Window to the Past

Film: Cave of Forgotten Dreams
Format: Streaming video from NetFlix on rockin’ flatscreen.

I have long had an interest in archaeology. It’s not something I advertise, but it’s true. When I was in grade school, I had the chance to spend a week one summer at the Koster dig in Kampsville, Illinois. It was pretty damn cool, and while we didn’t do anything that really affected the dig, it was an experience that I won’t forget. When I went to grad school, my original major was in the Department of Anthropology. I find this stuff fascinating. When I saw that Cave of Forgotten Dreams was added to the list, I knew it was one I’d look forward to seeing.

The film concerns the discovery of the oldest cave paintings known. Located in what is now called Chauvet caves, the paintings are deep inside and perfectly preserved thanks to a rockslide that covered the entrance for tens of thousands of years. Because of this, the artwork was initially considered a possible forgery and only the thick deposits of minerals over the paintings verified their age of roughly 32,000 years.

Chicken Dance

Film: Stroszek
Format: DVD from Rockford Public Library on rockin’ flatscreen.

I’ve said a number of films that I have watched for this project are genuinely reflective of real life, but I don’t know if there’s a film I have encountered that does this more effectively than Werner Herzog’s Stroszek It bears some similarity to a film like El Norte, at least in its basic theme of immigrants coming to America in search of a better life and not finding it, but Stroszek injects a great deal of humor into this basic premise, mixing the potential humor of the situation with the tragedy that soon becomes evident.

Bruno Stroszek (Bruno S.) is released from prison, having committed a crime that we are not privy to. He is told that his problems seem come directly from his alcoholism and is warned not to continue drinking. He doesn’t heed this advice and walks from prison directly into one of his old bar hangouts. It is here that he meets Eva (Eva Mattes), a down-on-her-luck prostitute. He gives her a place to live, which causes immediate trouble with her two aggressive pimps.

Moving the Mountain

Film: Fitzcarraldo
Format: DVD from NetFlix on kick-ass portable DVD player.

There’s something about film as a medium that lends it to the depictions of extremes. When it comes to obsessions revealed on film, I have a tendency to think of Klaus Kinski, since he seemed to have a penchant for playing extreme characters. While certainly Aguirre from Aguirre: Der Zorn Gottes comes to mind, my thoughts first go to Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald, the title character from Werner Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo.

Our title character, so named because the natives in South America are unable to pronounce “Fitzgerald” is a man on a singular mission, a man with a unique dream. We first encounter him as he and his paramour Molly (Claudia Cardinale) arrive from a thousand-plus mile boat trip down the Amazon to hear Caruso sing. This moment becomes one of obsession for him. He determines then and there to build an opera house in Iquitos, Peru, and to have it open with a Caruso performance.

Of course, that takes enormous wealth, and nothing he has tried yet has worked. His first attempt at wealth was building a trans-Andean railroad. His current plan is the production of ice. However, he realizes that this will not get him the money he needs, so he decides to do what everyone around him is doing—farm rubber. However, all of the good lands are taken. Studying a map, he comes to the realization that there is a great deal of rubber tree land that is currently inaccessible thanks to a series of ferocious and difficult rapids that threaten to destroy any ship that crosses them.

But this will not stop him. Using that same map, he realizes that there is a spot where the navigable river and the inaccessible river are separated by a narrow piece of land. His idea, then, is to buy a huge boat, sail it up river, and then drag the ship over the mountain, allowing access to the rich rubber trees and bypassing the rapids. It’s a bold plan, especially considering that they’ll need to rely on hostile natives for the labor and because the ship itself weighs a good 300 tons.

Fitzcarraldo’s quest is further hampered by the desertion of his crew. When he does finally encounter the natives, he’s down to just himself, his captain (Paul Hittscher), Cholo the engineer (Miguel Angel Fuentes), and Huerequeque the drunk cook (Huerequeque Enrique Bohorquez). But it turns out that the natives are impressed with the ship as well as Fitzcarraldo’s impressive shock of yellow hair, and they agree to help drag the ship over the top of the mountain.

It surprising just how long Herzog drags this out before we really get to this important plot point. Fitzcarraldo doesn’t let on that that is his plan until a good 90 minutes of the film have passed. And yet it’s surprisingly effective and entertaining up to that point. This is not a slow movie despite the fact that it reveals its secrets at such a sedate pace.

