Metropolis

The film has, in consequence, a remarkable pictorial power, and, in spite of its occasional solemnities, is one which will well repay study by those who are interested in the development of a separate cinematographic technique.

It gives in one eddying concentration almost every possible foolishness, cliché, platitude, and muddlement about mechanical progress and progress in general, served up with a sauce of sentimentality that is all its own.

Often enough it is exciting in a broad, elemental way, just as an earthquake or a loud clap of thunder would be exciting; but when individual characters come on to the screen they rouse little Interest for their own sakes.

For years audiences have wondered how good this film might have been had it not been edited. It turns out that it's better than anyone could ever have expected.

Occasionally it strikes one that [Lang] wanted to include too much and then that all one anticipates does not appear. But at the same time the various ideas have been spliced together quite adroitly.

Each frame of this classic is drop-dead stunning.

Lang’s visionary visual creation remains impressive a century later, from the densely imagined cityscape to the massive sets that dwarf the actors and the swarms of extras, and its socio-political themes are just as soft-headed and simplistic.

With its memorable sets and special effects courtesy of Eugen Schüfftan, the film remains a landmark of global cinema nearly 100 years later.

The movie is a period piece, with roots in dystopian novels like H.G. Wells's When the Sleeper Wakes and The Time Machine; yet the stark and garish black-and-white staging here engenders an emotion oddly stronger than words.

Metropolis contains such magnificent visuals that all else about the film recedes, allowing its all-consuming mythical status to take over.