Metropolis: Adapted from the Novel by Thea Von Harbou

To read Acts 1 and 2 of Metropolis, click the link below. A link to my noelization of Nosferatu is provided at the end of this story, as well as to my adaptations of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, and Edison's Frankenstein.

Metropolis Acts 1 and 2

Act Four, "The Hands and the Heart," is coming soon.

Maria sat disconsolately in her cell, a pair of mad gleaming eyes shining out at her from the darkness. She rubbed her head. There was a massive bruise beginning to form on her cranium. What had he done to her? She felt so strange, so ill. Was it the magnetic power of his sinister eyes? He crept closer to her in the darkness.

"Oh, my pretty, my pet. You shall not escape me again...my darling, my Hel. You shall be one with me again, reborn, as it wore, your immortal face covering the metal face of my beautiful, beautiful work of genius, my Parody. You have made history this evening; yet, it is so sad that you must be confined here, permanently it seems, until we know exactly what to do with you. Oh no, my Parody, my Artifice...my Hel. You are not to be killed. We are not barbarians. We are explorers. We are scientists who are plumbing the depths of infinity. Yet, to do so, we must maintain control. We must maintain order. The filthy, vile Workers must be kept in their place. Ah, I know you feel you hail from their stock. You bleed for them because you believe that the same blood they possess flows through your veins as well. But, I tell you, that is an untruth, a lie! You are of noble birth, my dear; an orphan down below. You are my Parody. You are my Hel..."

Maria looked into the manic eyes of the insane Rotwang. She was aghast at his pale-white face, the dark circles ringing his mad eyes, the shock of solid white hair, the flowing dark robes, and, worst of all, the strange, gauntleted hand that moved mechanically.

"Oh," she began slowly, "God keep you! You cannot imprison me here. Please! I implore you, you must release me! I have to fulfill the reason for which I have come. To make way for the Mediator! To free my people from Babel..."

Maria full well knew that her cries and imprecations to Rotwang would fall on deaf ears. She thought frantically for a means to escape. She wondered for a moment, almost ready to ask him why he kept calling her "Hel." But, instead, she rose, pushed past him, leaped with all her strength upon the table, and pulled frantically, desperately, at the bars of the skylight, which was set into the angle of the ceiling. It was open to the outside, and her cries echoed through the dim, deserted courtyard. But, as they say of a tree, if there is no one around to hear it fall, has it made any noise at all?

***

If Maria could have seen what was done to her, if she had been awake when Rotwang gave her very image to that of his beautiful clockwork Parody, she would perhaps have died of the shock of knowing it. Instead, she was drugged, asleep beneath a glass chamber reinforced with iron bands, a leather cap with electrodes and wires placed upon her sleeping head. She had been stripped nude, a beautiful, desirable creature. Still, it was nothing to Rotwang, who was a cold automaton now, who revealed, behind the curtain his clockwork woman, Parody Artifice Futura, seated on her metal throne beneath the inverted pentagram, the symbol of the dark, Cthonic forces Rotwang wished to call up.

All around him, test tubes, and beakers, and bottles of strange chemicals began to glow with a ghastly light. He threw switches and turned levers, operated dials, and examined electrical meters as coiling metal began to spark and the dangling silver ball above the clockwork woman's head began to shoot bolts of lightning to each side.

Rings of power, like luminous smoke, moved up and down her heavy metal frame, as her eyes began to glow, and the metal frame darkened, revealing the movements of glowing chemicals within the robot's body. The tubes within Parody revealed her inner organs as they were, and she was slowly transforming, a weird mask of living flesh being transferred to her stiff, cold robot form.

Finally, the face began to take shape, covering the rigid metal mask beneath. The body metamorphosed as Rotwang held the glowing wands of power, connected to his arcane machinery by heavy cables, and felt his heart skip a beat as the thing happened.

"It lives!" he cried. "It lives! My Parody! My HEL!"

