1983: The Electronic Metropolis
Let’s get back to Ted.
To fill in the final three minutes of his
Ah. Time to do more research. When did Bravo present Metropolis?
Answer: October
1986!
Ted stitched the Bravo ending to the tail of his KCET recording. Here is the result:
Just now, I made a discovery, and it knocked the wind out of me.
Since I started scribbling this Metropolis essay at about the beginning of 2023,
I have begun collecting various video editions of the movie, as well as whatever Janus Films catalogues I can find on eBay.
I just received the 1984 catalogue, THE CLASSIC COLLECTION:
A joint distribution venture of Janus Films and Films Incorporated, Third Edition.
Inside is a listing for The Electronic Metropolis.
Behold:
We see that Brandon Films sublicensed this edition to Janus Films and Films, Inc.
Or was it Janus Films that sublicensed this edition to Brandon Films and Films, Inc.?
The 126-minute audio would play properly at 20fps, but what 16mm projector can run at 20fps?
So it was played at 24fps, always, everywhere.
The Janus/FI catalogue supplies a running time of (approximately) 93 minutes, but that was for the previous Associated British edition,
which had been surrendered by this time.
The Electronic Metropolis was about 105 minutes at 24fps.
Oh my, what a mess!
You want to know why?
I’ll tell you why, because I’ve lived through this narrative countless times.
The boss, who has never seen a single movie in the Janus catalogue and who never will,
orders a grunt, “Get me a running time on Metropolis.”
The grunt pulls out an old 35mm print that is about to be returned to the license holder,
and he knows enough from experience to guesstimate and report back,
“About 93 minutes.”
And that’s what goes into the catalogue.
Nobody bothers to check the new edition against the old edition.
If somebody does mention to the boss that “The new edition is eleven minutes longer than the old edition,”
the boss will have one of two reactions, either, “Clear out your desk and get out of here,”
or, “Who cares?”
No matter where you work, the most surefire way of getting canned
is to hold a sincere commitment to the company’s mission statement.
That’s a terminable offense.
The catalogue, by the way, is
Ted made yet another discovery:
The Jahnke/Fitzwater/Davies edition of Metropolis had been issued on VHS after all!
Alas, it was not so simple.
This was not a VHS cassette that you could purchase from your neighborhood video shop.
There was a problem, a huge, huge problem.
Anyway, he helpfully referred us to a pair of OCLC listings as they appear on WorldCat:
The running time is approximate and was less than 107 minutes and certainly less than 120 minutes.
It had to have been 105 minutes plus some extra time for logos and copyright notices and the FBI warning.
Now, do you see a teensy problemette with those OCLC listings?
They list 1,185 + 229 libraries that have some sort of video of Metropolis,
but those listings include all 135 + 62 editions,
but how do we find the Voyager edition?
Needle in a haystack.
Well, a librarian just taught me a trick.
Then, when I got home, I accidentally discovered another trick.
OCLC item # 18542569: UCI University of California at Irvine, Multimedia Resources Center (MRC), Irvine, CA 92623,
OCLC item # 18542569: Manhattanville College Library, 2900 Purchase St, Purchase, NY 10577,
OCLC item # 1325403620: Enoch Pratt Free Library, 400 Cathedral St, Baltimore, MD 21201,
Just found two images on eBay that are of some interest.
Let’s look first at a front cover:
Yes, this is what the hard-black-plastic Voyager VHS shells all looked like,
with that plain black background and images along the right side.
They were bigger than what you would expect, with lots of extra room on the inside.
Do you see what I see?
It should be screaming at you.
Let’s enlarge a detail:
That’s blurry. Let me type it out for you:
Not for retail sale or home video sale or rental
Distributed with Non-Theatrical and Public Performance Rights by The Voyager Company a joint venture of Janus Films and Voyager Press
Now isn’t that interesting?
No wonder I so seldom ran across these Voyager Company VHS tapes!
It’s going to be almost impossible to find one of these.
