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Anyway, since it seems like we’re starting to wrap things up here, I’d like to turn our conversation towards one aspect of Herzog’s cinema we’ve overlooked in all this back-and-forth about fiction vs. reality: Herzog’s often brilliant sense of sound design. From his very first feature Signs of Life, with its lilting, cyclical guitar score by composer Stavros Xarhakos, Herzog has been as attentive to the soundtracks of his films as he is to the visuals. More recently, the throat-singing that first appeared in Bells From the Deep was then reused, to stunning effect, as an accompaniment to the montage of American napalm bombing raids that opens Little Dieter Needs to Fly. Herzog’s ear for music is intuitive and sometimes even counterintuitive, pairing music and images in unexpected ways that nevertheless work on a deeper level.

He’s also collaborated often with Florian Fricke of Popol Vuh, who contributed music to many of Herzog’s films. His score for Aguirre is especially powerful, a quiet electronic murmur that blends into the sounds of the jungle. Fricke’s score for that film is eerie and subdued, somewhere between an organ and a human voice, and his haunting tones fade in and out. In addition to the music, Herzog created a complex, layered collage of jungle sounds: rushing water, bird calls and crickets, the creaking of the raft’s wooden beams. It’s not naturalistic at all but obviously carefully arranged, creating an artificial jungle soundtrack.

Maybe this is just more evidence of Herzog’s obsessive controlling tendencies. He can’t even let the jungle provide its own natural sounds but has to arrange them himself, forming an ideal aural rain forest in the editing stage. He always has a very clear idea of what he wants, if not narratively than at least aesthetically. And if, as you say, he’s now something like an old adventurer who has seen the frontiers worn away, he’s nevertheless done a good job of finding new frontiers, pushing onward, delving deeper into the kind of territory that so consistently fascinates him.

 

Werner Herzog

JB: I think “consistently” is the key word there, because a voice in my head wonders whether it’s worth searching for new frontiers if one’s near-sightedness always provides the same view. One way or another, most, if not all, of Herzog’s films wind up being about human life at the edge of chaos, whether that means coexisting with grizzly bears, pushing the limits of ski jumping, or hauling a boat overland, etcetera. As Herzog scales his mountains, he already knows what he will see from the summit, and so when the view doesn’t match his expectations or desires, he changes it. (That, as much as anything, is the root of Herzog’s fictional meddling in his documentaries.) Thus, I’m conflicted as to whether Herzog’s implementation of the Bells throat-singing in Little Dieter Needs to Fly reveals a kind of counterintuitive genius or merely a reluctance to leave his comfort zone. Does the score for Aguirre suggest an obsession with control, or does it expose a filmmaker who only hears the sounds in his own head? Maybe, just maybe, Herzog’s explorer persona is an illusion. Maybe, just maybe, Herzog is less an open-minded discoverer than a guy channel-surfing through the cable news channels, looking for evidence that will strengthen his already-established worldview.

I toss that out there as food for thought—an alternative view of the man, the myth and the legend—rather than as an accusation, because when it comes down to it, Herzog’s motives are irrelevant. His films are his films, provoking us in whatever ways for whatever reasons. Even if they aren’t always factual, one gets the sense that they are always honest; Herzog believes in them. Whereas other filmmakers proceed with agendas, Herzog follows his instincts, for better or worse, in ways new and, more often, strikingly familiar. If the downside of Herzog’s tunnel vision is that his films have a habit of feeling similar to one another, the upside is that they routinely separate themselves from the larger pack by so thoroughly reflecting the distinct personality of their director (Rescue Dawn, and maybe a few others, excluded).

This is especially true of Herzog’s documentaries, of course, which increasingly seem inspired by pages of his diary. For all the problems I have with Herzog’s documentary style—particularly his eagerness to skew reality, even when unnecessary, and his ever-growing need to react to his films, babbling to the point of becoming that annoying jackass behind me who has to explain the movie to his girlfriend—I do appreciate the places he takes me. Even Herzog’s least engaging documentaries leave an imprint, and I think it’s a compliment that Herzog’s collection of documentaries is as fascinatingly controversial as the man himself. For all the times that I’ve wished Herzog would quit using his documentaries to sort out his emotions, the truth is that I’m glad he’s (apparently) never sought professional therapy. Cinema is all the better for it. So am I.

Bonus: An unofficial trailer for Herzog’s forthcoming new movie, Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans.

 

Jason Bellamy ruminates on cinema at The Cooler.

Ed Howard chronicles his film viewing at Only the Cinema.

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