***

Georgy 11811 was in the Club of the Sons. Here, he was astounded at the palatial beauty of the decor, the expensive sculptures and artwork, and the multi-colored fountain that bubbled forth with the champagne that was continually doffed by the wealthy, privileged celebrants here. The music, the dancing, and the delicacies. Gourmet food, fine wine, and beautiful women; painted courtesans. He strode in, dressed in white finery for the first time in his short, bitter life, and was immediately taken for Freder. A young woman with Ruby red lips came toward him, threw her arms around him, and said, "Ah, Freder, it is so wonderful to see you, my darling. Come! you are just in time to imbibe some SOMA and see the shows!"

Georgy had no idea what "Soma" was, but he knew that, while he was here, he would follow whatever customs and etiquette were expected. She led him to a bar, wherein she spoke with the bartender in a low whisper, before showing him into the back room, which was divided by a series of jade screens, each adorned with the image of a different Chinese dragon, or a Hindu deity, or some other exotic representation from Eastern lands.

Mythological creatures, he thought to himself. Gods and Beasts. Demons.

They sat at a table, and the ruby-lipped woman poured him a glass full of rare wine, then settled back on the cushioned settee, eyeing him like a greedy, vulpine animal, and sipping her drink as if it were broth.

He did the same. Inside himself, he felt the drudgery of his past life clear away, slowly, and desire crept into his soul, desire for the woman, the courtesan; the whore. There was no sense of shame or guilt. He forgot, for that moment, who he was and where he had come from.

I cannot believe, he thought to himself, that men live this way. He, for a strange moment, thought he was simultaneously in paradise...and Hell. It was all too much.

The woman was a painted courtesan, a lovely, desirable peacock, with ruby red lips and pale, ivory skin. She sipped the wine from her crystal goblet slowly, eyeing him with a predatory gaze. She thought him to be Freder.

"I...I must say, I believe that you are the most handsome, the most charming man in this entire club..." She said this with the ringing music of her tones piercing the heavy, melodious air, rife with thick, sweet-smelling tobacco and the sound of orchestral music. "Come, let us drink some Soma together, and then we'll retire to a more...private place."

She rang a small golden bell on the table, and soon, a waiter came, sporting a silver platter upon which were two small glasses of a green liquid.

"Drink," she said, her eyes sparkling and radiant, "drink, and allow the Soma to take control, take you on a journey the likes of which you have never before been. Then, allow me to show you...a time which you'll never forget."

He felt his passion rise and took the glass in trembling fingers. This was a "pearl of great price" in his eyes, not the coarse, bland daughter of some worker, a drudge with a face full of dusty creases, worry, bad teeth, and a brat on each arm. Here was an elegance, a beauty he had never before laid eyes on. Men, he thought, should burn in Hell for living so good while others starve. But he went ahead and drank the Soma, suddenly sent to a place where lights and colors exploded behind his eyes, as he felt himself descend into a garden of supernal pleasure, falling, falling, falling....always falling, through an eternity of blissful color and shape. And falling, as it were, into the arms, and the bed, of the painted whore sitting before him.

Later, after making love, Georgy showered and dressed quickly, still feeling the intoxicating effects of the Soma drugged drink and the slight hallucinations it induced, playing at the edges of his field of vision, like colored smoke.

I'll have to have some more of it, he thought. And, knowing his credit was unquestioned here, as he was Joh Frederson's son, he rang for a bit more of the liquor-drug. He then found himself wandering into what seemed to be a large, circular chamber with a tennis net stretched across it. Ah, a robotic game!

The attendant took one look at his intoxicated, bleary form and smiled. He was directed back to a locker room where he could change clothes. He did so quickly, running himself under a quick, foamy shower and letting robot arms sponge him clean. He then dried off, donned the shorts and white polo shirt, and grabbed the racket.

He went out onto the court. All was darkness, but the Soma was creating strange, green, and orange shapes on the wall. Suddenly, a ball shot out of the darkness at him, and he lunged to hit it--but his reflexes were too slow, and he missed. A loud voice came over the speaker unit, a woman's voice, telling him it was a "strike-out." Drugged or not, he thought to himself, he would have to be quicker next time. Soon, he got the hang of it and began to race across the now-revolving court, slamming the ball into the darkness beyond and having the robotic arms toss it back at him whilst colors and strange shapes burst behind his eyes.

