#my favorite thing about this adaptation is how much of a mentally ill freak freder is

[lunatic-fandom-space]

Hello! When I made my first Metropolis (1927) post I mentioned the 2001 german radiodrama adaptation and a few people in my notes were like '👀 ?' and since I like it so much and I want more people to know about it and i think translating stuff is pretty fun anyway, Ive decided to write up this english transcript. I would still recommend properly listening to it if you can, its a little over an hour long, because I think the sound design and overall direction is absolutely amazing. Especially towards the beginning, it creates this very surreal atmosphere where youre really put in Freders head and experience this intense disconnect that he has with the world around him, its so fascinating. Unfortunately I think it does lose that as it goes on and it becomes a bit more conventional, but I mean its still pretty good overall. Honestly, out of all the pieces of Metropolis Media ive seen its probably my favorite (I havent read the book yet but given what the author apparently said about its themes Im not expecting to like it that much tbh)

You can find it on the internet archive and on the ARD audiodrama database. Since the version on the internet archive was pulled from someones personal casette it does have a small 'imperfection' where it skips a word, but its just one word you'll barely notice it and its in perfect condition otherwise, I thought it was some stylistic choice at first lol

Anyway, thats all for now, lets get into the transcript

Metropolis.

By Thea von Harbou and Fritz Lang.

Adaptation: Michael Farin.

***

MARIA: Heart. [echoing] Somewhere.

JOH FREDERSEN: Brain. [echoing] Nowhere.

MARIA: Heart.

ROTWANG: Hands. [echoing] Nowhere.

JOH FREDERSEN: Brain.

ROTWANG: Hands. [echoing] Nowhere.

JOH FREDERSEN: Brain.

MARIA: Heart.

FREDER: Heart, brain... [echoing] Somewhere.

JOH FREDERSEN: Brain.

ROTWANG: Hands. [echoing] Nowhere.

MARIA: Heart, brain, hands.

FREDER: Brain, heart, hands.

ROTWANG: Brain, heart, hands. [echoing] Somewhere.

JOH FREDERSEN: Nowhere.

NARRATOR: He was a treasure that needed to be guarded.

FREDER: I want to be alone. Completely alone.

NARRATOR: A crown jewel.

NARRATOR: He feels the closeness of the servants. Silent waiting ones.

NARRATOR: Awaiting his orders to be allowed to come alive.

NARRATOR: He feels it. Too much.

FREDER: You don't put a blood hound... No.

NARRATOR: Freder could see that the eyes of The Thin Man were grazing at him. He knew this silent man, appointed by his father to protect him, was his guardian as well.

THE THIN MAN: I don't have to create reports.

FREDER: My. Guardian.

NARRATOR: Just don't give yourself away.

NARRATOR: The scales of his bloodbeat.

FREDER: I want to be alone. Completely alone.

NARRATOR: They disappeared silently. The servants. Silently, The Thin Man.

NARRATOR: A treasure that needs to be guarded.

NARRATOR: The son of the great father.

NARRATOR: The only son.

NARRATOR: The Club of Sons.

NARRATOR: The Club of Sons owned the most beautiful house in Metropolis.

NARRATOR: It's a district, not a house.

NARRATOR: Fathers, for whom every turn of a machine cog meant money, gave it to their sons.

NARRATOR: Encompasses theatres and movie palaces.

NARRATOR: Spacious flats for the sons.

NARRATOR: Racing tracks.

NARRATOR: Flats for the servants.

NARRATOR: A stadium, auditoriums.

NARRATOR: And flats for the beautiful, well-behaved maidservants. Like cultivated orchids.

NARRATOR: And the eternal gardens.

NARRATOR: They have to look pleasant, at all hours.

NARRATOR: Have to be cheerful, attituidelessly cheerful.

NARRATOR: Gentle dolls, scented like flowers, designed by an artist's hand.

NARRATOR: Not for sale, but pretty gifts.

FREDER: On that day too.

NARRATOR: The small, gentle women served him.

FREDER: [emphasised] On that day too.

NARRATOR: The pale bodies delicately rose from their hips, their mouths unadorned. Showing slim, naked legs.

FREDER: But suddenly...

NARRATOR: There was laughter everywhere.

FREDER: Suddenly...

NARRATOR: None of the friends moved.

NARRATOR: A procession of children. In tunics and rags.

NARRATOR: The sons froze.

NARRATOR: Colourless eyes.

NARRATOR: A girl between them.

MARIA: Look, these are your brothers.

NARRATOR: Inviolability.

MARIA: [emphasised] Look, these are your brothers!

NARRATOR: And her gaze rested on Freder, unwavering.

FREDER: Who was the girl?

NARRATOR: He looked at the friends who never grew tired, except from playing. Who never broke a sweat, except from playing. Who never got out of breath, except...

FREDER: And no one can say who the girl is?

NARRATOR: The eternal gardens glowed.

