M is the kind of the film that preys on the fears, dangers and nightmares that continue to haunt today’s climate as strongly as it did in 1931 (although I’d wager it’s even greater)—the fear for our children and the unseen horrors that can easily claim them. Watching the film recently, I ran through a checklist of modern modifications needed to mold M for modern tastes, and I’ll be damned if I could identify any.
M is one of the great film noirs—perhaps the first of the sound era. Even in today’s cinema, it remains a unique entity, full of ideas, suspense and haunting imagery and sounds. The story: a child murder runs ramped through a German town, killing many prepubescent girls, turning the town into an uproar. The police are desperate and exhaust all methods to catch the killer, including putting the squeeze on the organized crime syndicate. Soon the suffering crime bosses give up on the notion that the legal system can catch the killer and decide to try to catch him on their own. Both the cops and criminals strategize in meeting rooms and devise their individual sets of plans to track him down. There’s something very telling as to which side catches the killer first.
The child killer, Hans Beckert, is portrayed by Peter Lorre, whose bulging eyes, eerie voice and obsessive whistling branded him both fame and infamy even before he retreated from Nazi Germany to become a famous character actor in America, where he co-starred in the iconic noir The Maltese Falcon and many Hollywood classics including Casablanca and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.
M’s director is Fritz Lang, who also fled to America and made success in Hollywood where he continued to craft many brilliant noirs for decades. However, it’s Lang’s early German films that are his most noteworthy. He directed the first great science fiction epic, Metropolisduring the waning years of the silent era. M was his first sound film, which Lang embraced, even establishing a few rules to talkie films that continue to this very day.
Although embracing the new recording technologies for M, Lang uses his sound sparingly. Due to the cumbersome recording equipment, many of the exterior shots remain silent—an effect that gives the film an eerie undercurrent. Occasionally the silence is broken by sounds of our shadowy villain whistling “In the Hall of the Mountain King”, which the killer repeats to try to suppress his obsession to murder (and commit other unspecified atrocities). The music gets louder and the killer comes approaches closer—an effect which Spielberg would use in Jaws.
M’s opening moments show children playing and dancing in the street. One of the mothers scolds them for making too much noise as she tends to chores. Her child, Elsie, is returning home from school when the murderer approaches her. Lang introduces the killer off-screen, the shadow of his profile displays over his own wanted poster. Without one word, Lang has already indicated who he is.
He compliments the girl’s toy ball and buys her a balloon. Within moments, the only sound heard is the mother crying out her tardy child’s name. Lang shows the little girl’s toy ball rolling to a stop, her balloon tangled in telephone wires. She is dead.
When Lang first shows the face of Lorre’s killer, there is no dramatic introductory camera move or music cue, only Lorre staring at his cold, dullard reflection in the mirror as his hands fidget and stretch his cheeks and lips, searching for signs of the monster within.
Faces play an intricate role in M such as the haunting finale in which the faces of the criminals stare down Lorre’s killer in judgment and contempt. Their thirst for vengeance mimics Beckert’s own bloody obsession.
The hunt for the killer is dazzling in its attention to detail. The police and criminals ponder all methods within their power to stop the homicides and Lang blatantly cuts between the two factions to show the striking similarities. Both factions learn the identity of their target with different tactics, and interestingly, the criminals are one step ahead. They pursue Beckert, corner him in an office building that’s closed for the evening and literally tear it apart, level after level.
Lang instills tremendous suspense as the criminals trap their man. There’s also some surprising manipulation involved. We’re obviously hoping that the criminals will catch Beckert, but there is the sequence always manages to invoke tension as Beckert becomes cornered and out of options. Beckert picks at a lock when suddenly the handle turns, the criminals are on the other side, and our hearts race.
When Beckert’s finally captured, Lang teases with our emotions further. The criminal organization arranges its own trial, with an assigned defense attorney who is none too thrilled. Beckert pleads for mercy, exploding in panic and dwindling into a morose, sad confession. He raises a valid point. Is the man a monster, or just sick? Does he deserve to be killed or is he entitled to a fair trial—with the risk that he may survive capital punishment or even be free to kill again one day.
M’s questions of the legal process remains universal and timely. But the film works primarily because of its construction, which has only one wasted moment—when the cops interrogate one of the criminals who helped capture Beckert. The police use manipulation and deception to learn about Beckert, although we already have all the information.
The film gets under your skin. Lorre’s Beckert makes for one of the most iconic and horrifying villains in cinema and without displaying any of the grisly and horrible crimes he commits. The cries of the mothers, the paranoia of the townsfolk and dead, Lorre’s piercing stares invoke the imaginations to spell out nightmares. The closing shot ends without a final verdict over Beckert’s fate, just two mourning mothers warning us of the perils and the need to watch over our children with better eyes. She’s as right today as she was 80 years ago.
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