***

Freder heard the drip, drip, drip of water as he walked through the silent cathedral, watching as worshipers knelt before the image of the bleeding Christ before the altar. They knelt also at the statue of the Blessed Virgin, who had appeared in this place in medieval times and caused it to be consecrated to God, to be built by the Workers of that time of stone, with human toil and sweat and blood. All was silent here. There was only the shuffle of feet, the swish of robes and dresses getting up from their kneeling position. And the ceaseless drip of water that, he wondered, might be blessed.

Beneath, in the catacombs, were buried the ancient monks. In a strange alcove, seven grim statues--the "Seven Deadly Sins"--looked out at the worshipper, reminding him or her of the profligacy that was the path to Hell. Greed, Envy, Anger, Gluttony, Lust, Sloth...What was the other? He couldn't remember. But, then, he had never been raised with religion.

A few souls looked at him, a presumed Worker in a Worker's uniform, his hat in his hands, strangely. But it was not unheard of for even a Worker to venture above, and to visit this holy, this sanctimonious keep. In the center of the statues of Mortal Sins, was the image of Time or DEATH: a robed skull with a scythe and a flute made from a human femur. perhaps a real one. Freder shuddered. Where was Maria? Why had she not yet come?

***

Slim sat in the back of Freder's car, waiting. He had got inside after following it, at a discrete distance, with his aero-loft car, which could ride on the streets or in the sky. Quickly ascertaining that Georgy had quite possibly murdered Freder and taken his clothing, he followed him to the Club of the Sons, waiting patiently for the taller, blonde man to emerge. The chauffeur seemingly was oblivious; he knew Slim as an agent of Joh Frederson, and that was enough.

Georgy emerged, finally, obviously intoxicated with the damnable liquor drug they served in that "den of ill-repute." Georgey opened the car door to the surprise of his life.

The gaunt, evil face of Slim cracked a horrific smile, and said "Ah! My good young man, so glad you could join me! Come! Get in, and sit! We have much to discuss!"

And Georgy saw that Slim had a gun trained on him and that he was as capable of killing him as he was at swatting a fly. Georgy knew Slim would not hesitate to shoot and would feel no remorse. He was sober suddenly. He got into the back of the chauffeured limo on wobbly legs.

"So what have you done with Master Freder, hm? Where is he? Is he alive, or did you kill him, take his clothing, and rob his pockets to come to have yourself a night on the town, as I suspect? Please answer truthfully. Your very life depends upon it. I can assure you of that."

Slim placed the barrel of his small gun against Georgy's temple. The young man began to quiver.

"I...I have not done anything to Joh Fredersen's son, Mein Herr. I met him below, at my station in the Worker's City, at one of the machines. He helped me when I was exhausted and said he wanted to help ALL of the Workers. He gave me his clothes, and I gave him my uniform, and then he instructed me to go..."

He suddenly remembered the address of Josaphat crumpled in his pocket. He thrust his hand inside, pulled it out, handing it to Slim.

"Here," he said. "Here is where he wanted me to go. But...I was delayed."

Slim looked over at him, smiling. The smile was not a pleasant one but was totally, completely predatory. It was the smile of a ravening wolf, a wolf among human sheep.

"Driver!" said Slim, suddenly, leaning forward. "Take me to this address."

And he handed the paper to the chauffeur. In a few moments, they were off.

***

The thing crept forward on cat-like feet, its hungry, sly glance that of a ravenous feline. It crept forward sinuously, slinkily, a creeping, wiry evil thing. But, knew Rotwang, a thing of sheer beauty. But a thing of repellent beauty nonetheless, a thing that could drive men mad with desire, make them cut each other's throats with a violent passion. And the gaze was both sly and cunning, and yet, curiously stupid--as of one possessed, by some malignant, if rather mentally deranged spiritual entity.

He knew it to be a thing of cunning monstrosity, a lithe, gorgeous image of DEATH, that would bring disaster in its wake.

He began to shake, to exult. He said, "I have recreated her. My Artifice. My Parody. My Futura..." He looked at her with bleary, bloodshot eyes, his orbs grown wide with madness. He was his booby trap for Joh Fredersen. She was his stick of TNT. She was his atom bomb.

