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.
It’s pissing down rain in Seattle. The lecherous wind tugs and young women’s skirts as they tick-tock their high-heeled way to work, and the few who bothered with umbrellas wish they’d left them at home. The sky is locked down in gunmetal grey and the sun is a dim memory, consumed by the overhead drear. It’s already been a long work-week for me, having put in three days’ worth before the end of Day Two, and I haven’t slept well for worrying about my family, still roiling from our matriarch’s recent death.
My wife and I take walks around Seattle’s Green Lake. It’s one of the best parks in the city, and it’s beautiful at any time of the year. It’s a nice 3+ mile circuit, during which we’d talk about many things, quite often about my writing. My wife (my First Reader) is a great sounding-board for plot ideas, plot problems, character development ideas, etc.
Yesterday, over on Facebook, a friend “Liked” a post that Kevin Sorbo made (which is the only reason it came to my attention). Kevin Sorbo? Oh, yeah, 
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 