. Misery is just a part of the deal. Getting older isn’t necessarily a bad thing. There might be a Marigold Hotel waiting for us somewhere, at some point.
The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (John Madden, UK, 2011) My rating: 3,5/5
On the hardships of rating old movies and some thoughts about M
One of the hardest things about writing a review is to give the movie a rating. The more I think about it, the more random does it seem and what exactly is it that differs a 3,5/5 from a 4/5?
If you press me for an answer, all I can come up with is “gut feeling”, which is pretty inadequate and vague compared to the imagined exactness that a figure represents. It’s a completely justified question to ask what affects my gut feeling. My mood? The whether? What I had for dinner? The last film I saw that still lingers in my mind? How I slept last night? Just about anything could have influence on my intestines.
But I do it anyway, paying no attention to my own grumblings about how hard it is, that I “don’t feel it” or some other nonsense justification for passing over.
I insist on making those numbers, not as much as a guide to readers as a tool to force myself to take a stance. Did I like it or didn’t I and what were my reasons? The mandatory rating task works as a catalyst for my thinking process.
Judging older movies
I’m never as close to bailing on giving out grades as when I watch older movies. I just don’t know what to make about them. My stomach feels unreliable.
On one hand there’s the sense of the wings of history that fills me with wonder, admiration and respect. If you know that a movie was a pioneer in a certain aspect and that this particular feature has been copied over and over again in film history, it adds a little something to the experience.
On the other hand, there’s this thing that I’m accustomed to a different standard. Even if I understand perfectly well why the image is unclear, the sound is muffled and the special effects are lame, it doesn’t change the experience. And don’t get me started on the acting! Back in the days they had different ideals of acting, with a great deal more of melodrama compared to the more muted, underplayed style that is common today. I make no secret of that I usually prefer the acting to feel as natural as possible.
Let’s face it: we’ve had a development here. Filmmakers have picked up a few things over the year, working out what works and what doesn’t work by trial and error and there’s nothing strange about this. The tricky thing is whether we should or shouldn’t let it affect our rating.
Is it fair and meaningful to use the same rating system for M, which I recently watched at my local film club, as I do for Mission Impossible IV? Can I compare a one-night stand that gave me wonderful rollercoaster ride for two and a half hour with a move that has left such an impact that I forever will be reminded of it whenever I watch a movie about a crazy murderer?
Probably not. And yet I do it. So bare with me if you think my guts have played up with me and the numbers are strange. This is not rocket science. It’s foolery.
What I thought about M
What about M then? Considering this post originally was intended as a review, I seem to be pussyfooting around it. But here we go.
In case you’re not particularly interested in film history, you might not know that this is a German thriller from 1931, which mostly is about the hunt for a series child murderer, “M”. Not only the police force is after him, but also the underworld, since the constant police activities interfere with their interests. A big chunk of the movie takes place in a building, where we see the murderer hiding in the shadows while the criminals are searching for him, trying to find him in and put him at a trial of their own before the police will arrive.
What I liked about this film more than anything else was the cinematography. There are loads of interesting and beautiful shots. The black and white doesn’t feel old and corny; it adds something to the mood.
Fritz Lang uses small means to create a dense atmosphere. He’s never explicit; we don’t see the murderer as much as touch the girls, and yet we know that something horrible is happening to them when we see a dropped ball rolling on the ground or a balloon he has lured them with drifting. And I’ll never be able to hear that theme from Grieg that M whistles whenever he’s about to commit a crime, without thinking of this movie.
For being a movie from 1931, it feels very modern in some aspects, mainly the aesthetics, but also some of the moral issues at stake, such as in the “trial”. The criminals are having a long argumentation about whether M should be considered insane or not and what negative consequences such a label can have since it automatically will lead to an earlier release from custody in case he’ll get his sanity back. Doesn’t it sound familiar from the news of today?
If there’s anything that pulls down M a bit for a modern viewer, it’s the acting style. My guts don’t care if melodrama was standard at that time or not; they just don’t like it.
But on the whole, the wings of history and the atmosphere was enough to satisfy me. Watching it in on a big screen probably helped quite a bit for my appreciation as well.
And now it’s time to hear what my guts say about this:
M (Fritz Lang, GE, 1931) My rating: 4/5
