the poet and antarctica
Whenever I'm asked who my favorite documentarian is, I always answer Errol Morris, or maybe the Maysles. I love how they make a documentary. I think of them as makers of documentary. But the truth is, I tend to have more love for, and connect more with, and generally get more out of, Werner Herzog's documentaries than either Morris or the Maysles. Herzog's such a category unto himself. What he makes, it is not Plato's idea of the Good Documentary. It is a poet's soul making a documentary. It is a humanist voice, interested in the absurd and the deranged, in the humanity of everything. They aren't documentaries about ideas or about mundane life, they are the borders of all life, the frontiers and extreme edges of... well, of humanity. What's not to love?
I've never seen a Herzog film that didn't stick with me, in my gut -- in the gut of my mind? -- and affect me days, weeks, years later. Encounters at the End of the World, a seven-week impromptu voyage to Antarctica for Werner and a camera man, is full of moments I know are going to stick. The Deranged Penguin, the Linguist in a Country With No Language, the Sounds Seals Can Make, the Philosopher/Bulldozer-Driver, even the Marine Biologist's Last Dive. So many more.
Roger Ebert, to whom the film is dedicated, wrote a letter to Werner that sums up better than I probably could some of the greatness of this film and of Herzog in general.
I've got to sit down and watch The Wild Blue Yonder soon. And you... you need to go tomorrow to Cinema 21 and watch Encounters at the End of the World while you can.