New Project

 Back in January 2009 when I started my long trek of watching and writing in my Criterion Reflections blog about every feature film in the Criterion Collection in order of its original chronological release, I gave brief consideration to the idea of including the titles released by their subsidiary Eclipse line of DVD box sets. I even began purchasing the sets, starting with the earliest films released in that series - Silent Ozu, Raymond Bernard, Lubitsch Musicals. But after  compiling the list of films that I'd be reviewing, I realized that adding Eclipse movies to what was already a very long and cumbersome project created a number of obstacles - logistic, financial and otherwise. Some of the Eclipse titles were relatively minor works, and the lack of special features, deluxe books and other goodies made them a bit less intriguing. I wondered if I would really have as much to say about the individual films - plus I was really eager to get into the great masterpieces that Criterion had released under its main imprint and didn't want to bog myself down any further if I had a choice in the matter. So I decided to make my Criterion Reflections blog strictly Criterion-only. It's a choice I don't regret, and I'm pleased to have diligently stuck with it so far. Today I just posted the 137th distinct film essay in the series, on Orson Welles' Mr. Arkadin. And there's no let-up in sight on my end - I'm still enjoying the work and determined to see it all the way through.

Well, there may be some "let up" after all, in terms of frequency of posting to Criterion Reflections, anyway. Just recently, in a late-night chat session with Ryan Gallagher of CriterionCast.com, I agreed to take on a new assignment exclusive to that website. I'm going to be "the Eclipse guy" (that's my informal way of putting it, not an official title or anything like that!) My task will be to provide one weekly review of a particular film among the 87 (so far) that have been released, or are scheduled for later this year, as part of the Eclipse series. Ryan had asked me earlier in the week, after seeing this new CR Side Trips blog, if I'd be interested in collaborating with CriterionCast. I'd already done so earlier this year, via a guest appearance on their podcast to discuss a favorite movie of mine, Jean Renoir's Boudu Saved From Drowning, and I am a fairly frequent commenter on their website. I also exchange tweets, Facebook comments and even the occasional Google Buzz with Ryan, Rudie, Travis and the other guys affiliated with that site. So I was intrigued... receptive... and also quite honored to receive the request. I gave it some thought for a few days and finally decided to commit. I like the idea of increasing my exposure and involvement in the film blogging scene and from what I can tell, CriterionCast approaches these films with a sensibility and perspective very compatible with my own. They add value to my viewing, and my hope is that by joining up with them more formally, I can add value to the site and to those readers who regularly visit there to enhance their enjoyment of the great classic and contemporary films at our disposal.

So why Eclipse? Hadn't I already ruled out including those films in my blogging endeavors? Sure, and that won't change as far as Criterion Reflections is concerned. But a few things have changed, including a greater access to the DVDs that won't require me to purchase whole sets (which is how I watch all my Criterion films.) I also like the freedom that this column will give me to explore Eclipse films however my interests lead me. I may go with a topical connection, as will be the case with my first column on Wooden Crosses, a French war movie from 1930 that fits nicely with tomorrow's observation (in the USA) of Memorial Day. Or I may choose a title because of its congruence with my current point in the Criterion Reflections timeline. I plan to review Kurosawa's I Live In Fear in the next few weeks as it coincides with other 1955 films I'm currently watching. Or I may just pick a film because I'm curious about it and simply feel like making it my movie-of-the-week purely on a whim. One other angle would be helping to promote new releases, should Criterion decide to send me advance screening copies (hint, hint!)

I also like the idea of giving some sustained attention to individual films in the Eclipse line. Generally, when I've seen these sets reviewed, the writer tends to focus on the whole bunch of them as a single piece of product. Reviews of each film tend to be a paragraph or two, mainly just quick summaries. That's all quite reasonable, since they're being sold as a package and most potential customers probably want some idea of what they're going to get with their purchase. But that approach can lead us to overlook the fact that these were all "new releases" at one time, meant to stand on their own and deserving that level of consideration. So I intend to lend my support and whatever insights I can muster to each movie as a distinct unit, one per week, for the next couple of years I suppose, until I run out of Eclipse titles to review or a decision is made to just drop the whole thing. :o)

Meanwhile, this blog will serve (as it is right now) to be my place to drop thoughts on films that don't fit either of my two main formats. Since I'm committed to regularly updating two long-term series now, I can't say with any certainty how often I'll post here. But I invite you to follow along however it suits you, if you're interested in what I have to say on the subject of cinema!

Metropolis: The Complete (not merely Restored) Version

A year or two ago, I first heard about the discovery of lost footage from Fritz Lang's 1927 silent film classic Metropolis. I think it was over on the old TheAuteurs.com website (way before any of us knew they'd be changing the name to MUBI.) Then several months ago the story broke that the missing bits were being restored and would soon be released, first in theaters and eventually on Bluray and DVD. This news intrigued me because I've been interested in Metropolis for quite a long time, going way back to the 1980s or maybe even earlier when I first heard about this futuristic vision from the last years of the silent film era. The movie inspired Kraftwerk's Man-Machine album, an old favorite of mine, and the image of the strange mechanical woman is among several that have taken root in the cultural memory of many people who have never even seen the film. Several years ago, before I started seriously watching Criterion Collection films or even much of any kind of art house stuff, I requested and received the Kino "Restored" version of Metropolis as a gift, and I've watched the DVD several times since. That edition presents what was considered to be the last authoritative release that would be made of the film, utilizing all of the best surviving elements and reassembling what had been a badly mistreated and mangled film into the form closest resembling Lang's original intentions. Anyone who's seen it knows that the action is frequently broken up by text inserts that describe what the still-missing segments contained, according to surviving screenplays and the original film score. The improvised narrative fill-in does tie up some loose ends and helps with the coherence, but it injects a sense of laborious tedium that may turn off viewers who'd otherwise enjoy this look at a pivotal early example of cinematic science fiction. 


