Review of M (1931) by Nick O — 09 Apr 2011

A complete master class that's even more of a cultural expression than "Metropolis". The grainy, smoky noir of "M" doesn't scare you into thinking it's prolific -- but that doesn't keep it from being terrifying nonetheless. This gem is thinking, hey, crime should pay, because it too often doesn't. Like Stanley Kubrick's "Paths of Glory", Fritz Lang's visual page-turner poses moral dilemmas with enough brood to shake up a dizzying cops-and-robbers story to boot. 'Cause after the disappearance of three separate girls, Peter Lorre's bug-eyed monster Franz can't bear to stick around and face the music any more than he's prepared to handle his own dirtied conscience.

You'd think "M" would be biased against its antagonist, however Lang gets you chewing on the inclination that kid-killer Franz might just be sick in the head. Should that let him off the hook? Think for yourself. "M" reaches its height in an acting windfall of a finale, when the townspeople trap their bad boy in the basement of his apartment complex. The isolation could as much be Franz's personal portrait of Hell as it could the bedroom closet of one of those girls he's been picking off.