In his celebrated film Aguirre: The Wrath of God (1972), Werner Herzog allows the viewer a strange and unusual cinematic experience. When the plot brings the narrative action to a huge and impassable river, the camera rests on the rapids for a seemingly eternal moment. Perhaps it’s a minute. No voiceover interrupts, and the shot does not pan away. The audience is faced with only the overwhelming and enveloping visual presence of the river. (I can only imagine what it would be to watch that scene on a full-sized cinema screen.)
Grizzly Man (2005) is, on the surface, a very different kind of film. A documentary in the style that has become famous for the distinctive accent that Herzog lays over his weird and beautiful images, most of the footage in this case is a variety of ‘found art’, being the 100 hours of footage taken over several years of expeditions taken by the ‘Grizzly Man’ of the film’s title, Timothy Treadwell. Herzog took the reels of tape, and processed them through his practical and philosophical genius, to create an idiosyncratic work of interpretation, on one of the most unusual and mysterious of life stories. Treadwell went to Alaska, running away from his personal demons: a history of alcohol abuse and depression. Among the bears of the wild north, he found a world away from the pain he associated with human society. As we watch Herzog’s film, we witness the beauty that became all-enveloping to Treadwell: the majesty of these giant bears fighting, fishing, at rest and play.
As in Aguirre, Herzog finds moments in Treadwell’s footage where the camera captures a ‘long shot’ of the natural world in the emptiness of its mysterious abyss. He preserves a scene where, after Treadwell steps out of the frame, the long grasses wave wildly in the wind: speaking something more profound than Herzog could explain. In another shot, the camera closes in on the tiny eyes of a bear, as Herzog explains the gap between his and Treadwell’s view of nature: where the innocent Grizzly Man saw a benevolent ‘circle of life’ that included the tragedies of death in the wild, Herzog observes only the common denominators of indifference and ‘murder’.
Silence. The long, irreducible camera shot. Murder. These are the deepest elements of both Aguirre and Grizzly Man. As the pilot flies back towards civilisation at the end of the latter film, singing a country and western song (modified to include a reference to Treadwell), we may feel that we too are coming back from a place so raw and primal that we couldn’t stand it without giving into false narratives: madness.
We turn off the videotape, and something happens. In the first of (surely infinite) possible universes, we shake our heads, consider the lunacy of Treadwell and his friends, and thank god that we’re blessed with a greater portion of sanity. We go and get a drink from the fridge. Drive to the shops. Watch a Rom-Com next time, or ‘The Lion King’ with its swaying, singing, happily harmonious kingdom of the animated African plains. In the second universe, perhaps we see something in the shake of the long grass – something that reminds us of where we came — a world where we cannot be so easily shielded by the narratives that protect us from our deep biological roots. We think of the realities of survival and scarcity: of the almost countless adaptations in our bodies that could only have come about because of the routine and predictable demise of all but the unlikely and privileged bloodline that led to you.
Because there you are: only ever-so-slightly ahead of the unstoppable wave of murder that unites all life on this planet. Riding on the most precarious surf, your survival is the hope that lives on and is celebrated in Herzog’s cinema. This is the beautiful drama of Grizzly Man: beyond Timothy Treadwell’s mortality something of the Absolute lives on his art: the images that he left, that we now experience. Beyond the extinction that eradicated (and still eradicates) almost every scrap of the genetic code that formed on this planet: you can see, speak, hear, walk, love.
NEXT WEEK: We’re excited to have a guest post from Kate, who will be sharing a story of connection across the boundaries of faith in ‘Arranged’ (2007). For a more extended schedule (rent the DVDs ahead so you’ll be ready!), check in here.
Andy, this is a beautiful reading though I might take a slightly different tack, if I may. The narrative Herzog constructs brackets, it seems, the issue of death because it is a priori to the life of Treadwell as we see it; rather he is concerned with a form of madness that drives us all toward and away the world around us. It is this schizophrenic approach to the world that Herzog captures by using Treadwell as a foil for our own experiences.