And she wore the face of MARIA.

"Quickly," he called to the dwarf servant. "Fetch the Master of Metropolis! Fetch Joh Fredersen!"

***

Freder walked disconsolately through the open court, passersby staring at this man, this WORKER above ground awkwardly--it was not a common sight to see one of "them" out and walking around in the city proper. He had his hat in his hand and his heart in his gut. Why had she not appeared? Why had she not come to speak with him? In her holiest of holy places, the cathedral? He was uncertain. Had he been too forward? Was she frightened, perhaps, that he was part of a trap being prepared for her by his father? Yes, he surmised, that must be it. And so, his place in the coming revolution was lost before it even got started. He wanted to almost weep. he felt impotent with rage and despair.

Before him was the house of the "Wizard of the Red Shoes", the old, ugly, even ghastly black wooden dwelling in the center of the court that seemed to contrast so strangely with the tall, gleaming monolithic skyscrapers that glowed with bold, golden electric fire around it. This place seemed to squat in the darkness, to draw cold and loneliness in upon itself. Suddenly--

"Help me! Help me! I am being held prisoner here!"

What was that? Freder thought he could hear a woman screaming in the night, the voice echoing out across the court. He coked his ear. Yes! And, and--he knew that voice!

"Maria?" He called out.

Maria was standing on top of a table, her fingers thrust between the iron grate that looked out from the curve of the ceiling. Below her, laughing, exultant, Rotwang had his black-garmented arms about her waist, pulling her back down, as one might manipulate a naughty child. Ah! he told her. Don't you realize it is of little use?

"I've already won. And you're the one who has helped me bring it about!"

And Maria, who had been out for a little while when Rotwang transferred her image to that of his Parody Artifice Futura, did not quite grasp what he was saying, She had awoken feeling a bit groggy his lab. She had been nude, but he had respectfully brought her a robe, and she knew she had been used in an experiment--not violated in some lewd or criminal manner. She doubted a man such as Rotwang would stoop to rape, at any rate. He seemed utterly mad but not perverse. But perhaps that feeling was simply in her mind.

What had he used her for? she wondered.

Freder rushed across the court in the dark, coming to the door of the "Red-Shoed Wizard," a place he and his young chums always use to run by in delicious terror as children, sometimes pitching pebbles at the side of the place. The long windows were blackened, eyeless, and gazed out onto the night under the peaked, ancient roof. Freder imagined how damp and musty and moldering the place must smell from within. He approached the front door. Did anyone live here?

As befitting the home of a "Wizard" he saw that the front door was adorned with the pentagram--inverted, the sign of black witchcraft. He listened intently, but the voice of the woman, which he KNEW had been coming from this accursed old place, was now silent. He raised his fist to pound on the door, but before he could bring it back down again, it--flew open. He felt his heart skip a beat, but he was drawn in, suddenly, in fascination.

Slowly he crept inside, into the dark corridor beyond. Beyond, there was a second door, but the front door, which he had left hanging open, suddenly slammed shut. Freder raced back to it, pounded with both fists upon it, knew with a sickening feeling that he was trapped, turned, and decided that he would go through the second door. Beyond, in the darkness, he could see what appeared to be a staircase, winding down, to a basement level. He went forward. First, though, he rooted around until he found what appeared to be a twisted, gnarled piece of old branch. He proped the second door open with this, hoping it would not shut.

His hope was short-lived.

Joh Fredersen marveled at what Rotwang had wrought. "She is magnificent," he said, putting his quivering fingers lightly upon her arms. She looked up at him with that same sly, cat-like gave, her mouth a possessed grin. She looked as if she could swallow him whole.

"I tell you, Rotwang, you are beyond a genius. You are truly beyond brilliant. You are an explorer rather in the furthest reaches of what the mind can attain. You are, quite simply, a wizard, a sorcerer, a maker of magic..."

Frersen continued to go on like this, while Rotwang listened in the shadows, exultant, yes; but also inwardly plotting, planning, laughing in merriment. He said to himself, in the space between his ears: "Yes, Joh Fredersen, praise me, praise my brilliance, Joh Fredersen. We shall see how you react when all is said and done, Joh Fredersen. What will you think of old Rotwang then, Joh Fredersen, when your mighty city lies in ruins? Can you tell me that, Joh Fredersen?"

