Duplicity abounds in Fritz Lang’s M (1931). While the plot of the story remains centered on the fate of a vicious child killer, the true insidiousness of the film comes from the elements of visual artifice Lang uses to depict the inner psyche of the killer.
From the beginning
of the film, the viewer is inundated with camera angles and moves that directly provide the viewer with subjective observation that matches both the subject matter of the film and the inner workings of the killer’s mind. Lang enters the film with a series of shots visually reminiscent of a peeping Tom: the camera looks down upon a group of school children singing a song, children teem out of a school, a girl bouncing a ball is followed to a sign depicting the murderer, and, finally, the killer is revealed through his shadow. These perspectives bring the viewer all-too-close to the killer in these opening shots. The viewer is no longer observing the killer’s actions in these opening sequences, but becoming him.
As the killer’s perversions worsen, and all seems as though he may not be caught, the viewer is given an even greater look into his psyche. While looking at various weapons through a shop window, the killer notices a child in a mirror. His demeanor changes; he can’t seem to control himself. As the man becomes ever more demented, Lang shifts the view to one of dual subjectivity: the viewer sees the killer change in person, but also in a reflection behind him (one that he does not appear to notice). It is if the killer is two separate individuals which are now of one mind, and the viewer can see both. However, with this shift in perspective, the viewer is now less a part of the film. Perhaps, to allow the viewer to see both sides of the film and be able to judge appropriately its end sequences regarding proper societal behavior in extreme situations.
It is near the film’s climax that Lang begins a seemingly deliberate shift from camera perspective to use more of the set decoration and lighting to show the killer’s emotions. As the killer has been cornered in the final act, images of bars begin to infiltrate the set. Gates and their shadows appear to lock the killer into a deserted building, as if it were a prison. Worse yet, the killer finds himself locked in a room, unable to escape while his probable executioners come for him. Lang even goes so far as to use wooded slats on the doors where the killer hides along with more prison-like shadows.
Once caught, the killer is forced down stairs into a dark, dank basement, filled with the people he has hurt. He is blocked both by his captors and by their larger-than-life shadows. As the killer’s trial proceeds, his mental state dwindles. He backs into a corner and drops to his knees. He pleads to the mob and to himself. Until this time, the viewer has only witnessed the menacing state of the killer’s mind. It is now that the viewer can truly understand how he suffers. The viewer can no longer relate, but merely be a part of the mob that judges the man.
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