M

Last night I saw Fritz Lang's masterpiece M for the first time.

Wow.

What a dark, dreary, sad film this is! Yet, inspite of that, it is nevertheless a wonderful, engaging film. For those who don't know, it tells the story of the city-wide search for a child murderer in early-thirties Berlin. Over the course of the film we see the police desperatly working themselves to exhaustion trying to catch the killer, who, because he is a deranged serial killer with no connection with the victims, leaves practically no clue behind. At the same time, the police actions make it almost impossible for the cities criminals (who are organized in a kind of bureau of gangsters) to make a living. Hence, the criminal underworld decide to try to catch the killer themselves by lining the streets with begger spies (like in the Sherlock Holmes novels the criminals realize that in a big city the poor are so numerous that they become invisible). The film also follows a third party; the murderer himself (played by Peter Lorre).
This film has been written about extensively, and by those far more knowledgeble about cinema and German history than I am, so I won't approach it from that dirrection.
What struck me most about the film, though, was this; the question of the guilt of the actions vs. the guilt of the person.

WARNING: SPOILERS!!

In M, there is a scene early on with the criminal bureau discussing the situation. One point they are adamant about making clear to everyone is that they are different from the murderer. This was also brought up earlier when a bartender who services a seedy criminal club commented to a raiding police officer that all the crooks and prostitutes who are her patrons are nothing like the murderer and 'would make toothpicks out of him' if they ever met him.
In the end, the criminals have captured the murderer and put him on mock trial. During this, he gives a moving, horrifying monologue. 'I CAN'T HELP IT!!' he screams, going on to describe what his compulsion is like, how it torments him endlessly until he commits his crime, and how afterwards he can't even remember what he did and how he is then horrified at the crimes he knows he did, but can't remember.
This is reinforced by an earlier scene (perhaps my favorite in the film) where his compulsion comes over him. Lorre's acting in this scene is amazing; we see him struggling fruitlessly against himself, dropping his bag, gripping a guardrail, twitching and finally failing and succumbing.
But for me the most important part about the monologue is where he turns on the criminals trying him:

"What do you know about it? Who are you anyway? Who are you? You're criminals. You're probably proud of it. Proud that you can crack a safe, or sneak into a house, or cheat at cards. Things you could just as well keep your fingers off. You wouldn't need to do all that if you'd learn a proper trade or if you'd work. If you weren't a bunch of lazy pigs! But I... I can't help myself!"

This, I think, is a central point of the film, or at least the one which struck me the hardest; what Lorre's character does is far, far worse than anything these criminals have ever done. And yet, despite this, he is more innocent than they are, because he did not choose to do what he does; he is clearly terrified of himself and hates what he does, but he is mentally ill, so he can't control himself. But the criminals, the gangsters don't have to do what they do; they chose their way of life and they like it. When Lorre's crimes are brought home to him, he sobs the victim's name in agony. When one of the gangsters is confronted with his crime, his only thought is how he can get out of it.
It's true, then, what they were so determined to make clear earlier on; they are completely different from the murderer. They are worse than he is. Their crimes may be lesser than his, but they are worse men. We feel pity along with our revulsion for Lorre. We feel no pity for the criminals, as we shouldn't. Lorre did not choose to be evil. They did.