Werner Herzog had a dream somewhere in the late ’70s. First, he wanted to fictionalize the story of Carlos Fitzcarrald, a Peruvian rubber baron known for the tremendous feat of hauling a 30 ton steamship over a mountain in an effort to extract rubber out of the Madre de Dios region. Second, he wanted to utilize practical effects to bring this story to life and to capture the realism this story deserved. Little did he know that the production would endure some of the worst setbacks in film history, which included several actors’ departure and a lead star’s troubling exhaustion.
Instead of choosing a location close to Qutio, the capital of Ecuador, Herzog opted for shooting deep in the rain forest, 500 miles from the nearest city, in an effort to capture a more fitting realism to the story. In truth, he had hoped that some of the location’s “voodoo” would wear off into Fitzcarraldo’s journey through dark parts of the human psyche. This was all a bit much on Herzog’s star player, Klaus Kinski.
Throughout the production, Kinski was troubled by these working conditions, making him prone to moments of frustration and hours of winded tantrums. Herzog was famously asked somewhere within the production whether a member of the Aguaruna ensemble (the indigenous people featured in the film) could kill Kinski, half out of aggravation, half out of favor to the crew.
This production was a shit-show. It was so much of a disaster that there’s an entire film dedicated to showing the madness that consumed Herzog in a way that draws eerie connections between the filmmaker and the story he was trying to convey – that of a baron gone mad.
The film in question is Les Blank’s documentary, Burden of Dreams (1982), and it is a stellar look behind the curtain of this piece. Consider it a bit of required viewing should you proceed in your viewing of Herzog’s work as, personally, I believe this film adds a layer of astounding realism to the situation which only enhances your experience. As you’re watching you can think to yourself, Holy shit, that actually happened, or They really moved a 300 ton steamship over a mountain.
And then you can slap yourself when you realize that Herzog had somehow exaggerated the original story in his recreation: Fitzcarrald’s ship was only 32 tons.
All of this aside, the film really is a remarkably surreal experience. Between its long-winded shots of the ship ascending the mountain or Kinski’s incredible delivery and presence, you’ll feel the weight of it all – the force pulling characters back and the nature retreating from their grasp as reality becomes the means to an end.
The latter half of this revelation comes as a surprise to some, as you realize Fitzcarraldo is not a capitalist nor is he a colonist with exploitative gains (… initially). Instead, he is a member of the audience, a purveyor of beauty who wishes to share Opera with the world by earning his return on this rubber and using the funds to finance a theater. It’s a noble cause flawed in its execution, as the indigenous people he fools into helping him could care less what he wishes to do in the face of the spirits that guide them. This, of course, leads to some tragic misunderstandings between Fitzcarraldo’s group and the native people, events which ground the experience as feeling more real and horribly ironic.
If you have yet to see this film, please do so. Do so with the ideas I have laid out and be sure to watch Les Blank’s coverage of its filming, a story which, in some ways, is more interesting than Herzog’s film itself.
Fitzcarraldo
1982
dir. Werner Herzog
157 min.
Screens Saturday, 3/25, 11:59PM @Coolidge Corner
Part of the Ongoing Series: After Midnite