Kinski’s performance is central to the film, of course, and as is usually the case, or at least in my experience, it is a great one. Kinski never so much looked like he was acting, but like he was channeling the character he was set to play. Fitzgerald is an entirely believable creation not despite his obsession with Caruso and building an opera house but because of it. He has the single-minded determination of this goal that gives it a ring of truth. Fitzcarraldo is a true believer, using the power of his victrola and his Carruso records to placate the natives and get them to work for his cause. And so it works. This last hour of the movie, which involves the literal moving of the ship over the mountain between the rivers is perhaps what is most memorable from the film. It’s worth noting, though, that this portion of the film takes up only the last section. Even when we discover Fitzcarraldo’s plan, there is a significant passage of time before the boat leaves the water.

I know little of the story of the creation of this film, but I do know that it is evidently the stuff of legend. Herzog and Kinski had a notoriously stormy relationship, but films like this one indicate that the two also brought out the best in each other. Fitzcarraldo requires some focus to watch in that there’s an immediate disconnect here because the bulk of the film is in German. It just feels like it should be in a different language. It’s essentially the same problem I had with Aguirre: Der Zorn Gottes. It’s also fortunately a problem that is easily forgotten after the first ten minutes or so.

Why to watch Fitzcarraldo: A tale of magnificent obsession.
Why not to watch: Klaus Kinski is a scary looking mo-fo.

The City of Gold

Film: Aguirre: Der Zorn Gottes (Aguirre: The Wrath of God)
Format: DVD from NetFlix on big ol’ television.

Sometimes I wonder about the nature of cinematic muses. Some directors become almost impossible to separate from the actors they go back to time and time again. It’s difficult to think of Scorsese without conjuring up an image of DiNiro; Tarantino puts Uma Thurman in as many of his films as he can. Tim Burton appears to be lost if he isn’t working with Johnny Depp or Helena Bonham Carter, preferably both. I believe Dominique Pinon has appeared in every one of Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s films. The actor most commonly and closely associated with Werner Herzog is Klaus Kinski.


The two made five films together, three of which appear on the 1001 List. Evidently, their relationship was relatively toxic, but it’s also evident that they brought out the best in each other. The rumor is that when Kinski threatened to leave the set of Aguirre: Der Zorn Gottes (Aguirre: The Wrath of God), Herzog threatened him with a pistol, claiming that he’d shoot the actor and then turn the gun on himself. Strangely, this film was not the end of their cinematic relationship, but the beginning.

I admit to an immediate disconnect with this film. It concerns a group of Spanish conquistadors exploring into the heart of the Amazon rain forest, but since Herzog and Kinski are German, it’s German that everyone is speaking. Somehow it doesn’t seem right. Regardless, as the film starts, we meet the conquistadors, led by Gonzalo Pizarro (Alejandro Repulles). The expedition has just crossed the Andes range and is now discovering the jungle. If you ever thought it would be cool or fun to live during those times, the first five minutes of this film will instruct you otherwise. Watching a group of men in heavy armor slog through knee-deep water while carrying a cannon looks to be a ripe slice of hell.

Regardless, the expedition, bent on finding El Dorado, the city of gold, is in trouble. Pizarro decides to send out a group to scout ahead for food, hostile natives, and a clue to the location of the legendary city. This group is headed by Don Pedro de Ursua (Ruy Guerra) and seconded by Don Lope de Aguirre (Klaus Kinski). They will be presumed killed if they don’t rejoin the main group in a week.

The new expedition heads off and immediately hits trouble on the Amazon. One of their rafts is caught in an eddy and can’t break free. Aguirre wants to push on without these men, but is overruled by Ursua. However, when rescue comes to the raft, it is discovered that the men who were on it are either dead or missing. Ursua wants to rescue the bodies to provide a Christian burial, but Aguirre takes things into his own hands. He hints to a comrade that the cannon should be cleaned, and the gun is fired, sinking the raft and allowing the expedition to move on without delay.

It’s evident at this point that Aguirre really wants to be in charge, and is chafing under the orders of Ursua. When Ursua wants to turn back and return to Pizarro, Aguirre stages a mutiny, shooting Ursua and killing one of his followers. He immediately determines that another of their group—Don Fernando de Guzman (Peter Berling) should be made Emperor of El Dorado. He has their spiritual guide Brother Gaspar de Carvajal (Del Negro) read aloud a screed that officially breaks the group off from Spain and Pizarro, declares themselves to be a new nation, and declares Guzman a king to rival that of Spain. From there, it is determined that the group will push on and look for El Dorado on their own, and that should they find it, they will all be wealthy and famous beyond measure.

However, this trek is doomed from the beginning. They are surrounded on all sides by angry and ferocious natives who prove to be cannibals. Men are frequently picked off on the rafts by arrows from unseen attackers. Guzman turns into a spoiled child, complaining that his roasted fish and fruits lack salt while the rest of the men are counting individual grains of corn as their rations. Naturally, someone commits regicide when no one else is looking, leaving Aguirre now in charge.

