“Fitzcarraldo” (1982)
From cast illness, recasts (Jason Robards and Mick Jagger were the leads originally), re-shoots, budgetary shortcomings, “Fitzcarraldo” must have been one of the trickier film shoots on record, particularly considering that it lensed in the unpredictable Peruvian jungle, and starred an even more unpredictable Klaus Kinski as Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald, aka Fitzcarraldo. The story of a man who, despite being penniless, is obsessed with building an opera house in the Amazonian jungle, feels tailor-made for its director’s preoccupations, with the fact that it involved moving a 300-odd ton ship up and over a mountain without the aid of special effects just the kind of batshit bonus that Herzog seemed to thrive on. Indeed it is still today one of the most infamous tasks in filmmaking history, and another case of Herzog defying nature, and common sense, in pursuit of his vision. The parallels between the protagonist and Herzog are impossible to ignore as they both share an unshakable dedication to seemingly impossible, quixotic pursuits and Kinski puts in one of his most charming performances as the enthusiastic and sincere Fitzcarraldo, adding tender notes to his obsessive venture against the odds. “Fitzcarraldo,” is an obsessive film about obsession and went on to deservedly win Herzog a Best Director award at the Cannes Film Festival, partially, we have to presume, for simply surviving the shoot. [A]
“Where the Green Ants Dream” (1984)
Whether every film has been creatively successful or not, perhaps Herzog’s greatest contribution to cinema is his genuine cultural curiosity, which has taken him all over the globe. Having been fascinated with South America and exploring as far as Antarctica and Siberia, it should be no surprise that Herzog also made a pit stop to the Australian desert early in his career (right after the Peruvian madness of “Fitzcarraldo,” no less). Blending fact and fiction, Herzog’s first English language movie chronicles a group of Aboriginal activists protesting the excavation of a mining company on what they claim is a sacred ground “where green ants dream” (the disturbance of which will, they believe, destroy humanity). Starring Aussie Bruce Spence as the company man who turns sympathetic to their cause (you’ll remember him as the wiry pilot from the “Mad Max” films), the movie was based on a real-life case and even employed one of the protesters. But there is a reason why this picture is far lesser seen and regarded then Herzog’s other dramatic features from the 1980s—sandwiched in between “Fitzcarraldo” and “Cobra Verde,” it’s lacking a similar bite. It’s also dramatically slow-moving and low on Herzog’s trademark odd observations (as a movie about conflict, there’s not a lot of real tension either). It’s of course peculiar, but in a restrained key, so those who never believed Herzog was capable of muted drama, could do worse than check out this minor effort. [C+]
“Ballad of the Little Soldier” (1984)
Peripatetic Herzog globe-trotted all over the world in his day, but perhaps the call of the Americas has always been strongest with him. More politically inquisitive than his other docs which normally focus on human behavior, obsession and endurance, “Ballad of the Little Soldier” is a portrait of children in Central America recruited to fight the Nicaraguan Revolution of the 1980s. Conscripted by Miskito Indians in their resistance against their (former allies) the Sandinistan “communists,” with various political agendas at play, these innocent adolescents, some as young as nine or ten, are enlisted as pawns to wage war. Many are orphaned or suffering from the loss of siblings and family members, and their anger, loss and confusion is exploited for the gain of this marginalized group, who were allegedly funded by the CIA in their overall scheme to fight communism. Plainly rendered, mostly focusing on interviews with Miskitos in refuge camps and drawn without the need for violent imagery, at a brief 45 minutes, Herzog clearly and chillingly communicates the horrors of war and the film acts as sober lament for the loss of innocence. [B]
“Cobra Verde” (1987)
The last collaboration between Herzog and Kinski, the film that finally dissolved their always tempestuous relationship is also the least-praised, and the least well-known—it wasn’t even released in the U.S. until 2007, remarkably. But it’s something of a hidden gem. Based on Bruce Chatwin‘s novel “The Viceroy of Ouidah,” it’s very much a companion piece to ‘Aguirre‘ and “Fitzcarraldo,” casting Kinski as a Brazilian rancher-turned-outlaw who becomes involved in the slave trade in Africa. As ever, the star is extraordinarily magnetic, even if he’s particularly unhinged here, verging on becoming an animalistic force of nature, and at times, Herzog matches him in the gonzo stakes; the rush of imagery, somewhere between a spaghetti western and “Apocalypse Now,” is beautiful but also brutal. The film teeters so close to the edge that it frequently risks toppling over, and it’s never quite as satisfying as its earlier counterpart in that the plot never really coheres, and, while it’s among the most political of Herzog’s films, it feels a little pat when it does touch on the slave trade. But there’s also more brilliance on display here than in 90% of films, and it certainly deserves reevaluation. [B+]
“Echoes from a Somber Empire” (1990)
Herzog’s documentary investigation the rumored cannibal dictator of the Central African Republic, self-proclaimed “Emperor” Jean-Bedel Bokassa, can’t help but feel somewhat compromised. While an impressionistic idea of Bokassa does build from archive footage and the fragmented, contradictory points of view of those whose lives he touched, and often ruined, it all feels like it’s building to a coup de theatre—an interview with the man himself—that never comes. In fact Herzog did intend to meet Bokassa, then in prison, and had secured the consent of everyone involved, including Bokassa himself, but the film team was expelled from CAR before the interview could take place. It’s a great shame, not just because it would have given us a better insight into Bokassa, but also because it would have more visibly involved Herzog. As it is, he remains largely silent for the majority of the film, and instead Michael Goldsmith, a journalist once sentenced to death for spying by Bokassa, is the interviewer. Goldsmith’s instincts as a reporter do get to some interesting nuggets, but we can’t help but believe that the film would have benefited from more of Herzog’s provocative, eccentric, elliptical approach, which is only really revealed at the very start and the very close of the film—especially with the iconic footage of a caged chimp smoking a cigarette which in one single image evokes almost as much pathos and resonance as the whole film to that point. [B-/C+]