Klaus Kinski and Werner Herzog in a maybe/maybe not pose

If Werner Herzog did anything other than make art, he'd surely be arrested. His messianic enthusiasm for his work is legendary, often life threatening. If the focus of his attention were, say, baking or filing income tax returns, there's no doubt society would shun him. Herzog has made some of his best work facing enormous obstacles, such as budget, sickness, location and the law. His new autobiographical documentary, My Best Fiend, Klaus Kinski, shows that the biggest obstacle he repeatedly faced was the ego and madness of his leading man.

Herzog elected to work with the late Klaus Kinski five times. I've never seen Cobra Verde, and, frankly, Woyzeck and Nosferatu are both great, but not life changing. However, the Herzog/Kinski collaborations Fitzcarraldo and Aguirre: The Wrath of God are. And they are very similar: guy goes down the Amazon convinced he can conquer all odds, instead goes entertainingly mad. The hardships in making these two brilliant films compose the bulk of this story.

We first meet Kinski on one of his theatrical tours, right before the filming of Aguire. The year was 1970, and audiences throughout West Germany were packing houses to see Klaus Kinski in blue jeans and stringy blonde hair give "Jesus speeches." These speeches mainly consisted of long and articulate rants about pestilence and animal waste. The opening clip of the film shows a show that went bad, when hecklers dared to interrupt. Kinski stands there, eyes on fire, screaming and barking at the audience. He tells them they are scum and dirty pigs. He eventually storms off-stage. In a word: magic. He was truly the Teutonic Andy Kaufman.

My Best Fiend then tells how Herzog and Kinski met, actually living in the same rooming house. Kinski would walk around the local town naked, spending days practicing his vocal exercises, or else locking himself in the bathroom smashing things to bits. He threw potatoes at a critic who called him only "extraordinary," and not "monumental."

Yeah, he sounds like a dick. But have you seen him act in Herzog's films? If you haven't, then I'm not sure Herzog even wants you to watch this documentary. (Note: No one's said anything about Herzog not being a dick.) My Best Fiend offers very little background information for a viewer who isn't familiar with Herzog's films, which is, you know, 95 percent of American audiences. We rush right in, and see Herzog shmoozing with those who remember Kinski, stories flying around only loosely connected, or in any chronology. But we do see plenty of Klaus acting nuts.

I've come away with this: the madness Kinski portrayed in his best roles wasn't fake. Also, if you believe the ends justify the means, there was no other way to make these films. Footage of Jason Robards (the original Fitzcarraldo, before horrible sickness prevented him from continuing) show that a character this obsessed and mad about something so ridiculous (do you know the premise of this story?) will only come off for real if it is real. Herzog knew this, which is why he chose to work with him. He does, however, point to his own head and declare that each grey hair is named Kinski.

My Best Fiend gives some insight into how a truly great director can turn problems into advantages, even if those troubles are a person. Herzog exploits the hatred the Indians have for Klaus in a blackly comic scene in Fitzcarroldo. And Herzog did have to make a very real death threat during the production of Aguirre. There's a lot of talk about death threats in the films' recounts. There's also evidence of genuine injury due to shootings and sword attacks. The two men admired each other as artists, and even kissed on the mouth when Kinski was snubbed at Cannes, and thus not sullied by media gestation, for his performance in Woyzeck. Still I truly believe there were moments when they would have killed one another.

I have two negative things to say about My Best Fiend. One is that Herzog kisses his own ass a little too much without irony here. Too much screentime interviewing himself. My second complaint is that there is no footage of Kinski as Dr. Zuckerbroot, opposite Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau in