Werner Herzog Retrospective: Fitzcarraldo
Goethe Institut-Manila and Cinematheque Manila are currently holding the Werner Herzog Retrospective in all the weekends of May until the first weekend of June. Now is the chance once again of Filipino cineastes to savor the highly-unique filmography of Werner Herzog, one of the most acclaimed, original and idiosyncratic filmmakers cinema has ever known. If you're truly serious in pursuing your passion for cinema, then Herzog's films are among those that are essential viewing. For its initial offering, the retrospective featured "Fitzcarraldo" (1982, Germany), starring Herzog's alter-ego, the great Klaus Kinski, in the title-role, the fourth out of the five films on which the director and the actor collaborated.
It was only fitting that the retrospective opened with this film, as it's arguably the most extreme of Herzog's works, the most extreme of the Herzog-Kinski collaborations, and one of the most extreme films that have ever graced cinema. By now, the innumerable issues that plagued the film's production, the volatile temper of the lead actor on set, the indescribable hardships that the cast and crew had to undergo during the location shoot and the steamship that was dragged over a mountain have assumed a legendary status. Yet, for all the tons of sweat and blood that had literally flowed during the making of the film, "Fitzcarraldo" is undeniably one of the great works of cinema one will ever see. A diamond is made from the rough, isn't it?
"Life is only an illusion behind which lies the reality of dreams". Thus muses Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald - or Fitzcarraldo, as the Peruvians call him - towards the film's final minutes. Just how far can we really go to pursue our dreams, to turn them into reality? Does it ever border on madness, if it's indeed madness to pursue our dreams against all odds? That's what makes "Fitzcarraldo" ever so fascinating. We know very well that it's Herzog himself and his obsessive quest that we are witnessing onscreen. He has found his perfect ally in Kinski, as if the actor functions as the director's "soul" that fully materializes on film, capturing and embodying everything that runs through the director's heart and mind. As compared to Herzog's other films (I meant to exclude those he made with Hollywood actors and his documentaries;thus, I'm only thinking of his early works), "Fitzcarraldo" has a very straightforward narrative: the main goal of the major character is made clear, the steps he undertakes to achieve it are provided and the obstacles that come along the way are presented. What makes everything so unique is the ferocious conviction with which Herzog crafts the film.
If madness is the only best way to describe it, then so be it. (When I refer to Kinski here, I'm referring to Herzog as well;there's really no separating the two.) We are simply in awe of Kinski as Fitzcarraldo, putting us under his spell for the film's entire two-and-a-half hour running time (and perhaps, even after!), much like he puts under his total command the native Peruvian Indians to consummate his ultimate dream (something which we'll get to later). We may not agree with most of his methods and we may even question the sensibility of his principles and motivations, but we still can't help but admire the man's boundless and unquenchable passion. It's the kind of passion that's both terrifying and awe-inspiring as it knows no boundaries and obstacles. We can see that money isn't the end to, but is simply the means of achieving, his utmost dream: to build an opera house right in the heart of the Peruvian jungle, with his god of opera, Enrico Caruso, being the very first to wield his powerful voice in this heaven. Fitzcarraldo - or "Fitz", as his devoted inamorata Molly (Claudia Cardinale) fondly calls him - is of the firm belief that opera provides the "greatest expression to our feelings". And when he climbs up a church bell-tower, with his signature all-white and shock-haired appearance, furiously belting out "I want my opera house!" while sounding the bell for all the townspeople to hear, you know that he's dead serious about it. The word impossible doesn't exist in this man's lexicon.
