Grizzly Man

Dir. Werner Herzog
2005
7.1



There is a thin line between obstinately living out adolescent and childhood fantasies far into adult life and being on the brink of mental illness. Children do not draw distinct lines between reality and fantasy. Instead they allow permeability between the two worlds causing them to coalesce to form something fantastic and surreal. With children this lifestyle of illusion is acceptable if not encouraged. There is an unspoken assumption that the child will eventually “grow up” and develop a sense of reasoning that will allow them to distinguish between their fantasies and the real world. This reasoning permits adults to make sacrifices and cope with tragedies; mentally overcoming cognizance of strife and pain. It also deepens relationships. The film Grizzly Man (dir. Werner Herzog) is a documentary on Timothy Treadwell, a young man who spent 13 summers living amongst wild grizzly bears in Katami National Park and Reserve in Alaska. It shows the tragic disintegration of Treadwell's ability to function in society and his death by the animals he has sworn to protect. While not without significant psychology of its own, the film's ultimate undoing is Herzog's insistence on the magic of Treadwell's life and work, eschewing a cause and effect line of reasoning for an abstracted interpretation that leans closer to child-like innocence than debilitating mental disorder.

Grizzly Man's 100 minutes are made up in part from distilled hours of Treadwell's stock documentary footage that he shot over his 13 summers in Alaska amongst the bears. Herzog expertly picks and chooses certain scenes of chaos and reflection to enhance his own overtly romantic narration. The serenity of the Alaskan landscape is juxtaposed with Treadwell's wildly oscillating personality. Much of the time he spends raving like an idiot about his duty as a protector or knight or spirit of the bears and their habitat. At times he becomes so caught up in his own specious delusions that the viewer watches him literally unhinge to the point of violence. Treadwell exhibits no sense of self control and his views are disorienting and often terrifying. His very presence on the reserve is in fact illegal, and his relationship with its native bear species is at the very least amoral.

Throughout the film Treadwell constantly claims to “love these animals” but his actions speak to a much larger sense of delusion. During a particularly uncomfortable series of scenes in which a terrible drought has struck the area Treadwell finds himself cursing God and attempting to intervene on behalf of the Higher Power. He builds a makeshift route for the local fish population to traverse in order to move upstream to spawn; thus providing the bears with a much needed source of nourishment. It is in this moment that Treadwell's self assumed position as philanthropist of nature reveals itself as sophism incarnate. Treadwell suffers because of the bears, not for them. He lives vicariously through them, while simultaneously deconstructing their very existence in order to make it more hospitable to his fragile psyche. Treadwell, so disenchanted by his time spent amongst the vicious human population, is incapable of viewing his actions objectively. He supersedes on behalf of experienced (but potentially Fascist) wildlife experts and nature itself, striking out more as a disinformed enthusiast than a passive protector. Like so many pitiable romantics Treadwell would rather see nothing bad happen than accept the harshness and impassive cruelty of fate as dictated by the uninterrupted course of nature.

Though a naturally flawed character it is not this fact that keeps Grizzly Man from fully succeeding as a film. Herzog, like Treadwell, is manipulating a hapless population; not of ferocious, fur covered giants of the wild but rather the comparatively tame film audience. He massages a sense of mysticism into the pores of his documentary and his objective is in many ways identical to Treadwell's. He is here to convince the viewer of his good intentions. Rather than utilize a sense of detachment that would have given a fair portrayal of Timothy Treadwell and his exploits amongst the bears, he coerces the viewer into the unmistakable realm of pity and awe. It is not wrong to have an objective, just like it is certainly not wrong to want to assist an animal population that is being threatened by both natural and unnatural antagonists. In fact most documentary's contain within their midst an unspoken (or sometimes fully declared) intention. However, Herzog himself intercedes throughout the film to guide it, just as Treadwell intercedes to “help” the bears. While listening over the sound byte of Treadwell's death Herzog, who is never so much seen on camera as he is felt, an invisible presence just beyond the lens like the man behind the curtain in The Wizard of Oz, becomes overwhelmed by the sound of Treadwell being mauled by the creatures he loves. To the woman he is interviewing, a former girlfriend of Treadwell's, he tells “I don't think you should ever listen to this.” Herzog, in his blind ambition to show only the altruistic traits of a man whose internal psychology was so terribly confused and damaged, has reduced a fascinating character study to a two dimensional rendering. Though the cinematography displays an aged an adept understanding of provocative and sublime visual stimuli, the narrative is all too eager to reveal an infantile grasp of the ways in which people interact with each other and with nature.

