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joraud's review against another edition
adventurous
challenging
dark
emotional
informative
reflective
relaxing
medium-paced
4.0
josh_paul's review against another edition
4.0
There's a lot going on in this little book. The ostensible subject is Herzog's experience travelling to the Peruvian Amazon to film a movie called Fitzcarcaldo. It is not, however, about the technical aspects making a movie. Rather, I got the sense that Fitzcaraldo was conceived as an excuse for Herzog to go off into the jungle and go midly insane as a sort of performance art. Conequest of the Useless is a his documentation of this project.
As you might guess, Herzog presents himself as a highly unreliable narrator. He mentions a number of times the terrible rumors being spread about him "I was made out by the media to be a criminal, and a grotesque tribunal was convened in Germany to judge me."
He also shifts seamlessly between real events, dreams he had, and (I think) some kind of feverish hallucinations without distinguishing them. The only real signal the the events he's describing didn't happen is that they're outlandish. E.g., while in the jungle "I had received another telex, monosyllabic, saying it was the twilight of the gods, and I knew who had sent it and what the code meant. Then I was in the high mountains, Hindu Kush or the Himalayas, and at a great altitude I had to fight my way forward, sunk up to my chest in powder snow."
This question of what's really going on often takes an entertaining turn. For instance, he claims that a "scholar" asserts that "the opera house in Manaus, the Teatro Amazonas, is a spaceship, not built by human beings. He simply rejects all reports of its construction—the blueprints, the photos, all the supporting documents—claiming they are government forgeries."
Herzog is a great fabulist because he seems so guileless. His descriptions are often rather childlike, e.g. on a movie he saw: "Argentinean film, with one very thin man and one very fat one, blondes with bursting breasts and naughty lingerie, which was hanging up to dry in the kitchen belonging to one of the women. Because of his girth, the fat man could not duck down very well, so he kept bumping into the dangling panties and bras, rolling his eyes in ecstasy." This was apparently quite funny, and Herzog's companion laughed uproariously. "In one scene the fat man was also playing tennis." He describes several films in the book - this is one of his more positive takes.
I'm giving this 4 stars because it is largely original and unlike other books I have read, but it's certainly not for everyone.
As you might guess, Herzog presents himself as a highly unreliable narrator. He mentions a number of times the terrible rumors being spread about him "I was made out by the media to be a criminal, and a grotesque tribunal was convened in Germany to judge me."
He also shifts seamlessly between real events, dreams he had, and (I think) some kind of feverish hallucinations without distinguishing them. The only real signal the the events he's describing didn't happen is that they're outlandish. E.g., while in the jungle "I had received another telex, monosyllabic, saying it was the twilight of the gods, and I knew who had sent it and what the code meant. Then I was in the high mountains, Hindu Kush or the Himalayas, and at a great altitude I had to fight my way forward, sunk up to my chest in powder snow."
This question of what's really going on often takes an entertaining turn. For instance, he claims that a "scholar" asserts that "the opera house in Manaus, the Teatro Amazonas, is a spaceship, not built by human beings. He simply rejects all reports of its construction—the blueprints, the photos, all the supporting documents—claiming they are government forgeries."
Herzog is a great fabulist because he seems so guileless. His descriptions are often rather childlike, e.g. on a movie he saw: "Argentinean film, with one very thin man and one very fat one, blondes with bursting breasts and naughty lingerie, which was hanging up to dry in the kitchen belonging to one of the women. Because of his girth, the fat man could not duck down very well, so he kept bumping into the dangling panties and bras, rolling his eyes in ecstasy." This was apparently quite funny, and Herzog's companion laughed uproariously. "In one scene the fat man was also playing tennis." He describes several films in the book - this is one of his more positive takes.
I'm giving this 4 stars because it is largely original and unlike other books I have read, but it's certainly not for everyone.
tittypete's review against another edition
4.0
Read the below in the voice of the fingerless bad guy from the first Jack Reacher movie:
Miserable Jungle Village, Early 1980s
All around me the jungle hisses. Its stench of obscenity and indifference wafting through the llianas. In the morning I went deep into the foliage to defecate and was followed by a large turgid pig which snuffled hungrily as last night’s meal of yucca and masato fell from my backside to the dead leaves of the jungle floor. Several Indians died making hats from banana fronds. I am consumed by darkness and self-loathing. Walter has snagged his penis on a frayed piece of cable meant to bring the ship over the mountain. Now it is infected and looks like a dachshund wearing an oversized wetsuit made of decaying walrus flesh. It seeps pus. Gloria says she will leave him. We have to fly him to Iquitos for medical attention but cannot because the pilot has gouged out his eyes with the remains of a broken beer bottle. While weeping I noticed my tears tasted of mutton.
