When I was younger, I loved attending film festivals. Some days, I’d watch three or four films in a row, and I’d often stay after for panel discussions, listening to masters of the craft. But over time, my enthusiasm waned. Work got in the way, and—more importantly—I grew wary of the inane questions that audiences sometimes posed during Q&A sessions.
This year, I only attended one such event. Werner Herzog came to Hong Kong, and they screened Fitzcarraldo. It’s an extraordinary tale about a European opera enthusiast determined to build a grand opera house atop a mountain in Peru—a pursuit as mad as it is mesmerising. The untamed South American wilderness, the indigenous people, the monumental challenges of the journey, and the protagonist’s obsession with opera left me awestruck.
Though his grand plan ultimately fails, the ending struck a powerful chord. Fitzcarraldo, resigned to his circumstances, spends his last few coins on a box of cigars and has his favourite opera performed aboard a riverboat. He smokes and listens, his lover cheering him on from afar, as devoted as she was in the beginning. It was impossible not to cry at the sight of his bittersweet triumph—his love for opera undiminished despite everything. The emotional swell, followed by the lingering futility, stayed with me long after the credits rolled.
After the screening, Herzog himself appeared. It was around 10 p.m., and the man looked understandably weary. He spoke of his impressions of Hong Kong, how much he enjoyed the city, and then we entered the dreaded Q&A session. My fears were not unfounded—there were plenty of silly questions.
Audience Member 1: “I know you’re from Munich. Are you a fan of Bayern Munich football club?”
Herzog: “I don’t think my films have much to do with football.”
Audience Member 2: “How would you compare your work to Wong Kar-wai, one of Hong Kong’s greatest directors?”
Herzog: “I’ve heard of him, but I haven’t seen any of his films.”
Audience Member 3: “The character Fitzcarraldo was originally named Fitzgerald. Is there a connection to F. Scott Fitzgerald and The Great Gatsby?”
Herzog: “I haven’t read it. My work is very primal and direct—there’s no need to overthink it.”
There were more questions, but I’ve mercifully forgotten them. It was all terribly awkward. Herzog’s responses were as unvarnished as his films. He told the audience, plainly and without pretense, that their questions were irrelevant. Of course, I’m not sure the self-satisfied questioners even noticed.
At the end, Herzog mentioned that he’d spent the afternoon speaking with students at the University of Hong Kong and that the exchange had been delightful. “Great questions and meaningful discussions,” he said. I understood exactly what he meant.
P.S. Do make time to watch Fitzcarraldo. It’s truly extraordinary.
