“I tried to get to get as close to the edge as possible.”
These words were spoken by Werner Herzog, the iconic German filmmaker, during an afternoon Q&A last Thursday shortly before accepting the Coolidge Corner Theatre’s Coolidge Award. He was referring to the filming of his 2016 documentary Into the Inferno, a typically wry look at man’s relationship with volcanoes which ranges far enough to include a cargo cult in Vanuatu (google John Frum), a pair of charismatic paleontologists in Ethiopia, and an extended tour of the People’s Republic of North Korea. The edge he was talking about was a literal one; the film’s various stories are punctuated with eye-popping close-ups of belching lava, shot by Herzog’s crew from the precipices of a number of live volcanoes across the world. But it also serves as a handy encapsulation of Herzog’s modus operandi: in his documentaries, his narrative work, and his approach to the world in general.
In the unlikely event that anyone reading this needs it, a crash course: with a career spanning more than half a century, Werner Herzog is one of the most revered and beloved filmmakers alive. Following a handful of experimental shorts and features (including the truly indescribable Even Dwarfs Started Small), Herzog made his name with a landmark series of features starring the mercurial Klaus Kinski, most famously Fitzcarraldo, Aguirre the Wrath of God, and Nosferatu the Vampyre. Outside of the arthouses, he is perhaps even more well known for such similarly intense documentary work as 2005’s harrowing Grizzly Man. Herzog’s onscreen presence and deadpan narration in his documentaries have helped solidify his status as an icon in his own right (he’s provided guest voices on The Simpsons and Rick and Morty), as have numerous anecdotes from Herzog’s life: the time he got shot with a BB gun halfway through an interview, then continued as if nothing happened; the bet he lost to Errol Morris, resulting in Les Blank’s short documentary Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe; his famously stormy working relationship with Kinski, during which the two threatened to kill each other on numerous occasions. In short, Werner Herzog is a legend, both as a filmmaker and as a person, which made his appearance at the Coolidge all the more exciting.
“I must confess that this is my first visit to the Coolidge Corner Theatre,” Herzog noted in his introduction to the film, “But I am of course aware of it. It is famous as one of the last strong fortresses of film.” His post-film discussion (with longtime collaborator and BU professor Herbert Golder) was meandering, but that’s as it should be; Herzog could stand on stage and read the iTunes user agreement, and make it not only entertaining, but also profound, hilarious, and moving. In a representative moment, Herzog began a story which, on paper, sounds like typical DVD commentary filler: he found a piece of choral music which he felt perfectly matched a particularly dramatic lava scene, but ran into trouble clearing the rights. The call he received, however, was not from an entertainment lawyer, but from a representative from the Russian Orthodox Church in Moscow. At issue, it seems, was the fact that the voices in the piece were meant to represent angels, and they were deeply concerned that a work with such deep import would be used to accompany explicitly hellish imagery. This hadn’t occurred to Herzog, and sent him into a quandary about man’s relationship with heaven and hell. At this point, some in the audience tittered, but the director calmly chided them, “Stop laughing. This is serious.” Eventually, his music supervisor informed him that, as the music was in the public domain, he could legally use it regardless, but at that point Herzog declined, realizing that the music’s significance to the church outweighed its aesthetic value in the scene. “It’s too bad,” he sighed, “because it really did work perfectly.”
The audience Q&A was equally cockeyed. The first question came from a young man who asked about humans’ fascination with lava; he was preparing for a vacation in volcano country, and said that many of his friends had expressed fantasies of touching, swimming in, or even consuming lava. Herzog elaborated on various cultural mythologies surrounding magma before asking the man where he was vacationing. Upon hearing that his destination was Hawaii, Herzog’s demeanor instantly changed, and he informed the questioner, in no uncertain terms, that his friends were new age crackpots. “If they tell you they want to touch lava,” he concluded, with his trademark gravitas, “tell them they should just go ahead and jump in.”
Herzog was equally dismissive of the final question, which dealt (perhaps inevitably) with the current divisive cultural climate. While he bemoaned what he deemed “empty hearts and armed stupidity,” he cautioned the audience against blocking out those with differing opinions. “I know you all hate ‘The Donald,’ but you have to remember that he was elected president, so you have to ask yourself about the larger problem.” That problem, he said, lay in a lack of communication. “Everyone I know in LA is from the heartland, and I always ask them if they still talk to their high school buddies, and they all say no. The problem isn’t in Wisconsin. The problem is Boston.”
At this, the crowd gave Herzog a standing ovation. Which, really, sums up Werner Herzog’s brilliance. He speaks brutal truths, but in such a way that he never comes across as mean or nihilistic. He makes you want to listen, even while saying things you don’t want to hear. In his thoughts, his films, and his life, he gets as close to the edge as possible.
The Coolidge’s Werner Herzog retrospective continues through 3/14 – click here for showtimes and ticket info