FREDER: An utterly glorious and enthralling noise, more tremendous than any noise in the world; the voice of the ocean, when it's angry, rushing currents.

NARRATOR: He had already heard it a hundred and thousand times. A hundred and thousand times. And not grasped it.

NARRATOR: It pierces without being shrill, every wall and every thing.

FREDER: Is beautiful and horrible.

NARRATOR: Omnipresent.

FREDER: And irresistibly compelling.

NARRATOR: It comes from the heights above, and the depths below.

NARRATOR: The machines of Metropolis roared.

FREDER: High above the city.

NARRATOR: They wanted to be fed.

NARRATOR: This sound is the voice of the city.

NARRATOR: As big as Metropolis was, it was equally powerful and tremendous in every corner of the machine-city.

FREDER: Feed. [emphasised] Feed. [more emphasised] Feed.

NARRATOR: The city needs living humans as feed.

NARRATOR: There it pushed its way along, the living feed. On its own road, which crossed no other, it rolled in. An endless stream of identical faces.

NARRATOR: In the same step. In the same garb.

NARRATOR: They placed their feet, but they did not walk. Pushed themselves along.

NARRATOR: And coming towards them, past them: the spent shift.

NARRATOR: In the same step, in the same garb.

NARRATOR: They placed their feet,... but they did not walk.

FREDER: They place their feet.

NARRATOR: Pushed themselves along.

FREDER: They don't walk, push themselves along.

NARRATOR: The living feed had disappeared behind the gates. The roaring voice was silent. The throbbing hum of the great Metropolis became audible again.

NARRATOR: Freder looked across the city towards the building that was known in the world as 'the New Tower of Babel'.

NARRATOR: The man who got called 'the Brain of Metropolis' lives in the brain shell of the tower.

NARRATOR: In ten hours, he would let the machine-beast roar anew. And again in another ten hours. And again.

FREDER: The sun is sinking. Houses become mountains. Flying machines swarm over the cathedral — useless in my father's eyes; a traffic obstruction in the city of fifty million. To be borne away, in the silent whining of the neon signs, between chains of light-breathing monsters. Metropolis doesn't know what sunday is.

NARRATOR: A spear of light shot into his eyes, so that he closed them angrily.

NARRATOR: The enormous face of the clock on the New Tower of Babel is bathing in the garish crossfire of the spotlights.

FREDER: Breathing flashes. Breathing light.

NARRATOR: Behind the raging second-flashes was a wide, bare room with switch panels everywhere. A table in the middle. On the plain chair in front of it: the master over Metropolis.

NARRATOR: The brain shell of the new tower is populated by numbers.

NARRATOR: They dripped from an invisible source through the cooled air of the large room. Became tangible under the lead springs of his secretaries — eight young people who resembled each other like brothers. No one lifted their head when Freder entered, his father included.

NARRATOR: The lamp under the third speaker glows white-red.

NARRATOR: New York spoke.

JOH FREDERSEN: False! Inquire further.

NARRATOR: The first secretary writes together. A quick pencil line runs through a name.

NARRATOR: Numbers drip through the room. The first secretary removes himself. The first secretary walks towards Freder,... past him.

NARRATOR: Whenever he entered this room, he was a boy of ten years old again.

FREDER: Cascades of light froth against the windows.

NARRATOR: London speaks.

NARRATOR: The son of the great master of Metropolis understood: as long as the numbers dripped out of the invisible, that's how long he would look at his father's dark skull.

NARRATOR: The white-red light went out. A voice went silent.

JOH FREDERSEN: What do you want, my boy?

NARRATOR: The seven secretaries left the room.

JOH FREDERSEN: Thank you, until tomorrow.

FREDER: How did you know I was there?

JOH FREDERSEN: The door opened, no one was announced — No one comes to me unannounced. Except for... my son.

NARRATOR: A light under glass. A question. Fredersen replied the affirmative. The first secretary came in.

JOH FREDERSEN: G-Bank has been instructed to pay out your salary. Good evening.

NARRATOR: In the young person's chalky face, two empty eyes burned. One of Fredersen's shoulders stirred sluggishly. The young person left.

FREDER: Why did you let him go, Father?

JOH FREDERSEN: I didn't need him.

FREDER: Why not?

JOH FREDERSEN: Beware, Freder, of thinking people are innocent just because they are suffering.

FREDER: And if this person— If you found out tomorrow that he was dead,... wouldn't that affect you at all?

JOH FREDERSEN: Do you think I need the lead springs of my secretaries? The writing charts in Rotwangs oversight devices are a hundred times more reliable than a clerk's brain and hands. But... I can measure the precision of humans against the precision of the machine. The lungs of humans racing against it, against the breath of the machine.

FREDER: And the man that you just let go... that you sentenced...

JOH FREDERSEN: He was my first secretary. He received eight times the salary of the last one, he must contribute eight times as much — perceive work as pleasure. But enough of that. Why did you take the path to me through the machine halls? It's neither the shortest one, nor the most comfortable.

