Tag: werner herzog

Film by Ezekiel Yu
Read More
A shot from Werner Herzog's "Fitzcarraldo," depicting Klaus Kinski staring over a mountain, as reviewed by poet and film critic Ezekiel Yu.

What the Gods Want: On Werner Herzog’s “Fitzcarraldo” (1982)

Werner Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo is one of those works that are forced into greatness seemingly by sheer intensity of vision alone—if one can succeed in doing what Herzog determined to do, and haul a 320-ton steamboat up an Amazonian hillside, then one figures everything else ought to fall into place easily enough.

It’s a hyperbolic statement, to be sure, but with Herzog, what isn’t? This is a man whose pursuit of art is marked by such a dogged unwillingness to compromise that, when merged with his own idiosyncratic philosophical bugbears, his films can attain to a kind of ecstatic revelation in their peak moments; imperfect though they may sometimes be (usually as a result of some technical defect), these moments are uniquely “Herzogian,” and the ability to create a niche, an imagistic and/or narrative style uniquely one’s own, in a narrative medium without sacrificing one’s responsibilities to story, character, plot, etc., is one of the hallmarks of a truly permanent artist.

But it is also true that Fitzcarraldo would be significantly diminished, Herzog or not, if its title character had not been portrayed—possessed, even—by an actor of Klaus Kinski’s caliber. Yes, he was by all accounts an extremely difficult personality to work with, but to harp on his offscreen temperament and misdeeds, however nontrivial, would be to detract from the wonderful range Kinski expresses as maverick entrepreneur and opera fanatic Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald, colloquially known to his friends and associates as Fitzcarraldo. […]

Film by Ezekiel Yu
Read More
A scene from Robert Eggers's "Nosferatu" (2024), depicting vampire hunters running through a cemetery with crosses.

New Hands, Same Stakes: On Robert Eggers’s “Nosferatu” (2024)

The only Robert Eggers I’ve seen is The Lighthouse (2019), a black-and-white two-hander whose exploration of isolation and competing male ego did not quite succeed in balancing its wackiness (complete with meme-able dialogue exchanges between Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson) with the mythopoetic airs it wreathed itself in.

It was, however, successful in conveying an atmosphere of tension and dread, which Eggers similarly deploys in his fourth studio feature film, Nosferatu. Now, we all know Dracula, whether or not we’ve read Bram Stoker’s novel, so there really isn’t much heavy lifting Eggers has to do story-wise—he trims a lot, changes certain details, but the gist of it remains, and it is, on the whole, a decently entertaining movie featuring a better-than-expected turn as Count Orlok by rising horror star Bill Skarsgård.

Much of the aforementioned atmosphere’s success can be attributed to Jarin Blaschke’s cinematography. Nosferatu is often drenched in shadow, and Blaschke is adept at utilizing natural light sources (candlelight, blazing fires, etc.) with minimal enhancements in order to better immerse the viewer in the film’s period detail. The palette here is twilit, desaturated, fond of greyer hues, necrotic, even; with only momentary effulgence, usually in the form of daybreak, to signify warmth. […]

Film by Jessica Schneider
Read More
Aguirre (Klaus Kinski) confronting his men in Werner Herzog's "Aguirre, Wrath of God". There is bright white text with the film's title against a green background.

Stones & Tears: on Werner Herzog’s “Aguirre, the Wrath of God” (1972)

Of all the scenes most haunting within Werner Herzog’s 1972 drama, Aguirre, the Wrath of God, is the scene when a horse is shoved off the wooden raft and left to die alone in the Amazon jungle. Then, as the camera pulls away at the same pace as the river itself, the horse remains still, standing, and solitary. We never see the animal die, but like the doomed men on the raft, we know that death awaits. Perhaps we must tell ourselves that abandonment is a better fate for the helpless creature than continuing on this ill-fated expedition.

Aguirre, the Wrath of God is a visionary film both in approach and style, as it presents an eye-level realism of what might have transpired among a group of tired, starving explorers in search of the nebulously located ‘gold city’ of El Dorado during each passing day in 1560. Commencing on New Year, they hike down a foggy mountain through the drizzle and toil, and we see their tiredness, their discomfort. They are damp and dirty and running out of patience. In terms of maps, no one knows exactly where they are headed, but their idealism leads them, regardless. The journey treks on without any promise of arrival—do they know they are going in circles? Little do they know that after succumbing to hunger and fatigue, they will grow delusional when nothing presented seems real, be it a poisoned arrow to the body or a boat stuck in a tree. […]

Book Review by Ezekiel Yu
Read More
A stylized shot of Werner Herzog, filmmaker of "Aguirre: Wrath of God", "Fitzcarraldo", "My Best Fiend", and author of Of "Walking in Ice" (1978) and "The Twilight World" (2022).

Dream’s Fever: On Werner Herzog’s “Of Walking In Ice” (1978) and “The Twilight World” (2022)

Two men are alone. One walks through ice and the other through jungle heat. Despite the presence of others, they are singular in their company, and are compelled by a sense of immense duty that further extricates them from those present.

One man is Hiroo Onoda, a Japanese military officer (in)famous for his continued service to the Empire decades after its formal surrender in World War II, inhabiting his island post in the Philippines with stolid zeal – or, at least, the Onoda conjured up by Bavarian filmmaker Werner Herzog, who in the preface to his novel The Twilight World remarks how he (to the shock of his Japanese hosts) gave up an opportunity to meet the Emperor so that he could meet and speak with Onoda, instead. […]

Film by Gabriel Massó
Read More
A still of oil on fire from Werner Herzog's "Lessons of Darkness"

Artist As Illusionist: Werner Herzog’s “Lessons Of Darkness” (1992)

The first few seconds of Werner Herzog’s Lessons of Darkness provide a key to understanding the filmmaker’s approach. The picture opens with an excellent quote: “The collapse of the stellar universe will occur – like creation – in grandiose splendor.” The quote is attributed to Blaise Pascal, but a bit of research shows Herzog actually wrote it. In this manner, the artist seems to fill the role of an illusionist, as facts do not seem as important to him as playing with the audience’s perceptions. One could argue that all artists are illusionists because, in correspondence with the old saying, art is a lie that tells the truth, but what makes Herzog unique is that he seems hyper-aware of his nature. Throughout the film, Herzog’s narration frames the oil fields of post-Gulf War Kuwait from an almost alien perspective, prompting the viewers to honestly examine what is shown instead of simply projecting their biases. While a lesser filmmaker would tackle this film’s delicate subject in a clear-cut and sentimental manner, Herzog commits to showing the horrors of the setting in a more nuanced light. In his work, the ravaged land resembles a strange underworld, and the motivations of its oil workers remain mystifying. Herzog’s interest lies not in recreating reality, as it does with most filmmakers, but in reframing it, or even creating his own, to deliver insight. […]