mondojohnson

The best film about filmmaking since Hearts of Darkness (about the making of Apocalypse Now)…..

This film documents the passionate monomania of Werner Herzog’s production of Fitzcarraldo (amazing film … reviewed elsewhere). As in all “making of…” films, we are shown the Murphy’s Law of moviemaking, in this case exacerbated by the dense jungle location, local political strife, and Herzog’s exacting vision.

We also get to see the discarded footage with the original cast: Jason Robards as Fitzcarraldo and Mick Jagger as his actor pal (a character that got dropped in the final version). (Robards got dysentery and Jagger had to embark on the Stones’ 1981 tour — a fond, drunken memory of mine… but I digress). It’s a good thing that Mick wound up on the cutting room floor — sorry, Mick, you’re not much of an actor Robards would have been good, but I honestly can’t imagine the film without Klaus Kinski’s deranged Teutonic looks.

One of the best moments in the film is Herzog in a full rant about fighting the jungle. He reaches poetry as he rails about the “obscenity” of nature, its relentless fecundity and brutality. This reminded me of his narration in Grizzly Man… nature is carnivorous and impersonal.

The DVD has an excellent bonus: Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe, by the same director. It records Herzog making good on his promise to Errol Morris that he would eat his shoe if Morris ever completed a feature-length film. (The Errol Morris film in question was Gates of Heaven.)

Continuing my Werner Herzog kick with this masterpiece.

Fitzcarraldo (Klaus Kinski) is an eccentric obsessive living in Peru in the early 20th century. He dreams of bringing the opera to the jungle, and to finance his scheme he embarks on a steamboat adventure to lay claim to a wild patch of forest.

He envisions a new trading route, and blazes its trail by dragging his entire ship over an overgrown hill. His original crew having abandoned him, he enlists the help of the indigenous people, who really throw themselves into it.

As in his other films, Herzog portrays the Indians with reverence. They are not dimwitted savages cowed by the invaders: they are a highly functional and beautiful culture. (“They don’t think that we’re gods,” the Peruvian cook tells Fitzcarraldo. “They are fascinated with the ship, though.”)

Major props to Anchor Bay, who released this DVD (as well as Aguirre..). The print is flawless, providing a hauntingly lush visual experience.

I often load up my Blockbuster DVD queue in a frenzy, adding dozens of titles at a time. A consequence of this is my occasional confusion when certain DVDs arrive: “why the hell did I want to see this?…”

2000 Years of Christianity, Episode 9 was such an occasion. I had honestly forgotten why I wanted to see this one specific episode of a religious documentary. My confusion was happily brushed aside when I saw the “directed by…” credit: episode 9, “God and the Burdened”, was directed by my man Werner Herzog. 

It explores the Christianity of the people of Guatemala. Why does the religion of the conquistadores continue to resonate with the native Indian population? Without a word of narration, we are given a clue in the opening sequence. A strange, spooky technicolor parade depicting the stations of the cross is intercut with footage of stooped peasants carrying huge burdens with steady dignity.

The history of the Spanish invasion and Aztec genocide are shown through the sole surviving indigenous account. Called the “codex,” it depicts this history using brightly colored illustrations. It describes the conquistadores as godlike, and recall the astonishment the Aztecs felt beholding European technology. From here the story is familiar: a relatively tiny number of Spainards essentially destroyed an entire civilization (read Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs and Steel for a good overview).

We are then shown elaborate rituals conducted within the chapel of San Simon. These reveal that Christianity adapted itself to the native religion — rather than the other way around, as happened in Europe. There is an intense use of tobacco and burnt offerings to “Maxcimon”, who is depicted as a farmer. Christianity’s actual Saint Simon is relegated to a glass box in the corner.

We are discouraged, however, from concluded that the people are practicing some kind of “stealth paganism” in order to deny Christianity. They have truly synthesized the two, as we learn while listening to a passionate sermon at the final stage of the cross. As the mannequin of Jesus is being ceremonially removed from the cross, the speaker recalls the most famous of all last words: “My God, why have you forsaken me?” He said that remembering these words would ennoble their suffering: even the Son of God felt deep despair and abandonment (I’m paraphrasing very clumsily).

In the end we are reminded again of the Guatemalan’s sturdy endurance, and are warned not to simplify or dismiss anything so personal as faith. A good point, especially for an incessantly crabby atheist like myself. All this in 44 minutes. Absolutely brilliant Herzog… it would make a great double bill with Aguirre: Wrath of God. My only complaint is that Herzog did not do the narration himself: the words were so clearly his that I longed to hear his broken English baritone saying them.

It has only been in the last couple of years that I have discovered Werner Herzog. He has definitely landed a place in my top 10 filmmakers list (for whatever that’s worth). Since seeing Grizzly Man a while back, I have been ordering Herzog’s catalog from Blockbuster; and each new film I see only increases my admiration.

Even Dwarfs Started Small takes place in a fevery alternate reality, in the same way that Cronenberg & Lynch films do. It is the story of a band of little people who have anarchically taken over their “institution” (a mental hospital?), which seems sandblasted and remote, miles from anywhere. Mangy barnyard animals roam around, and whatever plant life there is seems either sunbaked or dead.

The little people (there are no “big” ones in the film, by the way) have imprisoned the “president” in an office, where he in turn has imprisoned “Pepe”, who is tied to a chair. Pepe never talks, he only looks up to the skylight and laughs.

In fact, laughter is the main soundtrack of the film — but it is far from joyful. It is the maniacal laughter of a mob, made all the more disturbing by its unusual pitch (despite the title, the cast are not dwarves: they are Munchkin-like midgets, with that strange helium voice). The laughter is also mostly forced, which Herzog doesn’t conceal. The final shot of the film shows “Hombre” laughing and flailing his arms at a kneeling camel. He abruptly interrupts this laughter on occasion to cough into his sleeve, after which he resumes the insane guffawing. It is this image more than any others that has haunted me.

I read in the DVD notes that Herzog made this film after having been imprisoned in Cameroon (or somewhere — don’t quote me). He said that Even Dwarfs… was meant to convey the odd essence of that experience. He also said that it remains his most disturbing film (and he’s not kidding).

Not for everyone — kinda film-schooly — but right up my alley.