NARRATOR: His eyes wandered from his son to the twitching flashes of the seconds on the clock.

FREDER: I wanted to look the people in the face. The people whose children are my brothers. Help them, Father.

JOH FREDERSEN: I cannot help them.

FREDER: Help the people standing at your machines.

JOH FREDERSEN: No one can help them. They are what they must be.

FREDER: They have ears. But they are deaf, except for one thing: the whirring of the machines. They are blind, except for one thing: the scales of the pressure gauges.

JOH FREDERSEN: Humans are products of coincidence, Freder. The fact that people are so quickly exhausted by the machines is evidence of the inadequacy of human material

FREDER: Are you not afraid, Father, that one day there won't be any more feed left for the man-eating god-machines—?!

JOH FREDERSEN: That is conceivable.

FREDER: And you aren't terrified of it?

JOH FREDERSEN: The time of terror, Freder, lies behind me.

NARRATOR: Then Freder turned around, and left. Behind his back, The Thin Man pressed towards Joh Fredersen. Joh Fredersen let his eyes wander over the great Metropolis.

JOH FREDERSEN: From now on, I wish to be informed about all the ways of my son.

NARRATOR: The man who had been Joh Fredersen's first secretary did not move from the spot.

FREDER: What's your name?

JOSAPHAT: Josaphat.

FREDER: What... are you going to do now?

JOSAPHAT: M-Me?

FREDER: Where do you live, Josaphat?

JOSAPHAT: In the ninety-ninth block, house seven, on the seventh floor.

FREDER: Then go home. I don't know what will happen in the next hours, but... I know that I need you.

JOSAPHAT: I... I can't.

FREDER: Go home! Wait. I will come, Or— a messenger. Trust me.

NARRATOR: While The Thin Man entered Freder's flat and asked the servants about their master, the son of Joh Fredersen followed glowing arrows.

FREDER: Into the depths to the brothers...

NARRATOR: That pointed towards the undercity.

FREDER: To the brothers in the depths...

FREDER: The smell of the oil, whistling with heat, heat-breathing walls, swimming shadows.

NARRATOR: Freder pushed the door open.

FREDER: An unrelenting trembling trickled through the walls and floor. If there are really people living beyond this door, then they must...

NARRATOR: Their eyes stood open as though they never closed. The eyes of the man that Freder came across first too.

FREDER: [shouting] What's your name? [pause] Tell me your name! I want to know what your mother called you! [pause] Georgi? Listen, Georgi; will you be able to remember what I'm telling you now? You have to remember! [pause] We are going to switch our life now! In my clothes, you will go up, into the upper city! You will find more than enough money in my pockets! Go to the ninety-ninth block, into the seventh house, onto the seventh floor! Tell Josaphat I sent you!

NARRATOR: And a while later the son of Joh Fredersen was standing at the machine. He wore the garb of the workers of Metropolis: the blue linen, the black cap. Georgi though was going through a city that he had never seen before. He felt white silk on his body. He did not wear the blue linen, no black cap. Did not go to work. Work was done. A man had come. He had said, 'We are going to switch our life now, Georgi. You take mine, I take yours.'

NARRATOR: The worker number 11811, the man who lives in the undercity in a dingy house beneath the underground railway of Metropolis, who knows no other way than from his sleeping hole to the machine–from the machine back to his sleeping hole, this man sees, for the first time, the miracle of Metropolis, the city at night, illuminated by millions and more millions of lights.

NARRATOR: He was trembling from his head to his feet. And at the same time, his body was shot through with the firework display of spark-spraying wheels, ten-coloured lettering, snow-white fountains, overloaded lamps, rockets hissing high, ice-cold blazing towers of flame.

FREDER: [shouting] You will find more than enough money in my pockets!

NARRATOR: There was music in the air. The music was sassy, of the hottest rhythm, of lashing merriment.

NARRATOR: There was a house in the great Metropolis that was older than the city. It was said that a sorcerer from the Orient had built it, but he disappeared. Then one day came a man from afar.

ROTWANG: I want to have it.

NARRATOR: That man was called Rotwang. Few knew him. Only Joh Fredersen knew him well.

ROTWANG: Who's there?

JOH FREDERSEN: It's me.

NARRATOR: The door opened. The door closed. Fredersen stood in the dark. Joh Fredersen knew the house well, though. Staggering a little, yet unerringly, he walked towards the heavy black curtain. Pulled it apart. Then he opened his eyes, and stood completely still. On a pedestal the witdth of a wall, the stone head of a woman rested.

ROTWANG: Hel. Born for my joy, for everyone's blessing. Lost to Joh Fredersen. Died when she gave life to his son Freder.

NARRATOR: In that hour, Joh Fredersen had laid on the ground and screamed. Like a wild animal whose limbs were being broken alive.

ROTWANG: Lost to you.

