Fritz Lang’s 1931 film “M” has long been on my list of “Oh, yeah. I’ve been meaning to see that” movies. Last weekend, after screening of “The Maltese Falcon,” Peter Lorre’s presence reminded me, so I put it into my Blockbuster queue and popped it to the top.
Fritz Lang’s “Metropolis” (recently restored to its full magnificence) is on my Top Ten list. His innovation, his iconic long-shots, his metaphoric storytelling, I love it all. But somehow, I’d managed to miss seeing “M” for decades.
If I had seen this film before–even just a year ago–my reaction to it would have been different. Seeing it now, after the abominable crime perpetrated in Newtown, CT has entered our public consciousness, my reaction is very different.
Possible spoilers after the jump.





I was young, with a penchant for obsession. I studied musical performance and conducting, and ran with a cadre of like-minded scholars. I was a science-fiction/fantasy geek, and so were they. It was fated, then, that when the first Star Wars movie came out, we would band together for trips to The City. Week after week we would ride down Geary, invade The Coronet theater, outmaneuver all comers, and claim the eight seats at first-row-center. There, practically vibrating with anticipation, we would wait, hands poised, ready for the downbeat. Together, we would conduct the entire score (long ago committed to memory), cueing the chords of the Death Star leitmotif, pulling in horns and strings as we swept up to light-speed. It was grand. It was intoxicating.