The hauling of the ship over the mountain - undeniably, the film's grand folly - epitomizes, in outrageously literal and terrifically figurative ways, Fitcarraldo's no-holds-barred resoluteness in making his dream materialize. Given the sheer audacity and foolishness of such a task, Herzog is well aware that it's something that can't be done with the snap of a finger. There are a couple of wide-angle shots in the film where we see the ship being oh-so-slowly and oh-so-excruciatingly pulled over the mountain slope, with the camera as if in a fixed long gaze. Such is the director's way of acknowledging that it's no small task (it's actually a no-brainer for me to describe it as such). We all heard the wisdom that says that dreamers can move mountains - it's likewise mentioned in the film twice. But who would've thought that it can have an utterly literal demonstration in the hands of Herzog and Kinski. It's not even an overstatement to say that the whole endeavor becomes a life-and-death situation: it's not hard to believe that those two poor Indians really died as the massive object is being pulled up. It's not even hard to shrug off the impression that the natives were really exploited by Herzog - as channelled through Kinski - for the film's centerpiece moment. (And let's not forget the trees that were cut down!)
But having such humanitarian considerations aside (hopefully without making us, the spectators, feel guilty), "Fitzcarraldo" is still a bewildering, exhilarating and thought-provoking odyssey. Bearing the influence of Joseph Conrad's literature ("The Heart of Darkness", "The Secret Sharer"), the film takes us on a journey into the heart of darkness, both in terms of the dangers and threats that lurk within the dense jungle and flow along the wild river, and of the lengths that a man will and can go through when preoccupied with an obsessive quest. Fitzcarraldo's journey may be terrifying, but during the moments when he plays Caruso on his phonograph in the midst of the jungle or while the steamship is being hauled, one can't help but be enraptured by its transcendence. The epic richness and sublime beauty of everything are perfectly evoked by the camera of Herzog's frequent cinematographer Thomas Mauch. From the opening scene of Caruso performing in an opera house, through the ship sailing on the Amazonian rapids, then the climactic dragging of the ship over the mountain to be able to penetrate an inaccessible and unexplored rubber plantation, until the crew's still triumphant return, in the sense that Fitzcarraldo is able to have Caruso perform for the first time on the ship - everything is just majestic.
And speaking of triumph, while it's true that Fitzcarraldo undertook a journey through the "heart of darkness", he, unlike the conquistador in "Aguirre, the Wrath of God", is still able to emerge from it with a light on his soul. That's why when the camera fades on the final close-up shot of him all proud and elated, as he smokes a very expensive tobacco that he's finally able to afford, we can't help but feel the same way. There's a sense of achievement after having fully watched, or rather experienced, this unique masterwork, making a journey alongside this indefatigable dreamer.
(Klaus Kinski is Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald, the dreamer who literally moves a mountain, in Werner Herzog's "Fitzcarraldo")
It was only fitting that the retrospective opened with this film, as it's arguably the most extreme of Herzog's works, the most extreme of the Herzog-Kinski collaborations, and one of the most extreme films that have ever graced cinema. By now, the innumerable issues that plagued the film's production, the volatile temper of the lead actor on set, the indescribable hardships that the cast and crew had to undergo during the location shoot and the steamship that was dragged over a mountain have assumed a legendary status. Yet, for all the tons of sweat and blood that had literally flowed during the making of the film, "Fitzcarraldo" is undeniably one of the great works of cinema one will ever see. A diamond is made from the rough, isn't it?
"Life is only an illusion behind which lies the reality of dreams". Thus muses Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald - or Fitzcarraldo, as the Peruvians call him - towards the film's final minutes. Just how far can we really go to pursue our dreams, to turn them into reality? Does it ever border on madness, if it's indeed madness to pursue our dreams against all odds? That's what makes "Fitzcarraldo" ever so fascinating. We know very well that it's Herzog himself and his obsessive quest that we are witnessing onscreen. He has found his perfect ally in Kinski, as if the actor functions as the director's "soul" that fully materializes on film, capturing and embodying everything that runs through the director's heart and mind. As compared to Herzog's other films (I meant to exclude those he made with Hollywood actors and his documentaries;thus, I'm only thinking of his early works), "Fitzcarraldo" has a very straightforward narrative: the main goal of the major character is made clear, the steps he undertakes to achieve it are provided and the obstacles that come along the way are presented. What makes everything so unique is the ferocious conviction with which Herzog crafts the film.