Now, there was a fellow who called himself festofspirit
who, in 2013, put up an auction of his
“JANUS FILM COLLECTION - with PUBLIC PERFORMANCE RIGHTS:
Now let’s turn that VHS box over:
The covers were photographed out of focus, and the writing on the back is difficult to make out,
but, yes, I can detect Metropolis in there.
It took me a long time, but I was eventually able to read through the blurs:
So, there we go!
(Very strange, because four of those were never Janus titles, as far as I knew.
Well, learn sumpn every day.
I italicized the titles that I am surprised to see here.)
The Voyager VHS edition was not something you could pick up at your local video shop.
Nope.
It was available only to professionals, only as part of a package, and it was not for home use.
As you saw from the composite clip above,
the end credits proclaim A BRANDON FILMS RELEASE,
and the 1983 copyright is attributed to both the BBC and Janus Films.
Zo, let’s explore Brandon Films.
Yes, this was the Brandon Films that for a while was part of Macmillan-Audio-Brandon Films.
What probably happened was that Brandon, upon learning that Janus had just lost its rights to Metropolis,
discovered that English-speaking-American 16mm rights to the Eckart Jahnke edition
were available from the Frankfurt-based Deutsches Institut für Filmkunde (DIF).
According to Enno Patalas (Minden/Bachmann, p. 112),
“In the seventies, the Deutsches Institut für Filmkunde (The German Institute
for Film Studies) distributed a copy of this version that had accidentally
been made using sound film stock.”
Either this was mistranslated or Enno didn’t proofread well enough.
Being printed onto sound film stock is not the issue.
The issue is being printed through a sound-film aperture.
The left side went missing.
Indeed, Janus received a 35mm print on Russian stock with the left side lopped off.
If the left side is missing on the 35mm submaster, then the height will also go missing when it is reduced to 16mm.
I wonder if this is what was shown on German television.
Just had another epiphany.
I bet that the DIF at first offered beautifully made full-aperture silent 35mm prints.
Then, after BBC2 surrendered its audio accompaniment,
the tape made its way back to East Germany,
which shot it off to Russia to marry it to a dupe neg.
Soviet bureaucracy was enough to demoralize anybody, and so the job was carelessly done.
The DIF must have purchased a few prints of that to ship out to cinemas that preferred to have an audiotrack.
I bet that’s what happened.
And I bet that the edition shown on ZDF television was this lousy new Russian print.
Whatever became of that Fitzwater/Davies audio master? Does anybody know?
Anyway, what Enno Patalas recalled probably answers one of my principal questions, a question of cosmic importance:
Where did BBC2 get Metropolis?
Almost certainly from the DIF.
Somehow, the DIF had in its collection the BBC2’s electronic audiotrack.
My guess is that a stipulation of the contract is that the DIF would earn that soundtrack once BBC2’s license expired.
Armed with the
Nobody apart from a few sound technicians understood that the accompanying soundtrack was designed to fit a 20fps showing, not 24fps.
The sound technicians, being mere sound technicians, did not have the ear of any of the executives.
The sound technicians, being mere sound technicians, had no interest in conveying this information, because they didn’t care;
they were just performing a job to earn a biweekly paycheck.
The sound technicians, being mere sound technicians, understood perfectly that had they made any mention of this,
they would have been fired for insubordination.
On the
Now you know why the image and the sound were so utterly ruined.
Only after you have lived through such experiences repeatedly, for decades, can you read between the lines and detect this story.
This between-the-lines background story is not merely obvious, it is screamingly, painfully, agonizingly obvious.
If you have never worked in the technical end of movies, you will be convinced that my summary is a load of codswallop,
invented by a paranoid mind, absent any evidence.
If you have ever worked in the technical end of movies, you will recognize that my summary is exact.
Upon signing its contract with Brandon,
the DIF paid the Russian lab to run off a handful of prints and shipped those prints to Brandon.
Brandon had a standing contract with Janus, and Janus wanted to put the film back into its catalogue.
Nobody at Brandon or at Janus ever bothered to watch, inspect, or even
Just like they say: Do what you love, and the money will follow.
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