NARRATOR: Rotwang's hair, though, had turned snow-white in that hour.

ROTWANG: Lost to you, Joh Fredersen! You have taken her from me!

NARRATOR: Hatred has been simmering the eyes beneath his forehead ever since.

JOH FREDERSEN: She is dead.

ROTWANG: For me, she lives.

ROTWANG: You have to wait a little while.

JOH FREDERSEN: Listen, Rotwang, you know that I only come to you when I want something from you.

NARRATOR: In this great love, in this great hatred, the dead Hel had remained alive for both men.

JOH FREDERSEN: And, that I don't like to waste time.

ROTWANG: I told you, you're supposed to wait!

JOH FREDERSEN: I won't wait, I will leave!

NARRATOR: He wanted to do it, he wanted to leave. A trickle ran down his back. A quiet, faraway voice laughed.

JOH FREDERSEN: You should have your skull bashed in. If only it didn't contain such a precious brain.

ROTWANG: You can't do more to me than what you have already done to me.

JOH FREDERSEN: A brain like yours should be able to forget.

ROTWANG: Forget? Forget, what cost me my heart? I will forget nothing.

NARRATOR: The faraway voice was silent. Joh Fredersen spun around. A being stood before him. A woman, undoubtedly. But though it was woman, it was not human. The body as though it was made of crystal. Cold emenated from the glass skin.

ROTWANG: Be polite, my beautiful parody. [mocking] Greet Joh Fredersen, the master over Metropolis.

FUTURA: Good —— E—Ve—Ning, —— Joh —— Fre—Der—Sen. (plain text: Good evening, Joh Fredersen.)

NARRATOR: The being had no face; the neck bore only a clump of loosely formed mass. Eyes, as though painted onto closed lids, stared unseeing.

ROTWANG: Well done, my crown jewels.

NARRATOR: But in the same moment, the being lost its balance. It fell against Fredersen. He pushed it away from himself.

JOH FREDERSEN: W-What is that?!

ROTWANG: Tell him, Futura, Parody. Tell him who you are.

FUTURA: I —— Am —— A —— Wo—Man. —— An —— Il—Lu—Sion. —— Am — Flaw—Less. —— May—Be —— A —— Lit—Tle —— Cold. —— You —— Can —— Test —— It. —— Am —— Flaw—Less. —— A —— Lit—Tle —— Cold. (plain text: I am a woman. An Illusion. Am flawless. Maybe a little cold. You can test it. Am flawless. A little cold.)

JOH FREDERSEN: I ordered machine-humans from you, Rotwang, not playthings — not a woman!

ROTWANG: Not a plaything; I know, Joh Fredersen. I know. You and I, we... haven't 'played' for a long time. Not for anything anymore. Once... yes, once we have done it. Not a plaything, Joh Fredersen — a tool. Shall I show you, how obedient my creation is?

FUTURA: Flaw—Less—Ly —— O—Be—Di—Ent. (plain text: Flawlessly obedient.)

ROTWANG: Shall Futura dance in front of you? Shall she be chaste, or sassy? She can read too, our beauty. The mechanism of her brain is more infallible than yours.

JOH FREDERSEN: If that is so, then she may decipher this piece of paper for me. That's why I'm here.

ROTWANG: My beautiful parody, did you hear? You're supposed to decipher.

JOH FREDERSEN: Don't blather, Rotwang, speak! Do you know what it means? Then tell me.

ROTWANG: Nothing easier than that. [pause] A map. It's... a map. How did that end up in your hands. Of... the tomb city. Deep beneath the mole tunnels of your underground railway lies the thousand-year-old metropolis, of the thousand-year-old dead; the... necropolis.

JOH FREDERSEN: And what does this plan mean?

ROTWANG: That is what we need to find out. Come back again, tonight. [pause] But... in the garb of your workers. And now, beautiful parody, open the door for the master of Metropolis.

FREDER: Thank you... Father...

NARRATOR: People pushed their way towards him out of the red mist. He let go of the lever and collapsed. Arms snatched him up and led him away.

FREDER: Who is calling me? Who?

NARRATOR: 'She has called', he thought, half-asleep.

FREDER: She has called.

NARRATOR: 'Where are we?', he thought. 'Does the sun live in the navel of the earth?'

FREDER: I feel cold stones under my knees. I'm not sleeping then, I'm just dreaming.

NARRATOR: Then a voice rose out of a jumble of human heads.

FREDER: You're speaking...

NARRATOR: The voice spoke!

FREDER: You...

NARRATOR: But Freder did not hear the words.

FREDER: What are you saying?

MARIA: My brothers! Do you want to know how the building of the Tower of Babel began, and how it ended? I see a person from the dawn of the world. 'Come! Let us build a tower, friends!', he said. They recruited new friends, and the work grew! And they sent out messengers, to all four winds! And hands came, that worked for wages. But none of those who built southwards knew any of those who dug in the north. And the brain that had dreamed up the building was unknown to those that built it. Brain and hands were strangers to each other! A mediator is what the brain and hands need. A mediator! That mediator is the heart. Be patient; he will come! Soon. There are many among you who scream 'Fight! Destroy!', but believe me; one will come who will speak for you.