If madness is the only best way to describe it, then so be it. (When I refer to Kinski here, I'm referring to Herzog as well;there's really no separating the two.) We are simply in awe of Kinski as Fitzcarraldo, putting us under his spell for the film's entire two-and-a-half hour running time (and perhaps, even after!), much like he puts under his total command the native Peruvian Indians to consummate his ultimate dream (something which we'll get to later). We may not agree with most of his methods and we may even question the sensibility of his principles and motivations, but we still can't help but admire the man's boundless and unquenchable passion. It's the kind of passion that's both terrifying and awe-inspiring as it knows no boundaries and obstacles. We can see that money isn't the end to, but is simply the means of achieving, his utmost dream: to build an opera house right in the heart of the Peruvian jungle, with his god of opera, Enrico Caruso, being the very first to wield his powerful voice in this heaven. Fitzcarraldo - or "Fitz", as his devoted inamorata Molly (Claudia Cardinale) fondly calls him - is of the firm belief that opera provides the "greatest expression to our feelings". And when he climbs up a church bell-tower, with his signature all-white and shock-haired appearance, furiously belting out "I want my opera house!" while sounding the bell for all the townspeople to hear, you know that he's dead serious about it. The word impossible doesn't exist in this man's lexicon.
The hauling of the ship over the mountain - undeniably, the film's grand folly - epitomizes, in outrageously literal and terrifically figurative ways, Fitcarraldo's no-holds-barred resoluteness in making his dream materialize. Given the sheer audacity and foolishness of such a task, Herzog is well aware that it's something that can't be done with the snap of a finger. There are a couple of wide-angle shots in the film where we see the ship being oh-so-slowly and oh-so-excruciatingly pulled over the mountain slope, with the camera as if in a fixed long gaze. Such is the director's way of acknowledging that it's no small task (it's actually a no-brainer for me to describe it as such). We all heard the wisdom that says that dreamers can move mountains - it's likewise mentioned in the film twice. But who would've thought that it can have an utterly literal demonstration in the hands of Herzog and Kinski. It's not even an overstatement to say that the whole endeavor becomes a life-and-death situation: it's not hard to believe that those two poor Indians really died as the massive object is being pulled up. It's not even hard to shrug off the impression that the natives were really exploited by Herzog - as channelled through Kinski - for the film's centerpiece moment. (And let's not forget the trees that were cut down!)
But having such humanitarian considerations aside (hopefully without making us, the spectators, feel guilty), "Fitzcarraldo" is still a bewildering, exhilarating and thought-provoking odyssey. Bearing the influence of Joseph Conrad's literature ("The Heart of Darkness", "The Secret Sharer"), the film takes us on a journey into the heart of darkness, both in terms of the dangers and threats that lurk within the dense jungle and flow along the wild river, and of the lengths that a man will and can go through when preoccupied with an obsessive quest. Fitzcarraldo's journey may be terrifying, but during the moments when he plays Caruso on his phonograph in the midst of the jungle or while the steamship is being hauled, one can't help but be enraptured by its transcendence. The epic richness and sublime beauty of everything are perfectly evoked by the camera of Herzog's frequent cinematographer Thomas Mauch. From the opening scene of Caruso performing in an opera house, through the ship sailing on the Amazonian rapids, then the climactic dragging of the ship over the mountain to be able to penetrate an inaccessible and unexplored rubber plantation, until the crew's still triumphant return, in the sense that Fitzcarraldo is able to have Caruso perform for the first time on the ship - everything is just majestic.
And speaking of triumph, while it's true that Fitzcarraldo undertook a journey through the "heart of darkness", he, unlike the conquistador in "Aguirre, the Wrath of God", is still able to emerge from it with a light on his soul. That's why when the camera fades on the final close-up shot of him all proud and elated, as he smokes a very expensive tobacco that he's finally able to afford, we can't help but feel the same way. There's a sense of achievement after having fully watched, or rather experienced, this unique masterwork, making a journey alongside this indefatigable dreamer.
(Klaus Kinski is Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald, the dreamer who literally moves a mountain, in Werner Herzog's "Fitzcarraldo")
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