Grizzly Man (Werner Herzog, 2005)

Werner Herzog’s documentary Grizzly Man was my favourite of the (admittedly few) films I saw at last year’s Telecom International Film Festival. Being a fan of the eccentric German auteur for some time, I was not disappointed with this, one of two documentaries he directed in 2005.

After thirteen summers spent living with and studying Alaskan grizzly bears, activist Timothy Treadwell and his girlfriend were attacked by an indiscriminate specimen and eaten. Comprised of footage Treadwell himself shot with his video camera (edited down from a whopping 100 hours’ worth) and interviews with friends, family, experts and others who crossed his path, what unfolds is the story of an idealist so absolutely consumed by his obsessions that he almost completely loses touch with reality (Also involved in the project is another hero of mine, guitarist Richard Thompson, whose Morricone-esque score is the perfect complement to footage of the rugged landscape of Alaska.)

That Herzog would be fascinated by Treadwell’s story is not surprising, as men of wild ambitions are often the protagonists of his fiction films. He may also have noticed an affinity with Treadwell as a filmmaker as he has braved similar terrain himself – notably the South American jungle. Via voice-over narration, the director, in his soothing German accent, provides his own take on the Treadwell saga and discovers a poignant drama beneath the surface. As he explains: “I found that beyond a wildlife film, in [Treadwell’s] material lay dormant a story of astonishing beauty and depth. I discovered a film of human ecstasies and darkest inner turmoil”.

Treadwell seems a congenial sort of nutter – dressed in black, with shades and a bandana over his blonde Prince Valiant locks and cooing to the animals as if they were oversized teddy bears, christening them Mickey, Freckles, Mr Chocolate and a host of other cuddly pet names. He loves these animals, but the animals remain largely indifferent to him. He is bit of an exhibitionist, and his video journal is more revealing than he could have known: a window onto his obsession. He indulges himself quite often - spouting unintentionally hilarious non sequiturs, staging mock-Rambo jungle scenes, waxing sentimental over bear droppings, praying for rain (“I want rain. I want, if there's a God, to kick some ass down here. Let's have some water! Jesus boy! Let's have some water! Christ man or Allah or Hindu floaty thing! Let's have some fucking water for these animals!”) and railing against the media and government in potty-mouthed monologues (you can’t script this stuff). At one point he consoles a bear who lost a fight over a female and uses the situation as an opportunity to discourse on his own difficulties with the ladies.

There is a lot of self-mythologising going on here as he lives out a fantasy lifestyle, oblivious to the danger that would eventually claim him. Herzog comes to the conclusion that Treadwell’s mistake was that he did not realise that the wild was not his playground: nature is chaotic and he was delighting in a harmony that was not there to begin with.
Grizzly Man is a real-life tragedy of a man blinded by his passions. As mentioned, Treadwell has much in common with Herzog’s fictional protagonists: the power-mad conquistador of Aguirre, the Wrath of G-d or the rubber baron Fitzcarraldo, who gets a tribe of Indians to pull a riverboat over a mountain (both films come highly recommended). He is in good company, as is Grizzly Man with the rest of Herzog’s oeuvre – it is an enthralling documentary and a valuable insight into self-destructive human nature.

RIP Timothy Treadwell.

This review was published in a slightly different version in Craccum, Issue 4, 2006.