A History of Violence

Dir. David Cronenberg
2005
10.0

I thought up a great drinking game tonight. You get together a couple of friends and a bottle of whatever you can steal from your parents without getting caught, pop in A History of Violence and take a shot every time Viggo Mortensen kills someone. Chances are you'll get good and drunk and have a great time doing it since, if I recall correctly, thats about 8 shots in an hour and a half. Thats essentially what A History of Violence is: condensing 40 years of film making on the part of director David Cronenberg into one near perfect piece of sickeningly excellent cinema.

A History of Violence takes a simple, systematic approach. Cronenberg is an experience filmmaker who has no need to try to impress his audience. He has the audacity to show anything (remember the diner scene? Remember what that guy's face look like after Viggo blew it in half?) but the good taste to know when to do so . His cinematography is inventive and in tune with the relative surrealism of the plot. He eschews plain, contemporary filming techniques for one's that better suit his needs. The camera floats when it could simply pan. The earlier reference to surrealism is not to say that at any point A History of Violence is unbelievable, in fact it is just the opposite. The scenario is real, tangible and terrifying. What is surreal about it is how we're never given much in the way of details, just broad strokes. Like similarly alarming Blue Velvet the horror of the narrative suspends the need for information. There is no extravagance in this film; it contains only what it needs to. Unlike the dozens of action/suspense movies that clog movie theaters each year, this one is concise and focused.

The film is equal parts suspense, horror, action and sex; also known as everything an American audience really wants to see. What differentiates A History of Violence from say Die Hard is how, despite having the word “violence” in the title, most of the movie is a build up to the excruciating act. Its like Hitchcock if Hitchcock had had nine millimeters. Rather than an orgy of guns and blood Cronenberg painstakingly extracts the humanity of his characters. He drives home our own repressed primitive desires to kick the shit out of people who make us angry or to murder those who threaten us. Main character Tom Stall (played by Viggo) embodies the modern characteristic of repression of primitive behavior. Here is a man who has come from “a history of violence” into a new life where he is simple and plain-spoken, adored by his fellow townspeople and is, in the words of Sheriff Sam Carney, “good people”. His alternate persona, “Joey”, a Philadelphian gangster with inclinations towards viciousness is intermittently referred to as a “monster” or an “animal” by his wife, Edie (Maria Bello) after Tom reluctantly reveals this former self to her. Tom knows that he cannot return to his former life of being Joey. He must make a decision in regards to how to move forward. In the end, he chooses not to destroy the violence but the history.

Violence is not a social trend. Violence is not something we're born with or born without. Violence is a habit that is acquired and nurtured by some and rejected by the rest (who still maintain a distinct curiosity about it). At the end of A History of Violence Tom returns home and rejoins his family who, despite being skeptical and visibly upset, accept him. Where other films may have dragged on after that scene in a vain effort to explain themselves, Cronenberg simply ends. I'm sure when a person sees a film rated 10.0 they're waiting for that moment when the critic (in this case a very amateur, but ambitious critic) says “this film was perfect because...”. However, the problem is that recent cinema is often inexplicably great. We don't have the luxury of retrospect to say that David Cronenberg's A History of Violence will influence this, that and those directors/actors/writers. While Cronenberg is certainly cemented as a skilled director, only time will tell how good he really is. This is true of the entire film industry and of all art in general. So, drawing up a quick summary about why this film is a magnificent, transient piece of cinema is necessarily near-impossible. But here we go: A History of Violence surprises and shocks, but also contains a deep psychological foundation. Viggo Mortensen's performance is certainly one of his finest. The simplicity of its dialog and structure is only outdone by the universality of its message. It requires multiple watchings. Its got boobs in it! Are you happy now? Seriously, if you like action cinema but desire something more than sheer spectacle, A History of Violence is your ticket to the convoluted psyche of violence in America.