Last night I road my motorcycle through a battered women’s shelter. I no longer know what success means.
The ship is stuck in the mud and everything is rotten. An Indian was bit by and uncommon snake and cut of his own leg with a machete. He was bitten on the arm.
Kinski stared screaming so vehemently I thought his veins would burst. He was upset that all of the typewriters only had QWERTY keyboards. In the night, a child cried and it sounded like Wagner.
All around me is misery and the impenetrable brownness of the river. Huerequeque has Malaria and is insistent I sell him a non-functioning boat motor of which I do not claim ownership. Drug dealers have murdered the albino turkey with the tumorous blue face. Laundry chemicals have stripped a duck of its feather oils and now it cannot stay afloat. I watched it sink. Quacking up into the apathy of Mother Nature’s earless face.
Tomorrow we will have the ship over the mountain and into the Urubamba. I must prevent the Indians from killing Kinski. Contrary to what the Italian press are printing, Claudia Cardinale has not been hit by a truck. We are wait for parts from Manaus.
In a week old Czech newspaper I read of a Japanese who performed surgery on his own haemorrhoids by squatting over the reflective surface of a disused tin can.
I have done nothing but be here.
…
This book was essentially two years worth of journal entries like this detailing the production of Herzog’s movie Fitzcarraldo in which the main plot point is the dragging of a giant river ship over a mountain in the middle of the amazon. He did it. He filmed. All with not special effects and in the process it seems he went a bit nuts. It’s like reading a fever dream that ends in a shrug. There’s some really great quotes though.
Net-Net: I gotta watch Fitzcarraldo again.
Miserable Jungle Village, Early 1980s
All around me the jungle hisses. Its stench of obscenity and indifference wafting through the llianas. In the morning I went deep into the foliage to defecate and was followed by a large turgid pig which snuffled hungrily as last night’s meal of yucca and masato fell from my backside to the dead leaves of the jungle floor. Several Indians died making hats from banana fronds. I am consumed by darkness and self-loathing. Walter has snagged his penis on a frayed piece of cable meant to bring the ship over the mountain. Now it is infected and looks like a dachshund wearing an oversized wetsuit made of decaying walrus flesh. It seeps pus. Gloria says she will leave him. We have to fly him to Iquitos for medical attention but cannot because the pilot has gouged out his eyes with the remains of a broken beer bottle. While weeping I noticed my tears tasted of mutton.
Last night I road my motorcycle through a battered women’s shelter. I no longer know what success means.
The ship is stuck in the mud and everything is rotten. An Indian was bit by and uncommon snake and cut of his own leg with a machete. He was bitten on the arm.
Kinski stared screaming so vehemently I thought his veins would burst. He was upset that all of the typewriters only had QWERTY keyboards. In the night, a child cried and it sounded like Wagner.
All around me is misery and the impenetrable brownness of the river. Huerequeque has Malaria and is insistent I sell him a non-functioning boat motor of which I do not claim ownership. Drug dealers have murdered the albino turkey with the tumorous blue face. Laundry chemicals have stripped a duck of its feather oils and now it cannot stay afloat. I watched it sink. Quacking up into the apathy of Mother Nature’s earless face.
Tomorrow we will have the ship over the mountain and into the Urubamba. I must prevent the Indians from killing Kinski. Contrary to what the Italian press are printing, Claudia Cardinale has not been hit by a truck. We are wait for parts from Manaus.
In a week old Czech newspaper I read of a Japanese who performed surgery on his own haemorrhoids by squatting over the reflective surface of a disused tin can.
I have done nothing but be here.
…
This book was essentially two years worth of journal entries like this detailing the production of Herzog’s movie Fitzcarraldo in which the main plot point is the dragging of a giant river ship over a mountain in the middle of the amazon. He did it. He filmed. All with not special effects and in the process it seems he went a bit nuts. It’s like reading a fever dream that ends in a shrug. There’s some really great quotes though.
Net-Net: I gotta watch Fitzcarraldo again.
caitlinorlaeve's review against another edition
adventurous
informative
inspiring
tense
slow-paced
3.0
danchibnall's review against another edition
3.0
This was one of the strangest books I have ever read. Herzog is a master filmmaker and this is the behind the scenes story of one of his biggest films. If you're a Herzog fan, give it a read. If not, it might not appeal to you.
kratositaly's review against another edition
5.0
"A fairly young, intelligent-looking man with long hair asked me whether filming or being filmed could do harm, whether it could destroy a person. In my heart the answer was yes, but I said no."