NARRATOR: When it had become quiet around her, Maria sighed and opened her eyes. That's when she saw a person who wore blue linen, the black cap. She bent down towards him. He lifted his head. They looked at each other. And then she recognized him.

MARIA: If you've come to us to betray us,—

FREDER: You...

MARIA: —son of Fredersen...

FREDER: What should I call you? I-I don't know your name. I have only ever called you 'You'. So please, tell me your name at last.

MARIA: Maria.

FREDER: It wasn't easy to find you.

MARIA: You were searching for me?

FREDER: I needed to come to you.

MARIA: The blue linen garb... You're wearing it for fun. Those who are condemned to wear it live deep beneath the city.

FREDER: Don't you want to understand me? Until yesterday, I knew nothing of hell. And nothing of longing. Everything was mine. But then, you came. Showed me my brothers. From that day on I have been searching for you.

NARRATOR: The girl stepped towards him. He no longer felt the stones under his feet, a surge carried him. Him and the girl.

FREDER: Maria... You have called me. Here I am.

NARRATOR: And the surge was fire.

NARRATOR: In a death chamber, shaped like a pointed ear, a man detached himself from the wall.

JOH FREDERSEN: You know what you have to do. You wanted me to give you the face of Futura. There you have your model.

ROTWANG: Is that an assignment?

JOH FREDERSEN: Yes. Give your phantom the face of that woman, for I want to sow discord.

ROTWANG: You want to become guilty of two people, Friend?

JOH FREDERSEN: What does it matter to you?

ROTWANG: It doesn't. Or... it does a little. Well, Freder is the son of Hel, after all.

JOH FREDERSEN: And my son. I do not want to lose him. I want those in the depths to put themselves at fault by committing acts of violence. I want the right use violence against them.

ROTWANG: [chuckles] Well then, my friend. Let it be done according to your will.

ROTWANG: You fool. You have lost Hel. Now you shall lose the last thing as well: your son.

NARRATOR: Was she mistaken, or was there someone walking behind her, through the darkness of the cemetery? Sneaking shoes on rough stones.

MARIA: [fearful] Freder? Freder, is that you?

NARRATOR: She tripped. The lamp dropped from her hands. She started running. Fear crept up inside of her. She ran, chased by feathery feet. She screamed, she ran. There! Stairs. And immediately behind her, a man. It was as though she was being extinguished.

FREDER: Ge-or-gi. I want to know where Georgi is.

JOSAPHAT: Georgi? I dont know any Georgi.

FREDER: I sent him to you.

JOSAPHAT: No one came to me, Mr. Freder. [pause] How did you get the clothes, if you don't mind...

NARRATOR: Josaphat's eyes were fixed on Freder's garb.

FREDER: Georgi wore them. I gave him mine.

JOSAPHAT: Was there any money in them, if you don't mind me asking?

FREDER: Yes.

JOSAPHAT: Then you shouldn't be surprised.

FREDER: You mean that—

JOSAPHAT: Yes, certainly. The Thin Man should already be on his way; I bet a thousand to one.

FREDER: He cannot find me!

JOSAPHAT: I have to tell you something, Mr. Freder: Joh Fredersen may let go whoever he wants, but his son, he won't let go. The Thin Man understands his trade.

FREDER: Still, I am determined to dare taking this path! And... I will walk down it, even though I don't know it yet.

JOSAPHAT: You already know, Mr. Freder, that everything I am and everything I have belongs to you.

FREDER: Oh... I wanted to help you. And now I can't, for in this hour, I am poorer than you.

JOSAPHAT: And if you were to confide in a friend?

FREDER: I don't have a friend. I had playmates, fun-mates, not friends. [pause] Josaphat, will you betray me?

JOSAPHAT: [shocked] God shall smite me.

FREDER: [sighs] I want to visit the mother of my father.

NARRATOR: A little while later, someone knocked on the door. The knocking repeated itself.

JOSAPHAT: Who's there?

NARRATOR: Josaphat didn't expect an answer. The Thin Man stood in the doorway. His clawing eyes scanned the room. There was a cap lying there. The sweat-soaked lining bore the number 11811.

THE THIN MAN: Where is Freder, Josaphat?

JOSAPHAT: I don't know. And even if I did know...

NARRATOR: The Thin Man smiled sleepily.

THE THIN MAN: If you'll allow?

NARRATOR: He walked up to an armchair.

THE THIN MAN: You... have a lovely home here. I can understand that you would have trouble giving up this flat.

JOSAPHAT: I have no such intention.

THE THIN MAN: No? Well, maybe not yet, but you will soon.

JOSAPHAT: What is that supposed to mean?