And things go from bad to worse as Aguirre begins to lose his grip on his own sanity. Eventually, harassed by the natives and with doom closing in, the raft continues flowing down the Amazon, unable to reach land, with everyone wracked by fever and starvation. It’s pretty bleak.

It’s also gorgeous. The film was done on location in Peru, and the scenery is what really makes for a great deal of the appeal of this film. The rain forest is lush and beautiful, and also dangerous and filled with unseen horrors. It’s a seductive thing, that huge green canopy, both beautiful and terrible.

What is curious to me is looking at the role of Aguirre and knowing something about the history and temperament of Klaus Kinski. He was, by all accounts, the template of the sonnuvabitch, temperamental artiste. When Aguirre the character in the film begins pontificating that he is the embodied wrath of God and that any who cross him will be chopped to pieces and stomped on until all that is left is something that can be used to paint walls, it’s easy to think that only some of it is the character, and some of it is Kinski himself.

This film is, as I say, bleak. The men on the raft battle against an unbeatable, unseen foe and against the terrible realities of starvation and disease. Plagued on all sides and without any help at all, there is nothing for them to do but die, and go down with as much dignity as they can. The closing shots, featuring the ravings of Aguirre as his raft slowly meanders down the huge river and eventually to the Atlantic are terrifying not because of the words themselves, but because of the evident disconnect with anything like reality. It also serves as a reminder that while history may well be written by the victors, there are likely many stories like this one lost in time, lost because there were no survivors of something doomed to fail spectacularly.

Why to watch Aguirre: Der Zorn Gottes: Obsession, and the correlation between Kinski’s character and Kinski’s reality.
Why not to watch: Spanish conquistadors speaking German.

Who Said Vampires are Romantic?

Film: Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens (Nosferatu: A Symphony of Terror), Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht (Nosferatu the Vampyre)
Format: DVD from personal collection on big ol' television (Symphony), DVD from Scott Community College Library through interlibrary loan on itty bitty bedroom television (Vampyre).





















If you went to Wheaton North High School in the 1980s, you had three choices when it came to taking a foreign language. Most people took Spanish, another group took French, and a small, select few opted for German with Herr Kurtz. If you took German, you could be assured of a few things every given year. First, Herr Kurtz would spend some days not so much teaching as talking about other stuff like reminiscences of his childhood. Second, you could be sure that Herr Kurtz would screen two movies: Der Blaue Engel and Nosferatu: eine Symphonie des Grauens.

This was years ago for me, so my memories of this may well be hazy. As I recall, though, the further along we got in our knowledge of Deutsch, the less Herr Kurtz translated for us. I understood him showing us Der Blaue Engel, but I never really got why it seemed so important for us to watch Nosferatu. I suppose it allowed us a chance to follow written German rather than spoken, or perhaps Herr Kurtz just really liked Nosferatu. I kept hoping he’d show us Das Boot to no avail.

Today is probably the first time I’ve seen Nosferatu in 25 years, the last time I was in a high school German class. Despite this, there are parts of the film I remembered almost completely and almost perfectly. Murnau’s film still resonates despite its age and still has enough power to be compelling. The story is nothing new—if you’re remotely familiar with the Bram Stoker’s Dracula, you’ve seen this with different names.

Horror movies rely strongly on their ability to shock and stun, which means that many older horror movies lose their power over time. Once we can see the strings, the scare is gone. It can be argued that the average of the movie-going public has had expectations reduced due to lowered standards and limited attention spans. It can just as easily be argued that this same public has gotten smarter. We understand how movies are made and many of the tricks that are used. We know how the effects are done, which limits the ability of those effects to terrify. This is particularly true of very old films like Nosferatu. The stop motion of the carriage, for instance, looks silly now but must have startled audiences in the 1920s.

And yet, much of it still works and works beautifully. Early in the film as Harker/Hutter (Gustav von Wangenheim) arrives in Transylvania, a werewolf is heard outside the inn he stays in. We get a few close-ups of the beast…and it looks damn good. In truth it’s just film of a hyena, but how often have you seen a hyena at close range? They’re creepy looking, and the thing still works as an otherworldly, dark creature.

