On the original BBC run of “Monty Python,” there is a ridiculous over-the-top film parody of glorious Hollywood productions. For the epic “Scott of The Antarctic” they choose a beach in Devonshire as their location for the frozen Arctic adventure. Forecasting the general lack of snow, they cover the sand with Wintrex, foam rubber which when painted the correct shade of white will actually resemble snow on the silver screen. While Hollywood has a lengthy history of trying to turn artifice into reality, once cameras were handheld and could operate on location, a distinct pursuit of true realism quickly took over.
German filmmaker Werner Herzog offered several lessons on how to take Naturalistic filmmaking to dangerous extremes. A known influence on Francis Ford Coppola’s 1979 war epic “Apocalypse Now,” Herzog’s true debut as a filmmaker remains a stunning mediation on life, death, greed, mistrust, and most importantly, nature. 1972’s “Aguirre, The Wrath of God” is almost too real. At one point early in the film, you realize that these actors dressed up like 16th-century Spanish conquistadors are really on a raft in the rapids of a dangerous river. They may not have a pivotal role here. However, how they look around at each other and even off to the sky convinces you that this is no longer mere acting.
Broken off from Pizarro, conqueror of the Incas and an explorer who turned on his Spanish rulers, Lope de Aguirre is charged with finding the mysterious city of gold, El Dorado. As Herzog’s film opens, we are walking through the mountains with Aguirre and his travelers. Paired with a hypnotic score from German synthesist Popol Vuh, this is like a dream. These enormous, lush mountainsides actually touch the clouds above. As Herzog gives us more of this vision (always shot from the point of view of being with the group,) we then see the treacherously high paths they are on and quickly sink into the deep mud beneath their feet.
Every experience with nature has its beauty and its struggle. As the band of people pushes further into the forest, the problems slowly escalate. For each problem, there are generally two solutions. Aguirre seems to be outvoted every time. Relegated to second in command, Klaus Kinski plays him like a simmering madman. He is taking it all in but with deceit. His blue eyes regularly tell the story of his lust for power. Even though he has brought his young daughter on this hellish adventure, his comfort for her does little to take away from his leering, bloodthirsty quest. Nothing can slake this passion, so we see his humanity slowly replaced by avarice and contempt. It is said that behind the scenes, Herzog and Kinski argued frequently over how Aguirre should be portrayed on screen. Herzog’s brilliant solution: make Kinski angry and then as he cooled to Herzog’s preferred level of temper - begin filming.
This pecking order is so important. As the actors mostly naturally react to each other, you sense they are actually looking to Kinski for guidance on what to do only to see and react to his repellent behavior. In a film with very few lines of dialogue (probably because Spanish conquerors speaking German would be a hard sell,) Herzog makes the most of capturing the moments where you see actors “existing” together. In the most capable hands, the best actors are given brilliant lines and memorable moments. When they crown the nobleman Don Fernando de Guzmán, he complains about not having a throne. Aguirre gestures at the chair they have carried all this way saying "What else is a throne but a plank and some velvet, your Majesty?
Kinski may seem like the center of Herzog’s film, but he is not. In the time when he is not lurching around, we receive visions of power and even democracy in the heart of the most unsettled forest on Earth. For all its savage beauty, actors must commune with it at some time. These hints of a pastoral past (or future) provide motivation other than survival for carrying on. Herzog dreamed up this historical epic from a half page in a book he once read. In addition, he then edited it amidst the fury of a drunken soccer team on a speeding bus (needless to say, pages were lost to some slurry inebriated traveler.)
To reiterate, "Aguirre" is too real. Realism on-screen receives a true shakeup over just an hour and a half. Many of the deaths (no spoiler, you knew they were coming - just not when) are played for surrealist tendencies. Reacting with a real horse on a raft has so much danger involved that it raises your blood pressure. “Aguirre” is designed to play like a dream that refuses to end. When you wake up from its spell, only then are you allowed to ask questions about what you just saw unfold in an almost Shakespearean manner.
