A Clash of Titans
Metropolis Revival
When I was attending Parsons School of Design in New York City, The Quad Cinema was on the same block of West 13th Street. My Typography teacher was Margie Jones. I mention her specifically, because if there are any others who had her, you’ll know you hated her when you had her, but you love her now. She pushed us. Our assignment was to go see the ‘new’ film Metropolis opening that week, then produce a magazine spread from display to typeset. This was my introduction to the worlds, sights and sounds of—
[Marquee]
Art Movement Tuesday presents: A Clash of Titans – Fritz Lang meets Giorgio Moroder in the Archive of Metropolis. Set in a speculative, mythic projection room—part cathedral, part recording studio—a shrine to cinema suspended in time.
This film is not of today or of the future. It tells of no place. It serves no tendency, party or class. It has a moral that grows on the pillar of understanding: The mediator between brain and muscle must be the heart.1
When the Machine Dreams in Two Languages
There are rare moments in cinematic history when a single film becomes more than itself, a mirror across time, reflecting not only the fears and ambitions of its age but reshaping the art to follow. Metropolis is such a film. Yet, Metropolis is not only one film, it is two.
In 1927, Fritz Lang’s original vision rose from the cultural rubble of Weimar Germany, a nation fractured by war, modernizing at breakneck speed and haunted by questions of order and control. Into this atmosphere, Lang delivered Metropolis, a silent colossus forged in the crucible of German Expressionism with its elongated shadows, towering angular forms and theatrical moralism. It managed to reach beyond the anguished soul of Expressionism. Lang borrowed from Italian Futurism, echoing its mechanical obsession, brushing against Constructivism, invoking machine-as-god. The design language of Metropolis—with its geometric skyscrapers, mechanical underground and chrome-bodied Maschinenmensch, or “machine-human”—foresaw Art Deco before the world had a word for it. This was at once a warning and a blueprint: It whispered humanity’s dreams of progress could become its chains.
More than half a century later, in 1984, another artist stood at the threshold of a different cultural machine. Giorgio Moroder, the synthesizer pioneer who gave disco its heartbeat and electronic music its future, reached back into cinematic memory and brought Metropolis back to life. This resurrection was not a restoration but a remix—an electrified translation of Lang’s parable for a generation steeped in neon, cold war anxiety and music videos. Moroder’s version pulsed with the energy of the Synthwave aesthetic before it had a name. With tracks from Queen, Pat Benatar and Adam Ant, his Metropolis became a bridge between silent prophecy and pop spectacle. Colorized scenes, digital overlays and synth soundscapes transformed the silent film into a kaleidoscope of the 1980s’ twin desires: Futurism and nostalgia. It was less about the machinery of oppression and more about the fire of rebellion. One could say less monument, more anthem.
These two visions—Lang’s austere architecture and Moroder’s pulsing rhythms—do not cancel each other out. Instead, they illuminate one another other. Both versions arise from artistic movements seeking to reshape how we see, hear and dream. Both influenced movements yet to come. Lang’s city birthed visual codes later to bleed into film noir, cyberpunk and modern dystopian design. Moroder’s remix fueled a wave of retrofuturism, inspiring everything from Blade Runner aesthetics to Stranger Things soundtracks.
This is why their meeting matters.
This conversation between Fritz Lang, the prophet of steel and shadow, and Giorgio Moroder, the maestro of chrome and synth, is not just a clash of personalities. This is a dialogue between art movements, between eras, between what the machine meant then and what it means now.
Metropolis does not belong to one time. It belongs to every age daring to imagine what happens when the hands build what the head dreams—but forgets to listen to the heart.
A Clash of Titans
Fritz Lang & Giorgio Moroder in the Archive of Metropolis
Scene: A room without clocks. The walls pulse with light and shadow, generated by two looping projectors—one silver, one gold. On one side, Metropolis plays silently in stark black and white: Jagged skylines, mechanized workers, Maria in chromed stillness. On the other, the 1984 restoration unfurls in tinted frames with a blazing synth soundtrack. The bassline rumbles through the floor like a second heartbeat.
Between the screens stands a long obsidian table. One chair is leather and curved like a cabaret throne; the other is straight-backed, made of dark wood and cold resolve.
Enter FRITZ LANG.
Wearing a three-piece charcoal suit, the tie exactingly tied, the posture militant. Round black spectacles shield his eyes, yet nothing escapes his notice. His cane is capped with silver, he uses it less for support than punctuation.
Enter GIORGIO MORODER.
Stepping from behind a synthesizer altar, wearing sunglasses despite the flicker of reels. His jacket is a deep navy-violet with lapels wide as an airplane wing. The shirt beneath is midnight silk, half-unbuttoned. He smells faintly of vinyl and ozone.