THE THIN MAN: I want you to tell me the price for you giving up this flat, Josaphat. The flat is lovely.

NARRATOR: The Thin Man reached into his pocket. Pulled out a bundle of bank notes.

THE THIN MAN: Is that enough?

JOSAPHAT: No. And now leave, before I throw you out.

NARRATOR: The Thin Man placed the third packet of banknotes on the table. Josaphat's reddened eyes bore into his.

THE THIN MAN: I have a cheque book here that has Joh Fredersen's blank signature on several pages.

NARRATOR: Freder went into the cathedral. He was searching for Maria, who wanted to wait for him at the stairs to the bell tower. He did not find her.

FREDER: Why are you leaving me alone?

NARRATOR: He went out of the cathedral like a man walking in sleep.

FREDER: Forehead to forehead... Mouth to mouth...

NARRATOR: He came past the sorcerer's house. He stopped there. Was he mad? There, Maria was standing behind the cloudy window panes. Those were her hands, stretched out towards him.

FREDER: Please open the door!

NARRATOR: He knocked, but the house remained silent.

FUTURA: [muffled] Freder! Freder!

FREDER: It's her voice...

FUTURA: [muffled] Freder!

NARRATOR: It was her voice. He forced his way into the house. Door after door.

FUTURA: [muffled] Come on! Here I am! Here!

NARRATOR: Nothing in the world could be sweeter than the sound of that beckoning, filled to overflowing with dark perfidy.

FREDER: Who are you?

FUTURA: [playful] Don't you know me?

FREDER: [emphasised] Who are you?!

FUTURA: Maria!

FREDER: You're not Maria!

FUTURA: Freder! [mocking] Please help me!

FREDER: Where are you?! Why don't you come to me?

FUTURA: I can't come! Beloved!

FREDER: Where are you?!

FUTURA: [playful] Search for me!

MARIA: Freder! Help me! For God's sake, please come! I don't know what's happening to me, my eyes are—!

FUTURA: Search for me, my love!

NARRATOR: Freder started running.

FUTURA: I'm here!

MARIA: [fearful] Freder!

FUTURA: Here I am!

NARRATOR: Rotwang had seen him fall. Freder lay surprisingly still. He resembled a dead man.

NARRATOR: Rotwang found her like he always found her. Nothing about her alive. Except for her eyes, but they saw past him.

ROTWANG: Don't you want to smile just once? Don't you want to cry just once? I need both. Otherwise you'll make me a bungler at my work.

NARRATOR: He had spoken into deaf air.

ROTWANG: You poor children... Taking up the fight against Joh Fredersen... What will you do, Maria, when he tells you, 'Give me my son back'?

NARRATOR: The girl sat there like a stone statue. Unmoving.

ROTWANG: He will pay you any price.

NARRATOR: Like a stone statue.

ROTWANG: Have you forgotten the Club of Sons, Maria? There are hundreds of women there. And they're all his. They can all tell you about his love. On the day of his wedding, the son of Joh Fredersen will have forgotten you.

NARRATOR: He threw the door shut, looked at the being made of glass and metal, which, almost complete, bore the head of Maria.

ROTWANG: Can I give you the smile that makes the angels fall into hell, full of lust?

NARRATOR: When Freder regained consciousness, there was a dull brightness around him. He stared at the ceiling, which was black. He stared against walls, grey-cold. There was a window. In front of it was a road. Maria was walking down there! She didn't hear him. He hurled a stool against the door, pushed, tore, broke, until it splintered.

FREDER: That's not me who's running there... As though I was running next to myself...

NARRATOR: But he ran. Ran to his father.

FREDER: Where is he?! Where is my father?

NARRATOR: Stairs, and always stairs.

FREDER: Where?!

NARRATOR: They pointed to a door, behind it a second one. He heard voices. He listened. Pushed it open. There was a man standing there. He held a woman in his arms. Maria! Leaning far back in his arms, she offered him her mouth. He looked the man in the eye. It was his father. He saw the hands gripping his father's neck. They were his hands. The hands of the son. The hands released. He stammered.

JOH FREDERSEN: What... is the matter with you, my son? What's wrong?

FREDER: Where is she, Father?!

JOH FREDERSEN: Who? Who are you looking for?

FREDER: She! Who was here!

JOH FREDER: No one was here, Freder! No one!

FREDER: What are you saying?

JOH FREDERSEN: There was no one here. Except for you and me.

FREDER: Did I not see you holding Maria in your arms?

JOH FREDERSEN: [sighs] You're ill, Freder.

NARRATOR: He doubled over, threw himself into an armchair, screamed.

NARRATOR: No matter how often Josaphat tried to break through the wall that had been built around Freder over the next few days, there was always a strange person standing there, telling him with an expressionless face, 'Mr. Freder cannot receive anyone, Mr. Freder is ill.'

NARRATOR: Freder was not ill however.

