"One morning I discover that our workplace in Neubabelsberg has been strangely transformed. Strange indeed to a non-technical person like myself, who doesn't even know how to repair an electric bell.
A huge ethereal hall, sterile in its effect: the laboratory of the aloof inventor Rotwang. An array of bewildering apparati, motors and machines, cables, switchboards, flywheels and belts, formula-covered charts, power lines, chemicals bubbling away in heated flasks, levers, wheels and connectors. And amidst all this the glass worktables and masses of tangles wires. Mercury vapor lamps light up the hall. And on her isolated seat sits the gruesomely enticing "Menschenmachine", yet to be sheathed with the living flesh of the imprisoned Maria and animated with the beat of her heart. She is to have the appearance of purity, but her evil dealings will be under the control of her creator. Already Rotwang's "Machinenmensch" has mastered a robot-like gait.
That gruesomely unfathomable smile, those macabre, relentless movements, the mask-like wantonnes and uniformity of the jolting head movements, the utterly supernatural charm that exudes from that robotic creature - a creature conceived by scriptwriter and director, and formed by sculptor's hands - cast its spell upon us all. Even the stagehands and the lighting crew, mostly Berliners, skeptical and always ready to scoff at anything out of the ordinary, appear somewhat apprehensive. It should not have been difficult to dismiss this movie-set laboratory filled with countless strange and familiar contraptions concocted from every realm of technology as utopian, as something very unreal. Yet even I, the actor who has to find inspiration in these outlandish objects and don't know why he turns this wheel or pushes that button, do it with conviction. We all know that inside the contraption there is a fragile young woman who is being subjected to a great deal of physical discomfort, and yet, at the decisive moment, we really believe that an enigmatic man-machine is turning its head toward us.
We believe!
That is the root of the matter. But there is one who believes more than anyone else! You can see it in his face. You can see it in his sunken eyes that do not miss the minutest of details. But Fritz Lang does not only believe in his creation - that goes without saying. He believes in the power of "Nichtwirklichkeit" (fantasy), he believes in the power of that which has never taken place at any time or in any place, "was sich nie und nirgends hat begeben", and which therefore remains eternally youthful.
How much skill, how much tireless effort did Freund and Rittau, the two cameramen, devote to this project? How much sweat did it cost the artist and stage builder Hunte to perfect Lang's vision and make it camera-ready? And, of course, everyone else in the production had to extend themselves accordingly. Some of the greatest tasks asked of the actors was patience during all the waiting and enough strength to store up that elusive inspiration. But finally, when the lamps were all flickering, when the spotlights were humming, when the crackling mercury tubes poured their soft light on the scene, then their and the director's shining hour had arrived.
There were of course funny incidents as well, especially at times when someone in the cast was condemned to a state of helplessness. Poor Brigitte Helm, for example, dressed only lightly and was stuck like a sardine in the "Menschenmachine" for days, had to endure being pinched and poked in the most unimaginable spots, and then having those spots be padded by some wardrobe person's hand reaching in. And Brigitte was even used as a piggy bank; people dropped coins through the slots in her armor. The coins fell to the bottom, but Brigitte later carefully collected them and exchanged them for hot chocolate at the canteen. I fared better with my albeit uncomfortable metallic hand. It was a brutal boxing glove, and the grips and blows it delivered were not exactly pleasant. My partners can attest to that.
Now, months later, it all comes back to me. Now that I am asked to talk about my experience, the memories are coming back to life. I had forgotten everything, and saw the final version of "Metropolis" only three weeks ago. I watched the film as if I were a total stranger to it, and not for one moment did I have the feeling that I had played any part in its production. The movie was so powerful, it completely entranced me. I hope your experience will be similar."