During the production of FITZCARRALDO, legendary director Werner Herzog kept a diary where he blended detailed write-ups of filming with lyrical beauty, poetry, and peculiar encounters that border on the fantastical. Just like his documentaries are not entirely grounded in reality, so too this book takes on higher, deeper meanings, elevating it to something better than a bog-standard rundown of a production. Les Blank's documentary, BURDEN OF DREAMS, is mandatory viewing too after reading this!
amorasad's review against another edition
5.0
অল্প অল্প করে পড়ার দুই ধরণের কারণ থাকে— এক, বই খুবই ভালো লাগায় রসিয়ে পড়ার ইচ্ছে, দুই, বই কঠিন/নিরস কিন্তু পাঠক যে কোন কারণেই হোক পড়া শেষ করবে বলে মনে মনে পণ করেছে। এই বইটা প্রথম তরিকার। ভার্নার হার্টযগ জার্মান সিনেমা পরিচালক। ভিম ভেন্ডার্স, রাইনার ভার্নার ফাসবিন্ডারের মত তিনিও নিও জার্মান সিনেমা মুভমেন্টের অন্যতম পুরোধা (এবং একই সাথে লেখক, অভিনেতা, অপেরা ডিরেক্টর) । তাঁর সবচেয়ে পরিচিত সিনেমা Fitzcarraldo, যার নির্মাণকাজ হয়েছিলো পেরুর জঙ্গলে। সিনেমার সবচেয়ে বড় চ্যালেঞ্জ ছিলো পাহাড়ের উপর দিয়ে জাহাজ টেনে উঠিয়ে ওপারের নদীতে নামানো। এ ঘটনা সিনেমাপাড়ায় বেশ পরিচিত হলেও ওটাই একমাত্র বাঁধা ছিলো না। শতরকম বৈরিতা, অসুবিধে, মৃত্যুর ঝুঁকি আর অসম্ভব পরিস্থিতির ভেতর হার্টযগ সিনেমার কাজ শেষ করেন। পেরুর গহীনে প্রস্ততি, শুটিঙয়ের সময়কালে যে জার্নাল রেখেছিলেন, তাই পরবর্তীতে বই আকারে প্রকাশ করেন। সিনেমা বানানোর গল্পের চেয়ে বরং আনুষাঙ্গিক বিষয়াবলী, পরিবেশ আর অভিজ্ঞতার বয়ান ঊঠে এসেছে বেশী।
বইটা পড়ার সময় অনেক অনেক অনেক অংশ দাগিয়ে রেখেছি। সেখান থেকে কিছু উদ্ধৃতি শেয়ার করি। আগ্রহী পাঠক রিভিউর বদলে বরং সেটিই বেশী পছন্দ করবে বলে আমার বিশ্বাস।
সারা বই জুড়েই হাইলাইট করেছি। এতই যে, সব দেয়ার প্রশ্নই আসে না। এই কোটগুলোও অদ্ভুত লাগতে পারে। হার্টযগের চারপাশের সবকিছুতে সূক্ষ্মাতিসূক্ষ্ম নজরের কারণেই হয়তো। ফিল্মমেকার হিসেবে তাঁর লিগ্যাসির গুরুত্বপূর্ণ বিষয় এটি। তিনি সাহিত্য পছন্দ করেন। অলঙ্কারময় গদ্যশিল্পের উচ্ছ্বসিত প্রেমিক। বই পড়ার গুরুত্ব নিয়েও হার্টযগ বেশ হাক-ডাক ছেড়েছেন। এই ব্যাপারে তিনি আমার মেন্টর বলতে পারি।
বইটা পড়ার সময় অনেক অনেক অনেক অংশ দাগিয়ে রেখেছি। সেখান থেকে কিছু উদ্ধৃতি শেয়ার করি। আগ্রহী পাঠক রিভিউর বদলে বরং সেটিই বেশী পছন্দ করবে বলে আমার বিশ্বাস।
The air is as fat as a pig, and lingers rigid and sweaty outside.
A desolate day out of which all life had been drained. In my hut, which is more and more empty, the sublime and the ghostly have taken up residence like siblings who no longer speak to one another.
