I first saw Werner Herzog’s Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes (1972) when I was in seventh grade. I rented a VHS copy of the film from my local video store to bring to a sleepover at my friend Danny’s house. We dutifully watched Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes on a small television mounted on the wall above the bar in Danny’s finished basement. The long procession at the opening looked so tiny, yet the image still exuded all the wonder and beauty of the film.
Since that fateful day in the early 2000s (before it had an Anchor Bay release) I have seen Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes at least a dozen more times. I have even taught the film as part of a course once. It’s a film that has yielded rewards upon each subsequent viewing. At this point I know all the stories of its production and have read dozens of essays on the film. Still, I can see Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes and its still as profound an experience as the first time.
Most recently I revisited Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes on the big screen for the first time in years. Seen this way the film takes on an entirely new dimension. This time out I was absorbed by Herzog’s blocking and camera movements. Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes is such a claustrophobic film even though it is set entirely out of doors. The raft is just so small so that the camera’s distance from the actors is limited.
Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes presents its conquistadors in the limited space of the raft and a few jungle clearings. Masses of men are clumped together, boxed in by jungle and water. The spaces these men inhabit are foreign to them and they simply do not belong. The Amazon rejects the conquistadors and so they drift downstream to their oblivion as aliens in a strange new world.
In the economy of spacial relationships Herzog pinpoints the fundamental issue of European imperialism. The use of space is the central metaphor of the movie. Yet, it is a subtle metaphor that works almost entirely on the subconscious of the viewer. Herzog’s gaze and that of the viewer is so caught up in the psychodrama of Klaus Kinski that space seems little more than the distance between the observer and the madman.
This take on Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes is impossible on VHS and difficult to arrive at on disc. Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes is a film that needs the scope of the big silver screen. Herzog’s compositions and general aesthetic program depend on this format. Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes is always a great movie, but on the big screen it becomes pure and brutal poetry.
