I could write a dozen or more completely different posts about Grizzly Man,
the Werner Herzog documentary about Timothy Treadwell, who lived among
grizzly bears in Alaska for more than 10 summers before being mauled by
one in October of 2003. What really hit me most about the film, though,
was this: A camera inherently contains a tightly wound bundle of
potential, whether it’s put in the hands of an amateur or a master.
On one hand, you have Timothy Treadwell. He had no formal training in
film, but he had a vision, the stark Alaskan landscape, and the grizzly
bears and foxes as his cast. Treadwell manages to capture some
gut-wrenchingly perfect scenes—he has an eye not only for moments, but
also for composition: Two grizzlies running at full speed along the
barren shore of a lake, for instance, and the scenes taken inside
Treadwell’s tent, like one with the feet of a baby fox creating
impressions and shadows on the roof, the creation of an abstract
impressionist. Herzog comments on Treadwell’s ability to create
something so moving and effective with only the most basic equipment
and no crew. It’s obviously a huge part of why Herzog was drawn to this
story, and he devotes a significant portion of the film to celebrating
Treadwell’s artistry, straight up.
Herzog, on the other hand, knows completely what he is up to with the
camera, and he pulls it off perfectly. He’s in his element, with
Treadwell as his complex protagonist. There was one moment in
particular that made me lean forward, almost holding my breath until it
was over, and then sit back, nearly devastated by the artistry of a
great filmmaker. The moment came when we finally see how Herzog chose
to handle the audio of Treadwell and his girlfriend being mauled by the
grizzly. Herzog’s choice demonstrates how we each are mirrored in the
faces of those around us—those who see us, take in the expressions
we’re not even aware we’re making, and are affected by them. In this
moment in Grizzly Man, rather than seeing Herzog’s face as he
listens to the audio, we see the face of Jewel Palovak, Treadwell’s
close friend, who is watching Herzog. It says it all—it says perhaps
even more—and once again reminds me of all that is tender and crushing
and stunning about human relationships, and a human’s capacity to
capture all that in a moment on film.
Overall, the documentary is a fascinating psychological portrait of a
complex man you find yourself at once admiring and pitying. The film is
informative, interesting, gripping, even humorous, and not nearly as
graphic or frightening as you might expect.
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