Meanwhile, the son of Joh Fredersen had pulled back the curtain in Rotwang's laboratory. His eyes bugged in wonder as he beheld the marble monument to his mother, Hel, who, according to Rotwang was "Born to be my love, " but was "Lost to Joh Fredersen." Furthermore, as he already knew, she had, "Died giving birth to his son Freder."

He felt the cold chill of unreason march across his back in prickly cold tendrils of fear. it was as if someone had just walked across the plot of earth destined to be his grave. He let the thick velvet curtain fall back and walked on in the darkness. It was then that he noticed a light in the door, spilling out from beyond, and two shadows in the darkness, moving. he went forward, approaching with caution.

He came to the half-open entryway. And, to what should his astonishment dd he behold? it was his father, plain and simple. And standing next to him, holding him lovingly, was MARIA.

His Maria. The virginal way shower. The High Priestess. The Cybaline Oracle. But it was not Maria. This was a cold, cat-like female leopard, who might pounce silently upon a man, like a hungry beast, and devour him.

Freder, who had consumed copious amounts of Soma in the past, felt, suddenly, the curious "flashback" effects of the liquor-drug. Or perhaps, it was a combination of that and the pure stunned shock of seeing this demon, this revenant of Hell. (Or was it the real, true Maria finally revealed as an AGENT OF HIS FATHER?)

He felt the room begin to spin, the image of his father and the sly, cat-like, sinister Maria-thing began to whirl, double, trebled, until it spun like a top, and strange geometric forms and curious waves of energy seemed to form a sucking black hole, a void in which he was pulled down, down, down, until he knew only a tunil of whirling spinning, kaleidoscopic colors.

And then--blackness.

***

Josaphat went to the door, and Slim entered.

He was silent a moment. Outside, in the hall, Georgy waited at the door. Looking in, he surmised he was about to witness a killing.

"Traitor," said Slim. "I've come to bring you back to the Master. to face the consequences of your acts."

But, before Slim could barely get the words from his lips, Josaphat was upon him.

The rolled around on the carpet, Josaphat reaching for Slim's pistol-ready hand, and pulling it back behind his back, wrenching the gun from his long, strong fingers.

it clattered to the floor. The force of the impact caused it to discharge, sending a hole through the wall. Josaphat had his hands around Slim's throat. In a few moments, he knew, his life would be choked from him.

Suddenly--

"Stop! Stop, damnit, before you kill him Josaphat!"

Georgy was standing there, holding the gun on both of them. Josaphat released Slim, who had not counted on

the small man being so strong.

"I am a Worker. This is my quarrel. Whatever part Josaphat has played in this affair, it is minor compared to the part played by your Master's own son. Do you think that Freder Fredersen, who will one day be the MAster of MEtropolis, would want this, want you to kill this man, or wish him to kill you? To what end?"

Slim scooted backward, away from Josaphat, gasping. His back to the door. Suddenly, Josaphat stumbled over beside him, turned, and slid down the door. Both enemies, men who had formerly wished to kill each other, sat side-by-side, gasping for air.

Georgy still had the gun trained on him.

Josaphat said, "He's right you know. The Workers are on the verge of revolt. Only the sermons that the young girl, Maria preaches, are what keep them from rising--"

Slim said, "All I know is that you are a traitor, and...I have my orders."

Josaphat turned to him, sudden anger flaring up between gasping breaths, "Think, damn you, think! Stop being such an automaton for Joh Fredersen. What do you think will happen if Georgy's people rise up if they destroy the machines? What do you think will happen to OUR world if they decide to stop producing for us? I tell you: We need a mediator. And Freder is the Mediator! He is the one that Maria has foretold of. He is the heart that must beat between the hands and the mind!"

***

It was not long before Freder was brought back to the manse he shared with his father and their servants. Josaphat and Slim, Georgy, and a hustle and bustle of doctors and nurses and servants delivering trays of food had been in and out. He felt like a man returned from death, with a tale to tell.