Though I certainly agree that their is a certain inexplicable connection with nature and the animal world that Herzog wants to illuminate I can’t help thinking about the other people attached to Treadwell who get dragged along with him into the wild places. Treadwell’s death really only emphasises the interconnectivity of our lives; and they (and by implication the viewer) will be tied to that place and the desire which drove him toward it.
Thanks for your reading here, Aaron… I want to understand more of your thinking along these lines. It’s true that Treadwell’s death is revealed early on in the film, and becomes a way of accessing a phenomenon present in the living minds of people surrounding this story, including, eventually, ourselves as audience. Can you say more about this drive ‘toward and away [from – ?] the world around us.’?
I also think that the narrative relating to Amy (Treadwell’s girlfriend) is an important one. Herzog makes regular mention of the divide between animals and humans that is not crossed by the indigenous people of the area, and shares interviews with people who feel resentment towards Treadwell. I can’t help but feel that this interconnectivity – though an important narrative Herzog draws attention to – isn’t as central as the personal journey into the mind/landscape that Herzog seems to move towards in so many of his films.
Can you also say more about the context of your use of the word ‘schizophrenic’?
First, the image selection is really impressive. Love how your feature image presents on the homepage and I’ll miss it when it’s gone.
Your description of the film, its sequences and angles, totally capture me and I must see this film. I’m afraid (fear, baby!) I’m more inclined toward the cold-hard-murderous universe view. And why not? It makes our place realistically tenuous and fragile, but also so much more wondrous and beautiful. I’m always inclined toward the plight of the underdog — and this imagery really turns life and living into underdogs. Respect and wonder at the mighty universe, and love the underdog.
Finally, I always have the highest respect for the artist who’s not afraid to present their own interpretation. So Herzog! Treadwell! Both in your ways and ultimately in how you’ve combined to bring this film to life — cheers!
And thank you, Andy. A agree with Aaron — beautifully written.
I actually added this to Netflix to be ready! But then forgot to send back the previous DVD…bummer. I’ll keep this in mind as I watch it now though.
Thanks so much for queueing up the movie to watch with us! I use a UK version of Netflix, called ‘Love Film’. It’s great.
Have you seen our schedule for future weeks? I took it on advice from some of our readers that it’d be useful to get ahead in the viewing.
You’re gonna love it. Great flick, and the sort of thing that you might not otherwise catch.
I just realized that I’ve seen this flick. :D Here’s the story — my sister in law gave this film to my father in law for Christmas, having seen some excerpt of it. All the kids and grandkids sat down to enjoy it. Turns out that the excerpt mislead SIL to think this was a kid-friendly film. Wrong. But we all sat through it with many awkward moments. Why? Because once you start watching this film, you can’t stop no matter how hard the abort alarm is blasting. It’s like watching a slow-motion car wreck happing within a deeply moving landscape.
Treadwell is tragically flawed. And he evokes so many mixed feelings of awe and pity and shock. Emotional seasickness.
For me, this film was a lifetime experience of the type you don’t want to re-live but know you’d be less for having missed. One exception — given some time and an excellent read like Andy’s post, I’d see it again. This time without the kids.
lol, that’s such a funny situation. One the one hand, Treadwell’s prime audience for his footage was school-aged kids. On the other hand… this is the most brutal of films!
Watch it again: I think the way Herzog preserves the natural scene works so well because it can react with the viewers mind on so many levels and stages of spiritual development. Your viewing may be quite different each time. I only offer my reading as a personal, idiosyncratic interpretation. (My favourite kind of reading!)
Andy, interesting review. I have to say that I thought it was a film that was as forthrightly bizarre as it’s subject, Timothy Treadwell, who physical appearance bears a remote if slightly disturbing resemblance to the bloggernacle’s own Steve Evans.
Of course, by far the best segment of the film was when the liberal hippies read their hate mail with totally straight faces. Or maybe it was when Treadwell’s former girlfriend was asked if she felt like she was widowed. Evidently caught off guard, her immediate response was to laugh out loud before hastily assuming a more concerned demeanor. I can’t decide. Either way, the documentary was the source of dozens of unexpected moments of sheer delight.
I don’t know Steve Evans – I’m going to take a look and see if I can find a picture now!