They do not pause to greet each other, but move toward their preferred chairs. Morodor seats himself with ease. Lang stands in discomfort, one hand slightly twirling the top of his cane in an almost nervous tick.
LANG (stiffly): I had hoped the silence would remain.
MORODER (grinning): I had hoped it would sing.
LANG begins to pace the perimeter of the table. His gaze moves from the projected Maschinenmensch to the screen tinted in lurid hues, where Pat Benatar’s voice pours over steel.
LANG (tapping his cane for effect): You replaced the organ with electricity. The cathedral became a disco.
MORODER (shruggingly as he examines his fingernails): Every church needs a resurrection. She was dying—your film... half missing. Forgotten by the youth who live in the future you warned about (now looks directly at him) I merely brought her into their world.
LANG: No. You brought their world into her.
Again, he raps his cane against the floor. This time, sparks echo where none should appear.
MORODER: It is fear, is it not? Do you fear color? Rhythm? A new heart in the same body?
LANG turns slowly. His voice drops into the tenor of a courtroom.
LANG: I fear only the sentiment which forgets the depth of symbolism. You made Maria into a pop idol. I made her a prophet, a machine in human shape, not a metaphor for lust and more eyeliner!
MORODER: She was always desire and you know it! You only hid it behind your righteous allegory. I let her sing—
The synthbeat swells as if on command. Both screens sync to show the same moment: The Marias—real and robotic—raising their arms to the mob. One screen is silent, one howls.
LANG: Metropolis was built as a warning. A tower to mirror Babel, not Studio 54. We were trying to remember the cost of forgetting the Soul.
MORODER (removing sunglasses): I remember. I remember all too well. That is why I resurrected it.
Pause as MORODER walks to the wall of reels and pulls down a metallic tin. Inside: A restored fragment thought lost. Lang’s eyes flicker behind his glasses. For a moment, the cane stops tapping.
LANG (abrupt, in disbelief): That scene was gone.
MORODER: Not anymore.
They approach what now appears on the table: The central projector. Lang feeds the reel. Moroder adjusts the sync. Together, for one second, they operate in tandem—architect and engineer, priest and DJ.
The film plays. It is the lost scene of Fredersen weeping in the catacombs. No dialogue. No color. No music. Just breath and shadows.
Silence.
LANG (softly): You found what the archive could not.
MORODER: I am the archive now.
The room dims. The two versions of Metropolis dissolve into each other, a kaleidoscope of steel, rhythm, and revolution.
LANG: We built the same city.
MORODER: Yes. Mine just plays at night.
Fade to black.
Below are two cinematic trailer-style summaries—crafted in the tone of each version’s era and aesthetic. These are designed to mirror period-accurate promotional copy, evoking both the epic gravitas of Lang’s 1927 launch and the electric pulse of Moroder’s 1984 re-release.
TRAILER COPY: FRITZ LANG’S METROPOLIS (1927)
(Silent Era Promotional Tone – high drama, prophetic gravitas, orchestral majesty, noir silvertone aesthetic)
[Black screen. A slow toll of a bell. Then bold white title cards appear in succession, fading in and out.]
“There are two kinds of people in the world…”
“Those who build the future…”
“And those who are buried beneath it.”
[Visual of a silent scream. Workers march like machines. A giant clock spins wildly. Towering spires loom like gods.]
VOICEOVER (intertitle-style):
From the visionary mind of Fritz Lang comes the most ambitious motion picture ever conceived. A prophecy carved in steel and light… A city divided by power—united only by the machine.
[Cue orchestra crescendo: The Maschinenmensch rises on a platform. Maria raises her arms to the mob. A heart beats against the ticking of gears.]
TITLE CARD:
“THE MEDIATOR BETWEEN THE HEAD AND THE HANDS MUST BE THE HEART.”
[Final image: The Machine-Hall erupts. Shadows dance across the eyes of the working class. The skyline burns.]
CLOSING CARD:
FRITZ LANG’S METROPOLIS
A Drama of the Future—For the Conscience of Today.
TRAILER COPY: GIORGIO MORODER’S METROPOLIS (1984)
(1980s Music Video meets Sci-Fi Blockbuster – synth-driven, rebellious, stylized, vivid chromacolor aesthetic)
[Electric blue lightning crackles across the screen. A chrome title slams into view.]
NARRATOR (low, seductive):
In a city built on power…
where machines rule the day…
one woman is about to spark a revolution.
[Cue pounding synth. Cuts of the Maschinenmensch’s glowing transformation. Maria running through torchlit catacombs. A keyboard riff syncs with every flicker of light.]
NARRATOR:
The silent masterpiece is reborn…
[Freddie Mercury’s voice belts out. Strobe lights illuminate the workers’ rebellion. Neon-tinted eyes flash. Steam rises like stage fog.]
