As we grapple with horrific instances of violence, the media is always there to run coverage. It might be a continuous 24-hour news cycle. It might be a book, docuseries, or podcast of the week. Whatever a public’s obsession, there will most certainly be material to satisfy the hunger. Two films that have pierced this psychic barrier between audience and morbid subject matter are Fritz Lang’s M (1931) and Sebastián Cordero’s Crónicas (2004). Made generations apart, and beyond the cold comfort of the borders surrounding the United States, these films share a frequency. Both are about the hunt for a serial killer and the ensuing madness that consumes their respective communities. Looking at them side-by-side, it’s remarkable to see how both filmmakers distill the dread of their own eras and come away with profound revelations.
M takes place in Berlin where, despite an exhausting search, police have failed to get a lead on Hans Beckert (Peter Lorre): a child killer who taunts authorities through letters sent to news publications. Subsequent raids on nightclubs visited by figures of the city’s underbelly inspire a vigilante squad to bring the killer to justice. Led by an infamous criminal known as “The Safecracker” (Gustaf Grundgens), the squad enlists the help of various homeless men to take the streets without arousing suspicion. Eventually, Beckert is cornered in an office building and taken to an abandoned distillery where he faces a kangaroo court of grieving mothers and concerned residents. In the end, the police catch up before he is “sentenced” to death and the film closes on one of the mothers (Ellen Widmann) outside the court where Beckert is on trial, urging the audience: “One has to keep closer watch over the children. All of you.”
Often cited as the progenitor of film noir and critical in the development of police procedurals, M is a challenging film that goes toe-to-toe with the best of its kind. Much of its longevity has to do with Lang’s robust writing and filmmaking style, which he would later export to Hollywood after fleeing Nazi rule (to which his then-wife and co-writer Thea Von Harbou remained loyal). Credit is also due to Lorre, whose confessional monologue defines the character’s pathology and denounces the absurdity of being captured at the hands of a criminal who himself is wanted for several murders. Though it has been speculated that Beckert is based on Peter Kurten –“The Vampire of Dusseldorf”– Lang himself does not ascribe the subject matter of the film to a single killer. The film, instead, is constructed on the state’s inability to properly address the harm being done to its people. A fictional exercise in documenting the growing tensions rising throughout Germany at the time, it eerily depicts the hysteria surrounding Beckert’s crimes as a catalyst for the dissolution of civil rights and exposes the violent attitudes of an impressionable public.
The film leaves no stone unturned in its assessment. People of every class strata jump at each other’s throats with accusatory remarks while the police consider abusing their power to search for Beckert in every home possible. The efforts of authority figures and criminals come together serendipitously to fan out the killer, but unknown variables persist. Even though Beckert is finally given a trial by the state, the viewer is left suspended. There is no closure for the families of his victims. One of the biggest qualms of the public is whether he can ever be rehabilitated and why they should be burdened with that ambiguity if he should be acquitted. There is no answer for what a functional justice system even looks like. Lang forces us to parse our own feelings about desperation in the presence of terror and the corruption within.
Crónicas is set in the Ecuadorian village of Babahoyo and centers the exploits of Manolo Bonilla (John Leguizamo), a TV journalist who covers the unfolding story of child killer Vinicio Cepeda (Damián Alcázar). What results is a game of manipulation as Vinicio admits his crimes to Manolo off camera and the two men struggle against one another for command of the narrative. Whilst Vinicio serves prison time for killing a child in plain sight, Manolo races to find concrete evidence of his involvement in the killing of several others. Forgoing the involvement of the authorities in Babahoyo, Manolo uses these tragedies to build hype around Vinicio through his program, One Hour With The Truth, before exposing him. Ironically, this hype backfires when a rehabilitative segment on Vinicio airs instead. Influenced by popular demand, Vinicio is immediately released from prison and disappears. As the film ends, Manolo is left soaking in his newfound popularity after the success of the segment, with the killings still unresolved.
