M (1931)
This is our fate. I imagined that someday this monotony would lift — and we would be ‘free’; that there would never be a’ new normal’ because we might go back to the old one. That hope is gone. When you live in a certain way for three months, with no hope of change, it becomes your way of life. This is my life. I’ve figured out a way to manage, unfortunately — although it’s not the way I want to live. And I’ve figured out how to occasionally wrench a kind happiness out of it — which I know -- for a fact -- means I am doing better than some. Evidently the government is not going to suddenly end the lock down and celebrate life again with us; in fact what is happening is the opposite of that. We have no idea what restrictions will be lifted, or when. Government websites offer no reassuring condolences— except for the families of the very few who have died. No, it’s an ‘ever evolving situation’ and ‘we are doing our best under the circumstances’ — and no doubt, they are (at least those on the bottom of the totem pole). The ones at the top have decided — for whatever reason -- that this whole process must be excruciatingly slow, and nearly imperceptible, like Chinese water torture. On Monday — ‘Oh, well, a garden centre is open!’ or perhaps another store allows you to gingerly approach, and purchase something 'essential' from a paranoid person wearing a mask and gloves. But presently I can’t imagine myself living any other way. And I suppose, oddly, well -- that that’s a good thing. But I don’t know what this means for people who have no income, or are living with abuse. Or rather, I do, It means that poverty and violence — and for some, a kind of madness — is the ‘new normal.’ They were showing the 1951 remake of M by Joseph Losey on TCM — but I’d never seen the original so I rented it — partly due to my fascination with Peter Lorre. Lorre was a tragically underrated actor who fled Germany with the rise of Hitler. In America he was cast in minor bad-guy roles until he ended up in B-movie shlock with Roger Corman. It’s terribly sad, and probably has to do with his physical appearance. He seems gay; he played a gay character in The Maltese Falcon (Mr. Cairo) and his heavy lidded eyes, full lips, and smooth skin — as well as the questionable gift of a rather femme voice, made it impossible for him to play the lead — except of course as a child serial killer. M was at first attacked by the Nazi party for being anti-nazi merely because of its original title Murderer Among Us. When M was released, Variety described it as “a little too long,” which it may be. But I would instead call it relentless. Of course no one wants to see a film about a child serial killer, but that is all the more reason to see it. Lang was careful not to display child abuse— the chilling implications of Lorre buying candy and balloons as his shadow disappears down the street with a little girl — well, that’s quite enough. Most of the film is taken up with the search for the killer, and it is clear from Lang’s approach that the murderer is not the only character who is guilty — but not in the sense of all those silly 50s American films that would have us believe that the origin of all criminality is an absent father. Almost all the characters in this film are to some degree repellent. I think this was purposeful on Lang’s part — even the mothers of the children seem somewhat pitiful — paradoxically both indolent and overworked, and joyless. Lorre’s ‘Javert’ — Inspector Lohmann — was based on a real German official, and the name Lohmann says it all - he is a fat, cigar chewing, climber -- of criminal aspect. But the real coup in M, is Lorre’s trial by his ‘peers.’ For Lorre is — ironically — not initially captured by the police, but instead by a cabal of criminals who gather to try him. Prostitution, speakeasies, thievery and gambling have been severely impacted by the laws instituted to catch the child-killer. These restrictions placed on the populace resemble to some degree those we endure under COVID-19: one Berlin government official expresses misgivings which could have fallen from the mouth of our own Theresa Tam: “The idea that each citizen is responsible for what happens to the poorest most anonymous child on the streets hasn’t even dawned on the public at large.” Lorre's capture by these n’er-do-wells instigates a masterfully constructed moral dilemma — is the child killer guiltier than they are, and should they execute him? Lorre’s eloquent defenae is redolent of The Merchant of Venice “Don’t I have this cursed thing inside me? This voice? This agony? I want to run away from myself. With me runs the ghosts of the mothers and children.” Of course it is impossible to forgive him. But when he says “No one has the right to kill a man who is not responsible for his crimes,” it rings somewhat true. But the thieves and whores will have none of the ‘insanity defence.’ When the crowd yells: “That’s not a human being” — you know Lorre will not be spared. But of course even a child killer is human, and it was the Nazis who decided Jews were not — and we all know what that led to. Lang’s genius is to implicate all of us. Ergo, this film will never be a popular one (despite the Criterion Collection offering its pretentious film commentary on the significance of all the ‘mirror’ and ‘window’ camera shots). The truth is, we are all guilty — which explains why we are so attached to COVID-19. We are all mean, selfish greedy liars. We want nothing but our own satisfaction, and are rarely capable of 'doing under others.’ Ergo, we love a disease that redeems us; for by wearing the mask and staying six feet away — we are not only being good, —but we are in fact the only good ones; all others are evil. But the true essence of evil is not being being a bad person — as we are all bad people — it is being rotten to the core and pretending we are not. I, unfortunately identify with Peter Lorre, being somewhat of a child murderer myself; he is compelled to murder children, and I am compelled to give voice to my most alarming thoughts. For I know that what I write here is not the truth, but merely my version of it. And the fact that I keep reassuring you of that fact is a kind of a trick — but also a way out — for I’m hoping that if you learn to distrust me, you may at some point gain the priceless gift of beginning to distrust yourself.
