Watching Werner Herzog’s Encounters at the End of the World I find myself thinking about Pixar’s Wall-E, seen only the day before. In the Pixar film, a plucky little robot pursues what seems like a fool’s dream, following his heart against impossible odds. Of course in the end he triumphs over the Universe. In this mad pursuit he is considerably helped by the fact that the “Universe” is actually the result of a screenplay by Andrew Stanton and Pete Docter, neither of whom is in the business of creating meaningless universes.
Now, seeing Herzog’s Encounters the very next evening, I am starkly reminded of the extent to which narrative films in this country are all fundamentally about the same topic. Namely, the fantasy that reality makes sense: If you can only manage to follow your dreams, then the Universe will bend itself to reward your efforts.
This is, of course, the theme at the core of thrillers and romantic comedies. It is a belief in miracles, a belief in an underlying pattern to things. It is a belief in God.
Herzog is up to something quite different. He believes very much in the power and majesty of our passionate pursuit of impossible dreams, but that’s where he stops. Herzog tells us that in the face of such intensity of purpose, the Universe responds with nothing but an indifferent shrug. No miracles, no underlying pattern, no God.
There is a direct line between Herzog’s heroes: Aguirre with his search for El Dorado, Fitzcarraldo hauling his ship over the mountain, and the fearless little penguin who marches disturbingly toward the mountains in Encounters. The brave little bird is resolute, unwavering, utterly disconnected from reality. It is clear to me that if Klaus Kinski were alive today, Herzog would have cast him as that penguin.
Of course, unlike Andrew Stanton, Herzog generally takes his subjects from life. There really was an historical Aguirre, and a Fitzcarraldo. And that crazily obsessed penguin in Encounters is no mere actor, but the real deal.
I wonder how much of our nation’s culture, our very ability to perceive reality, has been crippled by our need to shape experience into a narrative, to run like the wind because a breeze might stir a rainbow.
Perhaps we should not entirely lay the blame for the Iraqi war, and the approximately 100,000 innocent Iraqi civilians whose lives it has so far taken, upon our impetuous president and his advisers.
Perhaps the fallacy that led us to this juncture, that allowed a make-believe cowboy to sell us a view of the real world as the OK Corral, has been trained into us by countless films and television specials: That a brave little robot, if he can only believe, if he can only follow his heart, will inevitably triumph, because he is not alone: The Universe (or Jesus or Buddha, take your pick) loves him.
Only as I now type this do I remember that Herzog started his film with scenes of the Lone Ranger. While I was watching the movie, this scene confused me. Now I think I know exactly what he was up to.