The Blogazine

Werner Herzog at NYPL

The last time Werner Herzog and Paul Holdengräber had a public discussion, the question was whether or not the 20th century was a mistake; this time around the jumping point was Herzog’s new film Into the Abyss, a documentary that examines America’s fascination with capital punishment from the perspective of a man who, in his words, “as a German, has no right” to condemn it. (Spoiler alert: he condemns it anyway.)

These two do not prefer to dance lightly.

Holdengräber and Werner have been friends for decades, and they treated one-another like two old comrades sitting next to the fire sipping brandy and trading war stories. The endlessly witty Live from NYPL director didn’t so much ask questions as poke at Herzog with a stick, which was good, because the filmmaker has a tendency to ignore questions anyway, preferring instead to go off on whatever happens to be on the top of his mind. There’s quite a bit up there—capital punishment laws, his childhood in Sachrang (“Snow is my element, mountains my landscape”), dragging a boat over a mountain in Fitzcarraldo (“I have a strong sense of feasibility”), his take on always playing the villain (“According to my wife, I’m a fluffy husband”), why he doesn’t go to museums (“They frighten me”)—and it’s highly entertaining to listen to him wander off on (seemingly) random tangents only to piece them together long after you’ve lost his trail. A man of contradiction (“I don’t like art. I am a soldier. That’s it. I am a soldier of cinema.”), he is a stoic realist but also heavily poetic. When asked whether or not someone can be forgiven for irrefutably heinous crimes, he casually replied, “Humans are capable of the most monstrous things, but they are not monstrous themselves.” I couldn’t help but think him pulling a gun on Klaus Kinski.

For all of his tenacity, it can also be a bit disconcerting to watch him work. (The audience did tense up when Herzog spun off-topic to talk about his admiration of Vladimir Putin, who recently repealed capital punishment in Russia.) Many things he talked about flew right over our heads (Mycenaean linear B script in five minutes, anyone?), but he’s less interested in making his audience understand what he’s talking about than he is with talking in front of an audience. At 69 he remains more curious than a giddy teenager about the inner-workings of the universe, and he sometimes appears dizzy with desire to share his knowledge with those lucky enough to get within earshot. “Give me Cormac McCarthy,” he demanded from Holdengräber at one point. “Beautiful stuff. He is the best living American writer.” He proceeded to read the final passage from McCarthy’s All the Pretty Horses before concluding the night with a scene of a Texas highway from Into the Abyss. How it all ties together is something I’m still trying to figure out, but it’s a fascinating thought nonetheless.