ENCOUNTERS AT THE END OF THE WORLD
Directed by Werner Herzog. Opens Fri, July 18.
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You want to hug Werner Herzog, you really do.

At once the most irritable traveler and wide-eyed naïf going, the 68-year-old director invariably finds a way to present whatever subject he’s obsessed with at the moment—be it religious fanatics (Bells from the Deep), self-proclaimed bear experts (Grizzly Man), or escapees from the Viet Cong (Little Dieter Needs to Fly)—and reveal a wonder in them that you might never have expected. And those are just his documentaries; anyone who’s ever seen Herzog’s more hallucinatory fiction films knows that this is a filmmaker who makes films as an act of pedagogy—a way of teaching his audience to see things in a different way.

It’s impossible not to love the man for this, just as it would take a hard heart not to be enchanted by Encounters at the End of the World, the latest in Herzog’s continuing study of men in harsh environments. His first stop is an American outpost—McMurdo Station—and it absolutely ruins the experience for Herzog. He’s exasperated by the sounds of civilization in what should be a remote area—besides, what he’s really fascinated by are the oddball scientists in the professional community, “professional dreamers” on the very fringes of the fringe.

What emerges as he snoops around is a documentary that can only be loosely classified as such—a weirdo among weirdos, Herzog doesn’t properly focus on the subject at hand, instead gliding towards whatever shiny object happens to distract him. At his side is another outsider, guitarist Henry Kaiser, whose camerawork (and movie score) is liquid and beautiful—the underwater sequences alone are enough to justify even the most pointless moments in the film. The subjects that Herzog finds himself attracted to all have compelling stories—and as a group of misfits, they’re second to none. His attraction to these people (and his empathy for them) is as evident as the almost religious awe with which he views the icy landscape is endearing.

But as with his other “extreme
climate” films—Aguiree, Wrath of God comes to mind—Herzog still views the environment as harsh and unforgiving, seeing little romance in the ice and snow. He’s no fool, our Werner—every gorgeous shot is counterbalanced by a reflection on death and the folly of civilization. There’s even a backhanded slap at the family-friendly March of the Penguins, with Herzog watching as a lone waddler heads off in the wrong direction from the group, to his certain doom.

In a sense, you can see Herzog’s career as a dreamer in that penguin. “If you turn him around in the right direction,” he acidly observes, “he will turn himself around, and keep going in the wrong direction, until he starves and dies.” 

But at least he’ll have seen wonders that the other penguins might not have, eh, Werner?