DKL, one of the things that makes this so distinctive an example of Herzog’s ‘Ecstatic Truth’ method is that his real-life interviewees look like they’ve been staged. The coroner: seriously? Each character is like an over-dramatised version of him/herself. Which causes us to think about the spectacle of the modern film documentary, with its evidence-giving witnesses, etc.
So glad yours was an experience of ‘unexpected… sheer delight’. History repeats itself ‘first as tragedy, second as farce’, right? :)
Andy, I didn’t mean for my flip response to demean the movie or its director at all. I found the movie to be very compelling. It’s been years since I saw it, and when I saw your review, I thought to myself, “YESSSSS! Someone else saw Grizzly Man!” It is a testament to both the talent of Werner Herzog’s and to the exceptional nuttiness of Timothy Treadwell that the film is so very interesting. To use a phrase reminiscent of the old NBC advertising slogan, I’d call it “must-see cinema.” And I hope that the Discovery Channel produces many more.
And I like your review, because it’s very insightful and very different from the review I’d have given or that I expected to read.
About history as tragedy and then farce, I’m not convinced that we had a tragedy the first time around. Not all death is tragedy. Sure, from a dramatic point of view, the narrative is a tragedy because it ends in death. But as a documentary, “Grizzly Man” is altogether about a guy who got eaten by a bear. Treadwell’s girlfriend dies, too, but she’s mere collateral damage. Nobody cries for Timothy Treadwell, and that’s not tragic either.
Herzog walks a very fine line the way that he makes Treadwell somewhat sympathetic, all the while treating him like an object of curiosity. Herzog developed a narrative within the documentary wherein Treadwell-as-a-meal is the satisfying conclusion to the story of Treadwell-as-a-man. Thus, Herzog transforms his media-hungry audience into the figurative counterpart of the hungry bear.
That’s a really interesting interpretation of the film: seeing the ‘media-hungry audience [as] figurative counterpart of the hungry bear’. I’m sure you’re right – for many viewers who were perhaps familiar with the Treadwell news story before seeing the film, this was a chance to get more gory details. In fact, a google/youtube search for ‘Grizzly Man’ and similar terms will bring back hits for autopsy pictures of Treadwell, the audio for the tape of his death, etc… these are details that would obliterate the silence that Herzog’s film-making moves towards. And yes – the popularity of these details should make us consider whether our consumption of media makes us more or less ‘human’.
I’ve often thought about that gripping scene where we see Herzog listening to the audio tape of Treadwell’s death, with his ‘widow’ looking on. Emotion is detectable in Herzog’s expression, as he tells her that she should destroy the tape. In this scene (and in many of his other films), Herzog is creating ‘mysteries’: relics that the public must be drawn towards.
This whole thread reminds me of Shakespeare’s famous stage direction from The Winter’s Tale: “Exit, pursued by a bear.” Treadwell, of course, is Herzog’s Antigonus.
I got in trouble with one of my professors when I remarked that was the most hilarious stage direction I had ever read.
Got in trouble? My goodness. It’s hysterical!
Very well said; although, I would say the genius of Herzog is not just the way he makes Treadwell simultaneously an object of sympathy and curiosity, but the way he is able film without it ever seeming cold.
But you’re right — the coroner was awesome!
Andy, I really like this. I can relate to the notion of “found art” and I especially liked the last paragraph. It conjures up in me the words of Colonel Walter E. Kurtz “I watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor. That’s my dream. It’s my nightmare. Crawling, slithering, along the edge of a straight razor . . . and surviving.” -Apocalypse Now.
Thanks SUNN… I was unsure whether to use the term ‘found art’ (objet trouvé), as it raises a whole other field of reference and artistic connection that I think fits in some ways, and in other ways, is quite different. It sounds like your work brings you into contact with items that are ‘found’, and retain the wonder and immediacy of their identity as material objects in and out of contact with their histories.
Great connection to Apocalypse Now… what an image! I connected this precarious survival to Matt’s post on Saturday, with his image at the bottom of a surfer, representing all of human history, on that giant spiral of time, progression and extinction. These thoughts make me appreciate the miracle and beauty of this moment that I live in.
One of my all-time favorite films. Thanks for sharing your thoughts about it.