5/29/2011
It was with some foreboding that I went to see Verner Herzog’s latest
film, "Cave of Forgotten Dreams". Would he ruin what was likely to be
superb cinematography of this most ancient known example of cave art — circa 32,000
years old, which is to say, nearly twice as old as the storied paintings at Lascaux
— by concluding with a soliloquy about what a misbegotten species we have turned
out to be? That is how he ended — and in my view, all but spoiled — his "Encounters
at the End of the World" (2007), an otherwise captivating documentary about
Antarctica, its fauna, its geology and its committed coterie of scientists.
Herzog is drawn to adventurers, intellectual cum physical edge players and risk takers. In "Aguirre, the Wrath of God" (1972), he put himself, his crew, and Klaus Kinski, his star, in danger by climbing mountains, braving rainforests, and doing camerawork on a raft subject to the tides, falls, and eddies of the Amazon River. In "La Soufriere" (1977), Herzog put himself at risk once more, resolving to document the fate of a peasant who refused to be evacuated from Guadeloupe even though its volcano seemed on the verge of an eruption that, had it occurred, would have buried everyone on the island, not excepting filmmakers. In "Nosferatu the Vampyre" (1979), it is Dracula himself, played by Kinski, who tests existential limits: though the sun is rising, the vamp refuses to cut short his rapturous sampling of Isabelle Adjani's blood or terminate his romantic discourse with her. (It is tempting to think of Herzog's long relationship with the volatile Kinski, who died in 1991, as his version of sustained psychological edge play.)
The title of Herzog’s Antarctica documentary, "Encounters at the
End of the World", would apply as well to any number of his films and suits
his work as a whole. Besides cinematography, the film's virtue lies in Herzog's
teasing out the eccentric brilliance of the band of scientists fascinated by the
frozen continent’s life forms and seas. Then, in an extended voiceover Herzog, in
effect, turns his back on these researchers and their efforts, by droning on, above
grating music, about how we as a species have long since broken with nature and
have only ourselves to blame for doom. Herzog is not interested in raising consciousness
about inconvenient truths. He could care less about controlling carbon emissions
or greenhouse gases; such details are beneath him. If anything, Herzog is energized
by apocalypse, perversely cheered by prospects of Götterdämmerung. He favors
that finality.
"Cave of Forgotten Dreams" is much less bleak. The vision of
our species as a scourge is stated, to be sure, but not as obnoxiously. It takes
the form of a postscript: not far from the caves of Chauvet a French nuclear power
station makes use of the hot air arising from cooling processes to sustain a massive
greenhouse, within which there flourishes a truly bizarre looking cohort or subspecies
of albino crocodiles. Though this greenhouse is sealed off and enclosed, Herzog
invites viewers to imagine these mutant creatures may one day work themselves through
underground aquifers to streams connected to the caverns of Chauvet, bringing albino
croc tidings of collapse, meltdown and radiation. That said, it remains the case
that the beauty and power of Chauvet's art, at once primal and sophisticated, tempers
Herzog's passion for Homo Sapiens bashing. We do, after all, belong to the very
same species as those cave painters.
You and I will never set foot in Chauvet. Our very breathing would contaminate
it with mold, as has happened at Lascaux, from which visitors are now therefore
banned. Herzog was privileged to be granted the access to Chauvet he enjoyed — with
a skeleton crew carrying minimal equipment and obeying time constraints. We benefit
from the results. Along with his Teutonic gloom, Herzog has been driven by fanatic
love of imagery. His camera gives a rapturous account of Chauvet —not only the art
per se but the way it has merged into the winding walls to the point that art and
geology are one.
We don't know what the meaning of this work was to those who made it.
We do know humans never lived in those caverns. Was it a museum for them, a place
of worship, a Paleolithic artist's studio?
The movie floats all sorts of questions it doesn’t make much of an effort
to answer. What happened to the cave lions portrayed at Chauvet? Did we send them
packing or was it climate change? What happened to the Neanderthals who were still
numerous in the vicinity? The film suggests we prevailed against them because of
aesthetics: they didn’t make art but we did. Is any part of this allegation remotely
credible?
My main criticism of the movie is that it pays insufficient attention
to the formal properties of the art, the ability, by these early painters, to represent
perspective and movement. Heated arguments have broken out on this subject. Were
the painters visual savants? Did they enjoy psychedelic enhancement?
Herzog might have dwelled on such questions at greater length. But that’s
not the kind of movie he likes to make. The one he did make is immensely rewarding.
No comments:
Post a Comment