What really works here is Max Schreck as Count Orlok. He is a disturbing and evil presence, eyes rimmed with black, huge hooked nose, pointed ears, and sharp, needle-like teeth. He has several particular mannerisms that still come off as exceedingly bizarre and terrifying, even now because they have so seldom been duplicated or done as well. He walks stiffly, arms at his sides, giving him a corpse-like quality, or at least a quality of unnaturalness that even today is disturbing. Second, and far creepier and more effective is his habit of moving first his head and then his eyes, as if his eyes are compelled to turn where his head leads him. It is impossible to describe the effect of this other than to say it is horrifying because of how naturally Schreck does this and how unnatural it appears. Schreck appears as Count Orlok for about 10 minutes, yet he dominates the entire film.

It’s worth noting that but for some savvy film lovers, Nosferatu: eine Symphonie des Grauens would not exist today. Because the film is essentially the Dracula story with new names substituted, the widow of Bram Stoker sued, and as part of the settlement, all known prints and negatives of Murnau’s film were destroyed. Fortunately, versions of the film survived in other countries, allowing this film to live on, as well it should.

It’s valid to say that Nosferatu no longer has the ability to frighten a modern audience. In truth, for an audience used to more explicit violence, more graphic gore, and far better special effects, much of Nosferatu may appear silly or juvenile. And yet it is still fantastic, still beautiful, and still a film to be reckoned with. Scary or not, its influence is still felt. And imagine the terror of an audience in 1922, seeing a creation like Count Orlok for the first time. Viewed in the context of its time, it is one of the greatest films ever made.


Normally, I’m a purist when it comes to remakes. I’m aware enough to realize that there are some remakes that are as good or better than the original, but I also wonder at the necessity for the vast number of them that seem to be happening now. Most remakes don’t match up to the original because they are changed dramatically or dumbed down for the assumed dumb audience. Time and time again, we discover that the dumbed down versions of films aren’t received as well as the originals, because once again, the movie companies have vastly underestimated the smarts of the typical movie audience.

Essentially, I think that directors should avoid remakes of films that are less than 50 years old. If you’re going to remake a film, at least choose one that has been out of the public consciousness for a good amount of time. Additionally, you should avoid redoing a true classic. Only the very best can get away with redoing something that has achieved that status.

Werner Herzog tried with his version of Nosferatu. He filmed it simultaneously in English and German, so there are some differences between the two, but they are essentially the same. A difference certainly exists from previou films in tone—the opening montage of mummified human remains is disturbing and off-putting, and indicates with no uncertainty that this will be a very different Nosferatu. Because the copyright had died off the original Dracula story, Herzog went with the more familiar names from Stoker’s book, including using the name Count Dracula (Klaus Kinski) for his vampire. Still, he stuck with the story of the original Murnau film rather than sticking with Stoker’s book. So, Harker (Bruno Ganz) is not engaged to Mina, but is married to Lucy (Isabelle Adjani). I’m not sure of the reason for this—it would be simple to just switch the names of the two women to stick with the book.

Regardless, the story is again one that you know in general. Kinski is made up to look as much like Max Schreck from the original film as possible, and it’s a good job. If anything, the appearance is far more disturbing in color than it was in black and white. Rather than being simply pale and pasty, here the vampire is the color of a frozen corpse, sort of pale blue-white. Most disturbing are the needle-like front teeth that prevent Kinski from closing his mouth. Kinski does manage to capture some of the style and movement of Schreck, which adds to the validity of this film.

There are some really notable performances here. Isabelle Adjani is fine, although her main function is to look pretty and have incredibly huge eyes that are constantly as wide as possible. Still, for eye candy, she fits the role. The insane Renfield (Roland Topor) punctuates every sentence with an annoying insane giggle that speaks very much to his character. Ganz’s portrayal of Harker is compelling, particularly as he falls further and further under the spell of Dracula, ending up as a pale shadow of himself, acting somewhere slightly more sane than Renfield, but certainly headed toward madness.

The real performance of note is Kinski’s. Perhaps it is the color, or perhaps it is merely the sound of his voice, but this version of Dracula is the most sympathetic I have seen. He is a tormented figure, one to be feared but also one to be pitied. He wants desperately to be loved, but is so hideous a countenance that no one could possibly love him. Where Schreck was merely fearsome, Lugosi was romantic, and Christopher Lee was powerful and even masculine/sexy, this Dracula is really tragic, filled with pain, longing, and palpable angst.

It’s not the original, but it’s not half bad. What’s most surprising and welcome here is the twist at the very end that changes this particular bloodsucker film into something rich and strange.

For the record, I watched the English version.

Why to watch Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens: Incredible influence that is felt today.
Why not to watch: You can’t put yourself in that 1920s mindset.

Why to watch Nosferatu the Vampyre: An interesting update on a classic film with an odd poignancy and a surprising twist.
Why not to watch: You can’t decide between the English or the German version.