What is it about middle
aged white men and their sudden love of
Orientalism (or jazz, for that matter)? Is it a
midlife crisis? This thought came to me watching
Werner Herzog’s 2003 documentary Wheel Of Time.
The best thing I can say of the film is that it
would make for a solid PBS film by a typical
documentary director, but coming from a master of
cinema, like Herzog, it’s a profound
disappointment. Why? There simply is nothing more
to this film than Herzog filming the mundane
goings on at a trio of Buddhist festivals in 2002,
and acting as if peasants trekking about a
mountain (Mount Kailash in Tibet), monks painting
mandalas with colored sand, and white Austrians
rapt with Orientalism, were supposed to lend some
deep insight into the cosmic goings on. At least,
that is what can be taken from Herzog’s narration
of the film.
And here is where one knows things are not going
well for a film, when a viewer actually wishes the
raconteur nonpareil (Herzog) would just shut his
yap! This is because there is nothing deep
portrayed in this film, except- perhaps, the
revelation that Buddhists are as silly and
misguided as the followers of every other
religion. The Dalai Lama, as example, in an
interview with Herzog, and in shots throughout the
film, comes off not as a wise shaman, but a none
too bright, if very nice, old man who is a bit of
a hypochondriac. Instead of proffering deep
wisdom, hewn from the ages of thought that his
many supposed incarnations should have given him,
the best he can impart are some of the dullest
Buddhist banalities imaginable. Yet, despite this
nihility of intellect, Herzog never opines- not
even on something as interesting as shots of old
trucks, loaded with pilgrims, adorned with the
Tibetan swastika- after all, he was born in
Germany during World War Two, so you think he
might even mention the prominence they have
displayed on the trucks. Granted, some may argue
that this is what a documentary needs to do. Ok,
but the film is titled Wheel Of Time, yet in its
depictions of the mundanities of the assorted
festivals shown it should more likely be titled
Buddhapalooza ’02: The Film. Really, this film
reminded me the most of the film of the Woodstock
rock concert. The film is very observant, but
lacks almost all insight. It watches, but never
sees. It is amazingly uncritical of the claims
made of its subject matter. And, as mentioned,
coming from the man who brought the world
intellectual and spiritual masterpieces like
Aguirre: The Wrath Of God and Nosferatu, Phantom
Of The Night, this is shocking. It is piffle. Well
wrought piffle, to be sure, but piffle. Even in
other documentaries of his like Grizzly Man, about
someone who was truly insane, we at least get a
full display of the insanity, and can peer inside
a warped mind. But, the viewer of this film comes
away knowing nothing more of Buddhism than before
it. And, not nothing in the Buddhist sense, but
nothing in the zip, zilch, nada sense.
Ok, perhaps I overstate. One learns nothing of
Buddhism, yes, That is so. But one does learn
something of at least one individual, a
septuagenarian man named Takna Jigme Zangpo, a
former Tibetan political prisoner in China, who
was imprisoned for 37 years, and had 13 extra
years tacked on to his sentence merely for twice
shouting ‘Free Tibet!’ In a brief interview with
him, one learns more about human perseverance and
will than in all the rest of the film. Most
intriguing is how his imprisonment affected his
health, damaging his eyesight, and even ability to
walk. After decades of being confined to a single
cell, he had gotten used to flat surfaces, and
upon his release, due to international political
pressure, he found that he could not walk easily
on uneven surfaces. He would become disoriented
easily. Yet, even this is never followed up upon.
The film never, to Zangpo, nor any other person,
delves into the Tibetan situation, or how the
Dalai Lama orchestrates his followers to maximum
political leverage. It’s as if the eternal
provocateur, Herzog, decided that he would play it
PC and safe, in this film, because he was so
entranced by Buddhism.
The best example of this would come in the scenes
about Mount Kailash, wherein Herzog informs the
viewer that one can distinguish Buddhist pilgrims
from the animist Bön pilgrims by the fact
that the Buddhists circumnavigate the base of the
mountain in a clockwise direction, whereas the
Bön adherents do so in a counterclockwise
direction. This would have been a great
opportunity for Herzog to explore the centuries
old conflict between the two religions, wherein
the faithful of the later Buddhist faith violently
displaced the Bön believers, including acts
of mass murder. Perhaps that was to close to a
universal truth that Herzog chose to ignore? After
all, that would mean Buddhism was just another
religion intent on proving might over right. And
what middle aged white male Orientalist can take
that? Especially when the whole feel seems phoned
in, and such an acknowledgement would have opened
up an unneeded distraction. The Buddhists show
that they are merely as sheepish as any other
believers in religion, politics, or philosophy.
The DVD, by Wellspring, features only a few
extras- a Herzog filmography, a trailer gallery,
and some coming attractions. The film’s positives
include some interesting moments caught by
cinematographer Peter Zeitlinger, inckluding a
moment, during a rain shower, where he takes his
thumb to wipe the camera clean. Only Herzog would
include such a break from film formalism. It gives
a glimmer of how good this film could have been
had Herzog only been more rapt with his art form
than Buddhism. Ericv Spitzer’s soundwork is guided
by Herzog’s unerring ear, and the film’s
soundtrack is likely the best and most interesting
thing about this 80 minute film, shown in a 1.85:1
aspect ratio.
Too often the film is hermetic; its rituals are
regarded, but no explanation is proffered, not
from an anthropological nor narrative perspective.
The acts of prostration, as example, become mere
sideshow carny acts to the watcher of this film,
and never impart any sense of admiration for the
devotees, because they are unreal, in many ways,
never fully part of the vital reality of the film.
Similarly, we see children in monk robes, yet
Herzog never queries how such children really feel
about being drafted into their family’s business,
something I once asked a young Buddhist monk. All
in all, Wheel Of Time is a solid film, fairly
straight forward, and nothing remotely approaching
his earlier, greater films. Perhaps the most
telling thing is that Werner Herzog made a merely
solid film; that’s how damned good a film
craftsman he is. No, I’m wrong; even worse than
making a solid film is the fact that the faux
reverential Herzog mad a non-Herzogian film. Let’s
just hope Herzog is never smitten with John
Coltrane nor Charlie Parker. That would not be
merely solid, but brutally painful. Goodbye,
Dalai!
Dan Schneider
Copyright © by Dan Schneider
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