Building on the milieu of societal corruption established by M, Cordero takes the conversation farther into the mass media stratosphere. By taking aim at the cult of personality of child killers across the Andes in the ‘80s and ‘90s, Cordero addresses the conflict of giving a serial killer a national platform. The filmmaker uses Luis Garavito as a case study to develop Vinicio. Known as “La Bestia,” Garavito is believed to have raped and murdered up to 300 children. In a behind-the-scenes interview during the shoot for Crónicas, Cordero explains that the killer’s unnerving sway with family members and neighbors helped him conceive of Vinicio. The character is thus shaped by deception. Exploring the allure of a figure who gains a reputation in his community as a trustworthy man, Alcázar gives a layered performance that helps sell the character. Maintaining calm and pious, even under the most excruciating circumstances in prison, Vinicio is constantly presenting fabricated versions of himself to the world. To his wife, he is a loving husband. To his step-son, he is a more important figure than his biological father. What is unsettling about Vinicio is that he is so skillfully evasive, there is no point in unraveling. Even to Manolo, he is both an unassuming bible salesman and an alter ego invented to confess his sins. While the journalist sees potential revenue in this duality, it isn’t long before he loses the upper hand.
In M, Lang questions the dire sociological factors in Berlin that make Hans Beckert a killer but Crónicas challenges the social apparatus that cements a killer’s status as a celebrity. Garavito has sanitized his actions in the eyes of a national media behind bars in Colombia. He even expressed interest in being a public servant where, if released, his work would center on the well-being of children. If that sounds chilling, it’s because giving a child killer airtime to work on his image represents the harmful cynicism of sensational news coverage. Cordero approaches this scenario in fiction by giving Vinicio a foil whose worst instincts he can easily take advantage of. Manolo operates with similar methodical cruelty, masking self-interest with activism. After Vinicio runs over a child in Babahoyo and is beaten and burned for it, Manolo uses this opportunity to create a martyr. Vinicio’s confessions to him in prison are startling in clarity (much like Beckert’s), giving the journalist the angle he needs to push his story further. The goal of garnering high ratings for One Hour With The Truth becomes the sole impetus for Manolo’s quixotic investigation.
Manolo is able to capitalize on the distrust of police from the residents of Babahoyo, only to betray them. He is given a break by the killer: the location of the gravesite of a missing nine-year-old girl. In a scene bathed in shadows, Manolo is visually invited to the depths of hell as he accepts this lead. He enters a point of no return by uncovering the girl’s body in the hopes of using her to expose Vinicio. This is the film’s lowest point, meeting both characters in a pit of their own making. Unlike M, the symbiotic relationship between two morally dubious forces results in further obscurity. Given the chance to come clean to the authorities, and perhaps broadening their chances of catching Vinicio, Manolo chooses silence. Although he is visibly shaken by the implications of Vinicio’s escape in the final moments of the film, the killer is Manolo’s only real obstacle. Facing a truth that would solely blow back on him, Manolo takes the path of least resistance and upholds the ruse. Throughout South America, a segment clearing Vinicio’s name and image is broadcasted to wide acclaim. Here, the news media is not only crass, but it also creates further discord in the neglected village. The most vital and innocent voices are ultimately suffocated under the brutal palm of exploitation, leaving the wound of a community open to rot. Without any real opposition, Vinicio bets on himself and wins.
Where M asks viewers to contemplate the very nature of justice, Crónicas transfers Manolo’s responsibility directly onto its audience. In conversation with one another, these films unpack the most disturbing aspects of what makes stories about killers intriguing. Along the way, they unearth a few skeletons. Neither film takes pity on the viewer by comforting them with a neat conclusion, but it should also be said that both films are expertly crafted forms of entertainment. Their substance is directly linked to what makes a compelling film. Lang, already a titan of German cinema in the ‘30s, knew how to provoke a viewership en masse with a sharp political edge. Cordero, working within the genre Lang helped to define, fuses the expressionism of film noir with the immediacy of neorealism to deliver an impactful sophomore effort. Each filmmaker is invested in a kind of storytelling that invites engagement on themes that are otherwise unapproachable. And we are all the better for diving in.
