In Fitzcarraldo the eponymous hero dreams of bringing opera to an Amazonian backwater. To raise the money he must drag a huge river steamer from one river to another over a hill in the depths of the jungle thereby avoiding dangerous rapids and giving him access to untapped rubber trees. The Important Fact about this film is that Herzog (the director), his crew and a few hundred Amazonian tribespeople (apparently hunter gatherers with a traditional way of life) actually dragged that boat across the jungle for real. They really did it and this changes how the viewer feels about the film.
For much of its running time Fitzcarraldo comes across as an old colonial spectacular in the mould of Hollywood of the 1950s, with the merest sprinkling of Heart of Darkness, but not so you can really taste it. Fitzgerald (Kinski improbable as the likable dreamer) is thrilled by opera and he realises that if he can only get a transport ship to a remote part of the jungle cut off by dangerous rapids and collect the rubber there he can make a killing and build an opera house. He buys a ship, hires a crew and heads off into uncharted waters. Soon they encounter Amazonian "headhunters" and, terrified, most of the crew desert, leaving Fitzgerald to persuade the native people to aid him in his grand scheme. Up to this point the film seems clumsy. It's badly put together and acted, not particularly good to look at, even dull. But, then they begin to drag this huge ship out of the water and over a jungle covered hill, and it is immediately obvious that they are doing this for real. It's jaw dropping stuff.
Trees are hacked down to whoops from the native people, cuttings are blasted and they recoil in terror, stones are passed from hand to hand, winding equipment is built from great trees, an immense pulley is carried by people gasping under its weight, and then miraculously the ship begins to inch its way out of the water in scenes reminiscent of Salgado's photographs of silver miners. The cast (professional and amateur) swarm around the ship covered head to foot in red mud. The physical strain and exhilaration are all real. Kinski, suddenly perfect with his grubby linen suit and shock of blond hair, is almost dwarfed by a spectacle equal to his mad persona. It's akin to seeing Buster Keaton at play with a steam locomotive. It's amazing and entertaining - but surely someone is going to get hurt? Once the ship hits the water again sadly the power of these scenes begins to dissipate and the film floats on bumpily to its ridiculous conclusion.
The role of the Amazonian tribespeople in Fitzcarraldo is troubling. They are heralded in the time honoured fashion of safari movies. Before we meet them we hear tales of murdered missionaries and shrunken heads. We hear strange drumming and chanting from the forest. Ominous figures stand in wooden canoes. Finally we see dozens of little boats and mysterious visitors fill the ship. They are baffled by Fitzgerald's extreme blond, whiteness. None of these characters have a name, none get to utter dialogue comprehensible to the audience, and none are differentiated individuals except one apparent leader. They are just a conglomeration, a collective entity, an alien otherness. This is a shame because they bring some much needed gravity and screen presence to the film. Herzog makes ineffectual attempts to counter this colonial taint through the script. The native people have their own agenda for engaging in this task (appeasement of river gods) and the film concludes happily for them having sent the ship over the rapids Fitzgerald has been at such pains to avoid. For once colonialism has been co-opted to someone else's ends and thwarted in the process. This is not enough to restore the film's balance.
In Fitzcarraldo we are offered a rather tired colonial yarn that seems thrown together, but which culminates in a spectacle worthy of Cecil B. DeMille. The film does flip from clumsy fiction to electrifying reality and back again, but the sight of this huge ship being dragged over the red mud using ropes and muscle power makes compelling viewing. However the viewer is left to question the film's attitude to colonialism and whether doing it for real really turns this mostly leaden film into gold?
For much of its running time Fitzcarraldo comes across as an old colonial spectacular in the mould of Hollywood of the 1950s, with the merest sprinkling of Heart of Darkness, but not so you can really taste it. Fitzgerald (Kinski improbable as the likable dreamer) is thrilled by opera and he realises that if he can only get a transport ship to a remote part of the jungle cut off by dangerous rapids and collect the rubber there he can make a killing and build an opera house. He buys a ship, hires a crew and heads off into uncharted waters. Soon they encounter Amazonian "headhunters" and, terrified, most of the crew desert, leaving Fitzgerald to persuade the native people to aid him in his grand scheme. Up to this point the film seems clumsy. It's badly put together and acted, not particularly good to look at, even dull. But, then they begin to drag this huge ship out of the water and over a jungle covered hill, and it is immediately obvious that they are doing this for real. It's jaw dropping stuff.
Trees are hacked down to whoops from the native people, cuttings are blasted and they recoil in terror, stones are passed from hand to hand, winding equipment is built from great trees, an immense pulley is carried by people gasping under its weight, and then miraculously the ship begins to inch its way out of the water in scenes reminiscent of Salgado's photographs of silver miners. The cast (professional and amateur) swarm around the ship covered head to foot in red mud. The physical strain and exhilaration are all real. Kinski, suddenly perfect with his grubby linen suit and shock of blond hair, is almost dwarfed by a spectacle equal to his mad persona. It's akin to seeing Buster Keaton at play with a steam locomotive. It's amazing and entertaining - but surely someone is going to get hurt? Once the ship hits the water again sadly the power of these scenes begins to dissipate and the film floats on bumpily to its ridiculous conclusion.
The role of the Amazonian tribespeople in Fitzcarraldo is troubling. They are heralded in the time honoured fashion of safari movies. Before we meet them we hear tales of murdered missionaries and shrunken heads. We hear strange drumming and chanting from the forest. Ominous figures stand in wooden canoes. Finally we see dozens of little boats and mysterious visitors fill the ship. They are baffled by Fitzgerald's extreme blond, whiteness. None of these characters have a name, none get to utter dialogue comprehensible to the audience, and none are differentiated individuals except one apparent leader. They are just a conglomeration, a collective entity, an alien otherness. This is a shame because they bring some much needed gravity and screen presence to the film. Herzog makes ineffectual attempts to counter this colonial taint through the script. The native people have their own agenda for engaging in this task (appeasement of river gods) and the film concludes happily for them having sent the ship over the rapids Fitzgerald has been at such pains to avoid. For once colonialism has been co-opted to someone else's ends and thwarted in the process. This is not enough to restore the film's balance.
In Fitzcarraldo we are offered a rather tired colonial yarn that seems thrown together, but which culminates in a spectacle worthy of Cecil B. DeMille. The film does flip from clumsy fiction to electrifying reality and back again, but the sight of this huge ship being dragged over the red mud using ropes and muscle power makes compelling viewing. However the viewer is left to question the film's attitude to colonialism and whether doing it for real really turns this mostly leaden film into gold?