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Joaquin Phoenix as Joker in "The Joker"

Fritz Lang, 1931. Hard to communicate what a leap this film is. I had no idea we had entered the talkie era, so that was already a huge shift. But the inventive camera work, the superb acting of Peter Lorre, the bone-chilling story, and the little disconcerting details all made it feel like the first modern film. And it was modern in more ways than one.

I was floored watching the bloodthirsty crowd of career criminals roll their eyes at the idea of rehabilitation while angrily predicting he would be released back into society only to kill again. The delicious irony of the underworld denouncing liberal crime policies was part of it, but there was also the unsetting recognition this argument is still being had a hundred years later. I was like Leo pointing to to the TV in Once Upon A Time In Hollywood. “Hey, that’s New York City!” Let’s hope it turns out a bit better than it did in Berlin.

And then there’s the ending, which essentially punts on the moral quagmire of how to treat the most evil guy in town (you know the type, he’s actively kidnapping the young children so he can rape and murder them). The ending scene (which shrank to a small window in the top right corner of my screen before it concluded because streaming classic movies on platforms like Max is often a nauseating experience) amounted to essentially “keep a close eye on the children” which is a message everyone can get behind, but doesn’t really answer the question. And I’m not someone who’s looking for art to give me answers, but it felt a little convenient to leave us without a resolution to his story. Did society deem him redeemable? Did they eliminate him? We don’t know. Protect the kids!

And I guess that’s all you can do to guard against the perpetual advent of demented perverts. Why they do what they do and how you prevent it from ever occurring in the first place is the real question, but I’m not holding my breath for an answer. And with Lang’s ending, I don’t think he was either.