The cinema of Weimar Germany, more fantastical, surreal and purely visual than its Hollywood counterpart, often resembles not reality but the world of dreams – and nightmares. And this is a world not totally removed from our own experiences, because we all of us dream.
Frau im Mond was adapted by acclaimed screenwriter Thea von Harbou from her own novel. It has at its core the spirit if not the accuracy of scientific endeavour, and yet it is essentially, like most of von Harbou's work, a story of epic, rip-roaring adventure. Rich with subplot, which adds to rather than detracts from the awe-inspiring voyage, of all her stories it is probably second only to Metropolis for its sheer imaginative splendour and romantic sweep. Many of its devices found their way into Tintin's moon adventure twenty-five years later, author Herge even naming one of the characters Wolff as a possible tribute to Wolf Helius.
Such a story is in constant danger of going off the rails of credibility, and as such it requires a director of a certain boldness in approach. Fritz Lang, von Harbou's husband at the time, is known for his stark visual style which many would associate with the expressionist excess of film noir, a genre to which Lang would indeed make several notable contributions in later years. And yet his manner, unbridled as it was in Germany where he was allowed to work more closely with his creative team, is more one of bizarre fantasy and nightmarish exaggeration than of grim realism. It is this take on things that brings Frau in Mond into the world of acceptability. Von Harbou creates a great character in the impoverished yet brilliant Professor Manfeldt. Lang brings Manfeldt's world to life with the bleak angular depiction of his home. In such a place it is normal for actors to grimace and gesticulate wide-eyed into the camera.
And herein lies the important second dimension to Lang's technique. Point-of-view shots were by now a fairly routine trick in Hollywood, but Lang consistently breaks that fourth wall and inserts the audience somewhat aggressively into the film's world, often having the camera take the position of alternate positions of two characters facing each other. Also notice how each of the sets of Frau im Mond is an enclosed space, not a backless facade as we would get on a soundstage. By giving us 360-degree coverage of a room, Lang gives us the impression – better I think than any other director – that we have entered the same space as the heroes and villains of the story.
This is how Lang and von Harbou get away with their own bizarre and fantastical ramblings. Fritz Lang's later silent films are exciting, so enthralling, in spite of their long running times, their oddball imagery and melodramatic plot lines. The finest work of Lang and von Harbou allows us to become part of their dream world.
Frau im Mond was adapted by acclaimed screenwriter Thea von Harbou from her own novel. It has at its core the spirit if not the accuracy of scientific endeavour, and yet it is essentially, like most of von Harbou's work, a story of epic, rip-roaring adventure. Rich with subplot, which adds to rather than detracts from the awe-inspiring voyage, of all her stories it is probably second only to Metropolis for its sheer imaginative splendour and romantic sweep. Many of its devices found their way into Tintin's moon adventure twenty-five years later, author Herge even naming one of the characters Wolff as a possible tribute to Wolf Helius.
Such a story is in constant danger of going off the rails of credibility, and as such it requires a director of a certain boldness in approach. Fritz Lang, von Harbou's husband at the time, is known for his stark visual style which many would associate with the expressionist excess of film noir, a genre to which Lang would indeed make several notable contributions in later years. And yet his manner, unbridled as it was in Germany where he was allowed to work more closely with his creative team, is more one of bizarre fantasy and nightmarish exaggeration than of grim realism. It is this take on things that brings Frau in Mond into the world of acceptability. Von Harbou creates a great character in the impoverished yet brilliant Professor Manfeldt. Lang brings Manfeldt's world to life with the bleak angular depiction of his home. In such a place it is normal for actors to grimace and gesticulate wide-eyed into the camera.
And herein lies the important second dimension to Lang's technique. Point-of-view shots were by now a fairly routine trick in Hollywood, but Lang consistently breaks that fourth wall and inserts the audience somewhat aggressively into the film's world, often having the camera take the position of alternate positions of two characters facing each other. Also notice how each of the sets of Frau im Mond is an enclosed space, not a backless facade as we would get on a soundstage. By giving us 360-degree coverage of a room, Lang gives us the impression – better I think than any other director – that we have entered the same space as the heroes and villains of the story.
This is how Lang and von Harbou get away with their own bizarre and fantastical ramblings. Fritz Lang's later silent films are exciting, so enthralling, in spite of their long running times, their oddball imagery and melodramatic plot lines. The finest work of Lang and von Harbou allows us to become part of their dream world.