M is for murderer. A child murderer, no less.
The murderer is creepy, bug-eyed Peter Lorre, on the loose in Dusseldorf. It's enough to cause normally rational individuals to form hysterical mobs. When a little girl asks an old man for the time, everyone in the street becomes suspicious and surrounds him. The police have no leads, and heightened security only makes the lives of the regular members of the underworld more difficult. This pressure leads the mob to attempt to root out the culprit.
A less complex film would have used such a plot to demonize the killer. This tactic could have produced an entertaining thriller, but probably would not have made for one of the classics of cinematic history. In M, the viewer feels dread for the future victims and pity for their mothers. But by the end of the film these feelings apply just as much to Lorre's character. One cannot help but pity him for his unwanted compulsion to kill, and for what the gangsters will do to him. These sentiments reach their climax in the high point of Lorre's excellent performance, a speech he makes to the stony-faced mob. This scene also highlights the hypocrisy of his persecutors, as the head of the mob defensively admits that he is wanted for three murders.
It is not only the even-handed way that Fritz Lang deals with his subject matter that makes M a great film; it is also the mastery with which he constructs it. He interweaves light and dark, sound and silence, to create desired emotional effects. Although it is his first talkie, M looks to be the work of a master who has used sound for decades. However, if the viewer considers the visual beauty and power of the film, it is unsurprising that Lang was one of the greatest silent filmmakers of the 1920s. It is the beauty of his shots and the artistry of his editing that allows Lang to use sound in creative, effective ways.
In many formulaic movies, sound means a script to further the action, and an original score to add the schmaltz. Because Lang uses visual means to further the action so effectively, he is free to use sound in more innovative ways which better complement the images on the screen. M contains several important scenes in which very little is said but a lot is conveyed. For example, in order to portray the murder of little Elsie Beckmann, Lang shows us consecutive shots of the empty stairwell where her mother has recently seen her playing, her empty place at the table, and her balloon caught in a telephone wire - the same balloon that Lorre's character has just bought to lure her away. These shots are linked by her mother's desperate cries of "Elsie! Elsie!" throughout the sequence. When the mob corners the murderer later on, the viewer sees a shot of the street which contrasts the light around the streetlight with a shadowy overall picture.
With the more global perspective that a long shot provides, the viewer then sees beggars and criminals appear out of the shadows to corner the murderer. The long shot of the entrapment develops the action, and its aesthetic quality gives the scene tension. This tension is heightened by the scene's complete silence, which contrasts with the sound present in most of the film. On some occasions, the use of sound substitutes for images. We usually hear Lorre's character before we see him, as he signals his presence through his signature whistling of a theme by Grieg.
Sixty-seven years after it was first released, M stands out as one of the important movies of the 20th century. It does everything that film has the capacity to do. It combines psychological complexity, a good script, great acting, as well as a skillful interplay between image and sound. The opportunity to see it on a big screen is not to be missed.
M shows Saturday at Kettering 11 at 7:30 p.m., 9:30 p.m. and 11:30 p.m. $1.
Copyright © 1998, The Oberlin Review.
Volume 126, Number 21, April 17, 1998
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