“Love Kills…”
“Here’s my heart, here’s my soul…”
NARRATOR:
With an electrifying soundtrack from Queen, Pat Benatar, Adam Ant, Bonnie Tyler and more—music meets machine in a cinematic resurrection like no other.
[Cut to Fredersen’s tower exploding into light. The city collapses in time to a synth bass drop. Maria ascends into flame.]
TEXT ON SCREEN (animated, pulsing):
GIORGIO MORODER presents
METROPOLIS
The Future Has a Beat.
[Final frame: The Maschinenmensch looks directly into camera. A digital heartbeat pulses. Fade to black.]
All this makes me wonder if it might not be a good time to revive Metropolis today?
The year is 2026, A Dickensian “best of times, worst of times", where total oppression and manipulation of the masses is wielded by the unquestionable power of the few.2
The influence of Metropolis on everything in culture from fashion to film, architecture and mad scientists can be read about here, along with the source of the Thumbnail image.
If you have enjoyed today’s Art Movement Tuesday, consider fueling the next!
Music References—
Freddie Mercury
“Love Kills.” Metropolis: Original Soundtrack. Produced by Giorgio Moroder. Columbia Records, 1984.
– Mercury’s contribution was the flagship single for the soundtrack, blending operatic vocals with dark synth-pop.
Pat Benatar
“Here’s My Heart.” Metropolis: Original Soundtrack. Columbia Records, 1984.
– A power ballad composed specifically for Moroder’s version, underscoring Maria’s emotional narrative arc.
Adam Ant
“Destruction.” Metropolis: Original Soundtrack. Columbia Records, 1984.
– A driving track that reflects the 1980s’ obsession with apocalypse and rebellion.
Bonnie Tyler
“Here She Comes.” Metropolis: Original Soundtrack. Columbia Records, 1984.
– Used to dramatic effect in the film’s presentation of the Maschinenmensch. A hybrid of glam-rock vocals and synth production.
Giorgio Moroder
Metropolis: Original Soundtrack. Columbia Records, 1984.
– In addition to producing and arranging the film, Moroder composed several instrumental pieces and oversaw the transformation of the silent film into a music-driven visual experience.From Here to Eternity. Oasis Records, 1977.
– Preceding Metropolis, this album helped establish Moroder’s signature style: Futuristic, sequencer-driven, emotionally cold yet rhythmically hypnotic.
Queen
While not directly credited beyond Mercury’s solo track, Queen’s influence is implicit in the sound of the score, blending arena-sized emotion with theatrical futurism, as seen in Flash Gordon (1980), also scored by the band.
Print References—
Ades, Dawn. Photomontage. London: Thames and Hudson, 1986.
– Provides context for German Expressionism and the visual language of 1920s cinema.
Caligari, Kracauer, and Weimar Cinema. From Caligari to Hitler: A Psychological History of the German Film.Translated by Timothy Barnard. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004.
– Foundational text for understanding Lang’s Metropolis within the political and artistic currents of Weimar Germany.
Eisner, Lotte H. The Haunted Screen: Expressionism in the German Cinema and the Influence of Max Reinhardt.Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008.
– Discusses Lang, the aesthetics of Expressionism, and the cinematic atmosphere of Metropolis.
Lang, Fritz. Fritz Lang: Interviews. Edited by Barry Keith Grant. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2003.
– Contains reflections by Lang on Metropolis, technology, and narrative intention.
Moroder, Giorgio. Metropolis [1984 Restored Soundtrack Album]. Columbia Records, 1984.
– The official album accompanying the colorized and scored re-release of Metropolis.
Nowell-Smith, Geoffrey, ed. The Oxford History of World Cinema. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996.
– Useful for cross-period cinematic influence and the re-evaluation of Metropolis in the 1980s.
Petro, Patrice. Joyless Streets: Women and Melodramatic Representation in Weimar Germany. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989.
– Frames the role of Maria and the Maschinenmensch in the gendered symbology of Metropolis.
Sharpe, William Chapman. New York Nocturne: The City After Dark in Literature, Painting, and Photography, 1850–1950. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008.
– Explores Art Deco, urban utopianism, and their cinematic echoes.
Telotte, J.P. Science Fiction Film. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001.
– Provides a clear genealogy of Metropolis’s influence on later science fiction and visual futurism.
Tomas, David. “Feedback and Cybernetics in the 1980s: Moroder and the Retrofuturist Remix.” Journal of Media History 14, no. 2 (1995): 102–118.
– Discusses the 1984 Moroder version as part of early retrofuturist aesthetics.
Turvey, Malcolm. The Filming of Modern Life: European Avant-Garde Film of the 1920s. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2011.
– Situates Metropolis in broader avant-garde and constructivist visual culture.