Fitzcarraldo

Fitzcarraldo is one of the best films I've seen and most of my initial reactions have likely already been observed, so here I'd like to focus simply on the ways in which Herzog films the oncoming night sky. Herzog's films generally have a relaxing bucolic feel to them as he patiently holds the camera upon a quiet countryside, a mountain or a pasture, accompanied by a light, swaying, pastoral soundtrack, gently allowing the viewer time to take in the scene and analyze it pensively and leisurely. This Herzogian feature abounds in Fitzcarraldo, and the ways in which he uses it to film various manifestations of dusk caught my attention, first, for the sheer beauty of the scenes themselves, second, by discovering the ways in which they symbolically depict Fitzcarraldo's dream of bringing the apex of opera to his jungle town of Iquitos. His dream is eccentric and grand, as sublime and gallant as it is foolhardy and questionable, and any predictions that could be made about his endeavours are etched upon the uncertainty of the night sky (after having been created during the preceding, transient, radiant evening). Whether they are the predictions of the seasoned, cynical rubber barons, or dreamy, idyllic Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald himself, they are both framed by ambition and cast courageously in the darkness.