So when this semi-miraculous discovery of a nearly complete version of the film in Buenos Aires, Argentina was announced not as wishful thinking or overblown hype, but actual fact, of course a lot of Metropolis and Fritz Lang fans were really happy. Not just pleased to know that we'd finally see the "real" Metropolis but also greatly encouraged to know that a great work of art was finally getting a measure of justice more than 80 years after some very poor decisions were made to chop it up and throw away the bits that were no longer deemed necessary. It's nice when things turn out that way every once in awhile.


I never imagined I'd  be able to see the new presentation on the big screen, especially after I read about the film's premier in Berlin and initial screenings in New York, Los Angeles, the usual places. Eventually I figured Metropolis would play in Chicago, but that's still a long three-hour drive from my home and I doubted that I could justify the time and expense to drive all that way just to see a movie. But just last week I found out that Metropolis would make its third US appearance in the little port town of Muskegon, MI, just around 30 miles or so from my house, at some event called (appropriately enough) the Lakeside Film Festival. I had no choice but to go, and I'm happy to provide this report on what I saw!


First, I want to remark at how puzzled and impressed I still am that this particular town, theater and festival lined up the rights to Metropolis. The Harbor Theater is about as funky and small time as I imagine a movie palace can be nowadays and still stay in business. It's just across the street from Lake Michigan, with just a few docks sitting between it and the vast expanse of water. Despite the presence of some nice and presumably expensive boats, it's not a particularly classy or upscale area either - unlike the environs where West Michigan's more famous regional film festival, the Waterfront, will be held in Saugatuck next month. This Lakeside Film Festival didn't get much publicity in my local paper either. I think I had the good fortune of finding a link on Twitter, or else I might have never known that Metropolis was scheduled to show in my vicinity, for a one-time only 2 p.m. Sunday matinee.


So enough about all that, I'm sure most readers are just interested in learning about the new/old version of Metropolis. My overall impression: highly positive, very grateful for the work that was done to put the pieces together - but realistic to know that the restored scenes don't make such a big difference as to dramatically change anyone's opinion of the film. Not that I know of any big detractors - Metropolis is fairly beloved, though most would say that it ranks behind M in Lang's body of work. No great shame in that, M is brilliant and highly influential. Really, those are two powerhouse films that alone establish Fritz Lang as a top-notch director.


The restored scenes are very obvious whenever they appear on the screen, with many vertical lines across the entire picture and slight but noticeable cropping along the top of the frame. Some of the insertions are very brief, just a few seconds or so, reaction shots or short extensions that don't disrupt anything but the timing of the musical score after they're removed. But there are a few scenes that are clearly enhanced. One, involving a subplot about the Thin Man sent by Joh Fredersen (the powerful industrial overlord) to harrass Josaphat, ally and co-conspirator with his son Freder, injected a welcome note of menace and villainy into the plot as we see the old man resorting to raw intimidation to get his way. Another sequence depicting the statue of Hel, Fredersen's late wife and the object of obsession cherished by Rotwang, the archetypal mad scientist, also supplied clarifying motivations for each of those characters as we see the twisted sense of devotion and mourning that fuels each of their crazed power grabs. A pair of cathedral scenes bring Lang's biblical allusions even more to the forefront as we see a preacher ranting about the Whore of Babylon (illustrated in an engraving that the false Maria subsequently re-enacts in her wild dance at the Yoshiwara nightclub.) And the final escape and rescue sequence of the children escaping the flooding subterranean workers city was made much more dramatic and exciting with several minutes of extended tension. 


One deletion that still has not been remedied involves what I consider a critical segment, in which the real Maria, who'd been taken captive by Rotwang so that he could use her as the prototype for his fiendish humanization of the Man-Machine, escapes her captivity when Fredersen bursts into Rotwang's old fashioned house. Why that scene was ever cut makes no sense to me at all, without the benefit of watching the edited versions of Metropolis anyway. How do they account for Maria's transition from being Rotwang's test subject to her eventual reunion with Freder without actually depicting her release? Maybe somebody reading this would care to fill me in.


Seeing all the stuff that was cut, and comparing it with what was still retained, left me wondering who was responsible for those decisions. I'm not enough of a student of Metropolis lore to provide good answers here, but I've already learned a bit more about the censorship and commercial reasons behind them. It's really a shame that such a powerful and stunningly crafted film had to endure such indignities, and that an intact master copy couldn't have been stored somewhere. Metropolis was a magnificent production for its times and still packs a punch, despite some of the dated acting techniques, heavy-handed moralism and stilted character development. The crowd scenes, set designs and that sense of free-wheeling experimentation and grasping for new visual possibilities provided much for any cinephile to love, whether you're coming at it from a highbrow art house perspective or just a fan of the early days of sci-fi and special effects on film. The show I saw, like all the others that will be touring around the USA (and elsewhere) this summer, is a Bluray projection, so you won't get quite the same filmic experience that I was kind of hoping for, but setting aside the salvaged Argentina footage, the rest of Metropolis was crystal clear and magnificent to behold. The disc has already moved on to some other town so I'm glad I got to take advantage of this unique opportunity. I think I'll be adding the home edition Bluray to my library later this year!