Blogical Conclusion

INTO THE MOUTH OF MADNESS

OCT 11, 2008 – IF THERE’S A SWASHBUCKLING INDIANA JONES EPISODE begging to be made about the perilous search for El Dorado – that mythical, mystical city of gold – Werner Herzog appears coolly disdainful of the possibility. Or perhaps he does see the possibility, and it’s just that, for this eccentric German auteur, the adventure is all internal – a series of stunning set pieces (and they are stunning) played for chills and thrills, sure, but against the hostile landscapes of the mind. Aguirre, Wrath of God begins with a breathtaking series of images – underscored, apparently, by the voices of angels, a heavenly choir that rises to the skies – as Spanish conquistadors descend the Peruvian sierras in late 1560. For an instant, we don’t seem to be looking at anything more than breathtaking picture postcards of majestically rugged mountainside, caressed by wisps of cloud – but slowly we sense movement, as the camera picks out the shuffling gait of men dwarfed by their environment, resembling nothing more than an army of ants scurrying down an anthill.

Of course, the people inside the movie cannot see what we see, and they remain happily disillusioned about the truth of their utter insignificance in the face of the grand scheme of things, in the face of Nature – and they go about making their petty plans. Peering at the treacherous rapids ahead, and over the deafening roar of the waters, Aguirre (Klaus Kinski) remarks, “Nobody can get down that river alive.” It’s a simple sane statement from a man who realises they’ve met their match, because he’s still a man and not, well, God – but Pizarro (Alejandro Repulles), the leader of the expedition who surveys the scenery alongside Aguirre, isn’t quite as humble. “I tell you we can do it,” he insists. “Things are looking up.” If Aguirre is scornful of this expression of unfounded optimism, it’s not his place to argue. His lips pursed, he turns to his leader and pronounces, “Now it’s downhill.” And with fatalistic resignation, he turns his eyes to the surging waters again.

It’s as if he senses something, that subsequent events will prove him right – but little does he know that he’s the one through whom the point will be made. He’s the one who will, most famously, go “downhill,” losing his mind ever so gradually during this descent. Obeying Pizarro’s orders, the troops soldier on, but their rations are almost over and the Indian slaves are dropping dead of disease, so Pizarro calls for an emergency meeting and announces that an advance party of forty men, on rafts, will set forth to find food and obtain information about hostile Indians and the location of El Dorado. He names Don Pedro de Ursua (Ruy Guerra) the leader of this expedition, and he adds, “And his deputy is Don Lope de Aguirre, who is well qualified for this task.” As this declaration is underway, Aguirre is drawing aside the curtain of a sedan chair and checking on his daughter, tenderly caressing the lace on her sleeve. Pizarro continues, “His daughter Flores will accompany him.”

At this, Aguirre draws the curtain tightly shut, as if the very mention of his daughter has aroused his protective instincts in the manner of a jungle creature guarding its cub, an impression heightened by his crouched position and the instinctive whip of the neck that turns his head towards the source of the voice. And these early scenes – with their tentative indications of the man Aguirre possibly was – find their ghoulish counterpoint eventually, as, along the increasingly surreal journey, Aguirre transforms into some sort of jungle creature himself, human only in form, but with little trace of any kind of humanity. The man who once, and with all humility, told his leader that nobody could get down that river alive finally anoints himself, on that very river, as the “Wrath of God,” and growls to his demoralised men, “When I, Aguirre, want the birds to drop dead from the trees, then the birds will drop dead from the trees.”

Sadly for Aguirre – though by then, he’s so far gone, it’s doubtful whether he’s still capable of registering such feelings as sadness – it’s Flores who drops dead a little later, the victim of yet another arrow from yet another unseen Indian. As she falls, and as the angelic chorus heard at the beginning of the film returns, Aguirre cradles her in his arms, and where he, earlier, traced a finger along a lace cuff, he now brushes aside a clump of blonde hair that’s covered an eye. He repeatedly strokes her cheek, and even though we don’t see his face, it does appear that this has finally managed to snap him out of his insanity. But then we do see his face, as his eyes alight on a bunch of tiny monkeys that has inexplicably taken over the raft – and we see that the change was only something we imagined, and in reality, he’s dreaming of marrying his dead daughter and founding the purest dynasty the earth has ever seen.

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