From the beginning of movies... the end of the world! Set in a faltering Utopia, the governor's son, Freder, is drawn to seek out the underpinnings of his existence. He descends into an abysmal underworld of man-eating machinery that is nearly indistinguishable from his fevered hallucinations.
Despite the film's hyper-drama and viciously precise arm movement, it is a riveting study that compellingly mirrors the French Revolution and yet eerily foretells the rise of Fascism. It invokes distinctly Germanic art styles as we see Freder become a black-uniformed living transistor, fully 20 years before transistors were invented.
No movement, no lighting change is extemporaneous; in legendary Teutonic vision, every frame is set exactly as it must be. As an example of the film's relentless angst, the governor, Joh Fredersen, beholds his son breathtakingly idolizing a Joan of Arc character, Maria, to the revolutionary strains of La Marseillaise. Maria's gaze is mesmerizing.
To regain his son and control a worker's revolt, the governor beseeches an old nemesis to turn the first robot into a Maria automaton, but a Lorelei-type emissary. Joh's desperation is Freder's undoing and, later, his own. As the great city begins to hemorrhage, a fight for the future of the republic ensues.
It will be impossible not to see Metropolis' incomparable flavor within dozens of other movies, not the least- George Lucas' entire Star Wars saga.
Despite issues inherent to early movies and having lost a large portion of its substance to fledgling Hollywood meddling, Metropolis is the watershed cinematic experience that every dedicated film-maker must acknowledge.