NARRATOR: Lying on the roof of the house, opposite of Freder's flat, Josaphat watched the person he had betrayed. He had visitors from time to time. His father had come once too. He spoke to him. For a long time. He did not receive an answer.

FREDER: Nine-ty-nine... se-ven, se-ven...

NARRATOR: Freder stood on the balcony, his hands resting on the balustrade. Unconsciously, his eyes caught numbers. They glowed. They faded. A voice in his head made itself heard.

FREDER: Ninety-ninth block... House seven, seventh floor.

NARRATOR: A man stood in the pale light. Over there, on the roof of the house.

NARRATOR: It wasn't easy, but he managed.

JOSAPHAT: I have betrayed you, Freder. The Thin Man came to me. Joh Fredersen's name was written on the cheques.

FREDER: Calm down.

NARRATOR: And they told each other everything.

FREDER: I must've gone insane, Josaphat! I tried to strangle my father. But he forgave me. He came to my bed. I had my eyes closed. I laid completely still. Only the weeping of my soul could be heard. I felt my father's hand stroke over my pillow. He forgave me.

NARRATOR: Joh Fredersens mother had only one son. She had loved him with all her heart. But she had had to watch his machine-titans crush humans as though they were dry wood. She had screamed to God, but He did not hear her. She fell to the ground and never stood up again. Only the head and hands had remained alive on the crippled body. Head and hands.

JOH FREDERSEN: How are you, Mother?

FREDERSEN'S MOTHER: What do you want, Joh?

JOH FREDERSEN: I need your advice.

FREDERSEN'S MOTHER: What advice should I give you? You have gone down a path that I cannot follow you on. Would you listen to me if I told you, 'Turn back'?

JOH FREDERSEN: It's about Freder.

FREDERSEN'S MOTHER: What's the matter with him?

JOH FREDERSEN: Freder comes to see you often, doesn't he? He's seeking help from you. Against me.

FREDERSEN'S MOTHER: Does he need it?

JOH FREDERSEN: I have lost Hel. Freder must not be lost to me as well.

FREDERSEN'S MOTHER: Do you need to fear losing him? When he was with me recently, he was healthy. Like a blooming tree.

JOH FREDERSEN: I don't know how this girl came into his life, how she was able to gain so much power over him.

FREDERSEN'S MOTHER: If you came to me for the sake of this matter, you could have saved yourself the trip. You know that best.

JOH FREDERSEN: You can't make that comparison, Mother. Freder is still a boy.

FREDERSEN'S MOTHER: Do you remember what you said to me back then, when I tried to hinder you on your way to Hel, the wife of your friend? Do you remember it? 'If I were blinded, I would see her still. If I were crippled, I would find my way to her.' [sighs] Freder is your son. What do you think he would say to you if you told him, 'Leave the girl you love'?

JOH FREDERSEN: I need to have my son back.

FREDERSEN'S MOTHER: What man sows...

JOH FREDERSEN: Who are you crying for, Mother?

FREDERSEN'S MOTHER: For you. For you both.

ROTWANG: I'm not holding you captive for myself. [pause] You're staying silent. Now, however, I will tell you something that will break your defiance: do you think Joh Fredersen knows no other way to get you out of his son's eye? Oh, no, Maria, oh, no! We have stolen your soul. I have eavesdropped on you like the air eavesdropped on you. I have stolen your self from you completely and utterly. We have sent this stolen self to your brothers. It called them. And they came. They all came. The difference to the past, however, is that Joh Fredersen does not want peace, he is seeking a judgement. Your stolen self is not allowed to speak for peace anymore. [pause] Give me your hands. Just your hands. [pause] If you give them to me, just once, then I'll go to the city of the dead with you. So that the one that loves you can find you again... And doesn't have to go insane because of you.

NARRATOR: But at that moment, the hands of Joh Fredersen gripped Rotwang's neck.

NARRATOR: Yes, that was her voice. Freder stood at the back of the chamber. His eyes hung on her blood-red mouth as if it were the centre of the world.

FUTURA: My brothers!

NARRATOR: It's her voice, no doubt about it.

FUTURA: Which is more delicious? Water or wine? Who is drinking the water? Us. Who is drinking the wine? The masters! Which is more delicious to wear? Blue linen or white silk? Who is wearing blue linen? Us. Who is wearing white silk? The sons of the masters! Where do you live more deliciously? On or beneath the earth? Who is living beneath the earth? Us! Who is living on the earth? The masters of the machines! What do your women do? They starve. What do the women of the masters do? They revel! Turn the world around! Turn it on its head! You have waited long enough!

NARRATOR: The girl's blood-red mouth blazed.

FUTURA: Come! Come! I want to lead you! I want to dance the dance of death before you!

FREDER: You're not Maria!

NARRATOR: Who shouted that?

FREDER: You're not Maria! No, Maria speaks for peace, not for murder!

NARRATOR: The blood-red mouth blazed.