***

But the fever, or the Soma, or whatever ailed him, came on him again. Stronger this time, he slipped in and out of consciousness, his mind tormented by strange visions. His doctors and nurses would come in and fuss over him, the maid brought his uneaten tray of food. They worried about him starving as he seemed insensible, often. Finally, after another week, the fever abated somewhat. He saw Josaphat by his bedside. And then, as he went in and out of slumber, the man had disappeared.

Had his father been in at any time to see him? He suspected not. But perhaps the figure he thought he had glimpsed, tall and lean, but not quite so lean as Slim, was his father. He was not certain.

One day, he reached over to the nightstand for a glass of water, and his fingers fell on a small rectangle of cardboard. He pulled it toward him, and blearily began to read:

Tonight at Yoshiwara's! We present to you, the dancing, twirling temptress MARIA! Her name may mislead you, though! For she is no virginal mother, but a wily temptress, riding the Great Golden Beast through the avenues and boulevards of wanton SIN! Come one, come all, come prepared to meet a sight you shall never again see for as long as you live!

He saw her writhe in fury, a slinky image in a black dress, holding her arms out imploringly. Beneath her, gathered on the dance floor at Yoshiwara's men in tuxedos doffed their hats and ran their gloved hands over quivering lips, as a field of eyes swam out of the darkness upon her. Some pulled smoke from hookahs, some from cigarettes stuffed into the ends of long filters. others swallowed glasses of chablis, or took Soma, but all were, finally, enraptured, and all attention was upon her.

"But what is this?" one of them exclaimed. "She has disappeared."

There was a general murmur of surprise below, when, suddenly, a brilliant smoking light shined up from the tail dais above. A beautiful crystalline fan, an immense circular thing of rare and wondrous gold and alabaster beauty, rose up over a golden cauldron, revealing the Scarlet Woman, Babylon, the Mother of all Whoredoms and Abominations, riding the Seven-Headed Beast of Revelations. Her arms were splayed out in aan incredible artist's pose of opulence. Suddenly, she came forward, as rare and white as a bird.

Her headdress was an incredible jewel-bedecked arc above her, her body glistening with pearl-white robes. Suddenly, those robes were cast aside, and she stood there nude, resplendent only in gilded rings and streamers of sensual pearls cascading against the comfortable hill of her bosom. She began to dance, as gracefully as a gazelle, amazing the tuxedoed throngs of young male admirers below her, a writhing, sensual spirit in the midst of fog emanating from below.

Faces, a sea of eyes upturned, looking toward her, watching her eagerly and with growing intensity of passion. Men began to fight for her attention, at first shuffling and imploring her with vague imprecations of lust, then physically assaulting one another, dueling, going for braces of pistols, fencing swords. Later, men mad with lust for her would put a bullet in their skulls, dripping their life's blood out from ears that no longer heard, and eyes that no longer saw.

On her knees, she writhed, serpentine, a goddess. A temptress; Isis, Bharati, Kali, Lilith. Eve turned to evil. Don't you want her, she seemed to say. She beckoned, Circe calling forth the vilest of pig-like apes, what was worst in men. The Scarlet Whore.

Babelon...

"Don't you want me?"

"Well, don't you?"

Freder writhed in bed, his hands before his face, seeking to block the obscenity swirling in smoke before him. She emerged from the flaming cauldron of light below, writhing in the smoke, dancing, as lithe as a gazelle, her bejewelled and pearl-encrusted fan-like headress a quarter moon above her milk-white, painted face.

She rode the beast. The Dragon of Seven Heads. Below her, eyes formed an ocean of visions drinking her up, as men lusted in their hearts deeply, plotting the doom of eachother, all become killers now, because of her.

Freder saw the stars and planets swirl around him, drawing him down through a cosmos of terminal doom, and he was falling, falling, and there seemed to be no end.

To purchase a copy of my novelization of F.W. Murnau's vampire classic Nosferatu, click the link below. To read my adaptation of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Edison's Frankenstein, also click the links below.

Nosferatu: Adapted from the Screenplay by Henrik Galeen by C. Augustine

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Adapted from the film by Robert Wiene

Edison's Frankenstein, Adapted from the 1910 Film

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