Snakes had never been seen anywhere near chain saws, because the noise and the exhaust fumes drive the snakes deep into the jungle, but this man had suddenly been bitten twice in the foot. He had dropped his chain saw and just caught a glimpse of the snake before it disappeared into the underbrush; it was a chuchupe . Usually this snake’s bite causes cardiac arrest and stops breathing in less than a minute, and cases in which a person has survived a bite longer than seven or eight minutes without treatment are almost unknown. Our camp with the doctor and the anti-venom serum was twenty minutes away. The man, so I was told by someone who had been working next to him, had stood motionless for a few seconds, thinking hard. Then he had picked up the chain saw, which had stalled when it hit the ground, pulled the cord to start it, the way you pull an outboard motor, and had sawn off his foot above the ankle. I saw the man—his whole body was gray. He was alive, perfectly collected, and very calm.
The council of elders chose a new husband for the drowned man’s widow. The jungle does not allow widowhood.
the Grand Emotions in opera, often dismissed as over the top, strike me on the contrary as the most concentrated, pure archetypes of emotion, whose essence is incapable of being condensed any further. They are axioms of emotions. That is what opera and the jungle have in common.
How often I used to study calendar pictures down to the smallest detail, trying like a detective to figure out the exact date and time when the picture was taken. Looking at a picture of the Hamburg harbor, I examined the models and years of the parked cars, figured out which ship was being loaded with what and where, found a church tower with a clock that showed the time, compared the angles of the shadows: all these pieces of information, when checked against the harbor’s logbook, would make it possible to determine the day and exact time, as well as the photographer’s position and the lens he had used. The picture could serve as evidence in court for a major case, evidence sufficient for a conviction.
The freight included three large turkeys, one of which keeps spreading his tail to intimidate me, gobbling, and putting on a great show of agitation. This turkey, this bird of ill omen, is a pure albino, so it is quite a sight when it fans its great white wheel, spreads its wings, whose tips trail on the ground, and puffs up its feathers. Snorting in bursts, it launched several feigned attacks on me and gazed at me with such intense stupidity emanating from its ugly face, which took on a bluish purple coloration and had tumorlike wattles, that without more ado I pulled a feather out of its spreading rear end. Now the turkey’s sulking.
On the border between Mali and Mauretania, my jeep disappeared with all my equipment, and then my money and passport were also taken from me. A frog appeared under the mosquito net and stared at me. Out on the porch I leaned against one of the posts, overcome with misery, and crushed the termites’ tunnel that ran the length of it. They spilled out like water from a leaky pipe, but were not angry in the slightest. By morning they had repaired the damage to their tunnel. They had to haul material from far away, at least from the ground underneath my cabin. Which of the termites do that? On whose orders? How are such orders given for building and repairs? Or are there specialized construction squads just for that?
A dog hopped over to me on three legs and looked at me like an apostle gazing at the Lord, who has not given him a mission yet.
Look into the eyes of a chicken and you will see real stupidity. It is a kind of bottomless stupidity, a fiendish stupidity. They are the most horrifying, cannibalistic and nightmarish creatures in the world.
A fairly young, intelligent looking man with long hair asked me whether filming or being filmed could do harm, whether it could destroy a person. In my heart the answer was yes, but I said no.
সারা বই জুড়েই হাইলাইট করেছি। এতই যে, সব দেয়ার প্রশ্নই আসে না। এই কোটগুলোও অদ্ভুত লাগতে পারে। হার্টযগের চারপাশের সবকিছুতে সূক্ষ্মাতিসূক্ষ্ম নজরের কারণেই হয়তো। ফিল্মমেকার হিসেবে তাঁর লিগ্যাসির গুরুত্বপূর্ণ বিষয় এটি। তিনি সাহিত্য পছন্দ করেন। অলঙ্কারময় গদ্যশিল্পের উচ্ছ্বসিত প্রেমিক। বই পড়ার গুরুত্ব নিয়েও হার্টযগ বেশ হাক-ডাক ছেড়েছেন। এই ব্যাপারে তিনি আমার মেন্টর বলতে পারি।
natemanfrenjensen's review against another edition
4.0
For what it is, a collection of observations and musings from an impressive director on an intense film made under (self-imposed?) harrowing circumstances, this book is a great opportunity to see the internal narrative of a human at work.
celestemgracia's review against another edition
3.75
A diary containing beautiful description of solitude and the irreverent quality of nature.
However, it is very much apparent that it was written by a man in the late 70s.
However, it is very much apparent that it was written by a man in the late 70s.