FUTURA: Well, well, look at that. The son of Joh Fredersen. [louder] The son of Jih Fredersen is among you!

NARRATOR: The crowd screamed.

FUTURA: Dog in white-silk fur! We have passed judgement upon the machines! [pause] Death to the machines! Death! To! The! Machines!

NARRATOR: The girl danced on the shoulders of the crowd. And sang.

NARRATOR: The room that enclosed Maria seemed to fill with a dull throbbing. It deafened the ears. It was her own heartbeat.

MARIA: Dear God, I'm begging you, stay with me. Just stay with me!

NARRATOR: There was something lying there, something dark, still: a person — Rotwang. At the edge of the trapdoor. She pushed the body aside, ran into the city of the dead. It was boiling down there. The crowd sang.

FUTURA: [chanting] We have passed judge-ment up-on the ma-chines! Death to the ma-chines! Death to the ma-chines!

NARRATOR: 'Destroy! Destroy!', the crowd roared.

FUTURA: Death to the ma-chines! Death to the machines!

NARRATOR: The heart of the machine-city Metropolis lived inside of a white dome. This is where the crowd headed. This machine was a universum onto itself. There wasn't a machine in the whole of Metropolis that didn't receive its power from this heart.

FUTURA: Death to the ma-chines! Death to the ma-chines!

NARRATOR: This heart was guarded by one single man. His name was Grot, and he loved this machine. His machine.

JOH FREDERSEN: [muffled] Grot! It's me! Joh Fredersen! Open the gates! Give it up! Give the machine up!

NARRATOR: Grot didn't want to believe it at first. He demanded the password. He needed to hear it. They tore at the bolts, the gates opened. 'Death to the machine!', the crowd roared. 'Death to the machine!'

FREDER: Father!

JOH FREDERSEN: Yes?

FREDER: Where are you?

JOH FREDERSEN: I am here. What do you want?

FREDER: The machine's lever, it's set to twelve! Where are you?!

JOH FREDERSEN: Here.

FREDER: But I can't see you! Your city is sinking, do you understand?! The machines have come alive! They're tearing Metropolis to shreds! Explosions upon explosion, just why?! Why are you letting this happen?

JOH FREDERSEN: Because death is upon the city according to my will.

FREDER: According to your will?

JOH FREDERSEN: Metropolis is meant to die.

FREDER: But, why?

JOH FREDERSEN: Don't you understand? The city is meant to sink so that you can build it up again.

FREDER: Me?

JOH FREDERSEN: It is happening according to my will.

FREDER: And what about those, Father, who die? With your dying city?

JOH FREDERSEN: Take care of the living, Freder. The living.

FREDER: Death is upon the city...

MARIA: Death is upon the city.

NARRATOR: Death is upon the city.

FUTURA: We want to watch the world go to the devil.

FREDER: [overlapping] Death... is upon the city...

MARIA: [overlapping] Death is upon the city.

FREDER: [overlapping] Death is upon the city.

NARRATOR: [overlapping] Death is upon the city.

FREDER: [overlapping] Death is upon the city.

MARIA: [overlapping] Death is upon the city.

NARRATOR: [overlapping] Death is upon the city.

FREDER: [overlapping] Death is upon the city.

FUTURA: [overlapping] We want to watch the world go to the devil.

FUTURA: [overlapping] We want to watch the world go to the devil.

MARIA: [overlapping] Death is upon the city.

FUTURA: [overlapping] We want to watch the world go to the devil.

FUTURA: [overlapping] We want to watch the world go to the devil.

FREDER: Death is upon the city.

NARRATOR: Death was upon the city. The red day streamed* down onto the street then, wailing was in the air, the glow of flames, screams of fear and of horror. And the surge was fire. The blood sang.

MARIA: Much has happened since then, Freder. I felt as though I heard a spring rushing. Heavy with tears and red with blood.

FREDER: I've heard it rushing too.

MARIA: It's still rushing. Do you hear? It's rushing.

FREDER: Give me your hands. [pause] [emphasised] Give me your hands.

***

Metropolis.

From Thea von Harbou and Fritz Lang.

Adaptation: Michael Farin.

Narrator: Peter Fricke.

Freder: Jan Neumann.

Maria: Jule Ronstedt.

Joh Fredersen: Joachim Höppner.

Fredersen's Mother: Helga Roloff.

Rotwang: Werner Haindl.

The Thin Man: Jens Harzer.

Josaphat: Heiko Raulin.

Music: Laar, zeitblom.

Sound and Engineering: Willfred Hauer and Susanne Herzig.

Assistant Director: Anja Scheifinger.

Direction: Berhard Jugel.

Production: Bavarian Radio Broadcasting, 2001.

*I'm not fully confident I could properly make out what was being said here, so this line may be wrong

#my favorite thing about this adaptation is how much of a mentally ill freak freder is #i wanna study him under a microscope #anyway please tell me what you think about this audiodrama im dying to talk about it #metropolis 1927 #translation tag