My Best FiendFilmmaker Werner Herzog is known for an expansive and diverse body of work, from documentaries to dramas. Some of his best known and highly acclaimed films have starred his notorious lead, Klaus Kinski, whose reputation as a volatile and raving madman was as familiar as his intense performances. The two professionals would endure and cultivate a genuine love-hate relationship, both as good friends and as bitter enemies. Although the stories have become the stuff of movie myth, in My Best Fiend--Herzog's tribute to his colleague--he gives us a look at that relationship in the form of a documentary about himself, and especially about Klaus.
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My Best Fiend is best served if you have already seen the films which Klaus Kinski starred in under Herzog's direction, in part because of the many plot-revealing moments referenced. Key moments from these films are used in a twofold manner: to make apparent Klaus' highly talented--wholly unique--acting technique, and to serve as a visual reference point for the interviews and revelations Herzog shares to give us insight into this complex man. Herzog does much of the talking in My Best Fiend, and makes it clear that his perspective is his own, but makes every effort to portray an objective perspective of Klaus Kinski, often reinforced by footage evidencing the actor's rage. The stories about Herzog and Kinski's animosity is legendary, with such colorful tales as how Herzog supposedly kept a rifle trained on Kinski during Aguirre, the Wrath of God to keep him acting, which Herzog informs us was an exaggeration...but not entirely unfounded; as Kinski almost abandoned the set, Herzog does mention how he threatened him in a similar fashion. It's hard to imagine such a violent working relationship producing anything of value, but the proof is in the pudding, as they say, or the movies in this case. It's also hard to imagine that after Aguirre, either party would want to work with one another again, but collaborate they would, even though the rage in Kinski would not die. The opening of My Best Fiend is of a stage performance by Kinski--playing his interpretation of Jesus--but one where he appears to be having a meltdown on stage, cursing out other performers, and the audience at large; if this were our only exposure to the manic thespian, we would no doubt think of him as a psychopath. Contrast this with the closing shot of Klaus with the butterfly, and it is as though we were looking at two different people entirely. Herzog does not play at being a psychoanalyst, but it would not be a stretch to consider the evidence to suggest that Kinski suffered from a form of bipolar disorder, based on Herzog's own accounts of their interactions. Herzog describes how their destinies were linked even before he knew of Kinski as an actor, before he was interested in film, when they coincidentally shared a boarding house, where Kinski would fly about in mad rages, destroying rooms and shrieking over trivial affairs. But in all fairness, it was his exposure to him in a role in Children, Mother, and the General which caught Herzog's attention, and put the seed in his mind for the first time what their intertwined destinies would really be when it came time to seek out the lead for his first jungle epic.
Herzog's film career has included many documentaries, even those focusing on real individuals who have undergone fascinating experiences; but for My Best Fiend, Herzog turns the camera inward, revealing much about himself, pouring his heart on the celluloid. He retraces his steps, revisiting the places where he made his great films alongside Kinski, travelling down the various wild rivers of Peru where they filmed their dramas together, as well as the Czech town of Telc, where Herzog interviews Kinski's co-star in Woyzeck, Eva Mattes. Eva--as well as Klaus' other co-star in Fitzcarraldo, Claudia Cardinale--describe him as a gentle soul, a professional, and a kind man, although Claudia does recall his obsessive-compulsive need to sanitize his hands with alcohol after touching animals. I suspect that Herzog wants us to reach a kind of conclusion by what he has assembled about his colleague, based on the arrangement of the footage of Kinski and the testimony he gives us--but the beauty lies in that the conclusion is not definite. Just as it would be impossible to coalesce another's life into a brief summation, Herzog can only present his case to us in as objective of a way as one can who was so personally involved in Kinski's life and career as an actor. Herzog gives us a broad spectrum of emotions about Kinski: he wanted to firebomb Klaus' house, but this act was averted by his guard dog, he found that he could steer Kinski away from his attention-demanding fits by exerting his own dominance over an argument with him, cowing him into obedience. Herzog even reveals to us that the actual natives cast in Fitzcarraldo legitimately offered to execute Kinski for Herzog--Herzog declined, but used this fervor to fuel a scene in the film. But Herzog recalls the man who came to offer him moral support as the harrowing production of Fitzcarraldo was suffering, and he was suffering as a result. He remembers the friend who would be so comfortable with him that he would hug him, they would laugh and joke together, like best friends. He recalls their last collaboration--Cobra Verde--where Herzog indicates that by the end, it was as though Kinski has burnt himself to ashes, given it all. He passes through a photo gallery of Kinski, a mix of mirth and madness, much like the man himself. Like a cinematic equivalent of Slash and Axl Rose, Werner Herzog and Klaus Kinski made beautiful music together, films that are staggering in their vision, and blinding with the raw presence of the talent. My Best Fiend is a bittersweet send up to the other half of an explosive creative team which might seem great individually, but together are positively nuclear.
Recommended for: Fans of documentaries about filmmaking, about a unique and dynamic individual in the firmament of movies, told by the director who brought him to international awareness and acclaim. It is a story about friendship, and all its bloody, ugly bits, too--a rare treat for a documentary and an amazingly confessional one.
Herzog's film career has included many documentaries, even those focusing on real individuals who have undergone fascinating experiences; but for My Best Fiend, Herzog turns the camera inward, revealing much about himself, pouring his heart on the celluloid. He retraces his steps, revisiting the places where he made his great films alongside Kinski, travelling down the various wild rivers of Peru where they filmed their dramas together, as well as the Czech town of Telc, where Herzog interviews Kinski's co-star in Woyzeck, Eva Mattes. Eva--as well as Klaus' other co-star in Fitzcarraldo, Claudia Cardinale--describe him as a gentle soul, a professional, and a kind man, although Claudia does recall his obsessive-compulsive need to sanitize his hands with alcohol after touching animals. I suspect that Herzog wants us to reach a kind of conclusion by what he has assembled about his colleague, based on the arrangement of the footage of Kinski and the testimony he gives us--but the beauty lies in that the conclusion is not definite. Just as it would be impossible to coalesce another's life into a brief summation, Herzog can only present his case to us in as objective of a way as one can who was so personally involved in Kinski's life and career as an actor. Herzog gives us a broad spectrum of emotions about Kinski: he wanted to firebomb Klaus' house, but this act was averted by his guard dog, he found that he could steer Kinski away from his attention-demanding fits by exerting his own dominance over an argument with him, cowing him into obedience. Herzog even reveals to us that the actual natives cast in Fitzcarraldo legitimately offered to execute Kinski for Herzog--Herzog declined, but used this fervor to fuel a scene in the film. But Herzog recalls the man who came to offer him moral support as the harrowing production of Fitzcarraldo was suffering, and he was suffering as a result. He remembers the friend who would be so comfortable with him that he would hug him, they would laugh and joke together, like best friends. He recalls their last collaboration--Cobra Verde--where Herzog indicates that by the end, it was as though Kinski has burnt himself to ashes, given it all. He passes through a photo gallery of Kinski, a mix of mirth and madness, much like the man himself. Like a cinematic equivalent of Slash and Axl Rose, Werner Herzog and Klaus Kinski made beautiful music together, films that are staggering in their vision, and blinding with the raw presence of the talent. My Best Fiend is a bittersweet send up to the other half of an explosive creative team which might seem great individually, but together are positively nuclear.
Recommended for: Fans of documentaries about filmmaking, about a unique and dynamic individual in the firmament of movies, told by the director who brought him to international awareness and acclaim. It is a story about friendship, and all its bloody, ugly bits, too--a rare treat for a documentary and an amazingly confessional one.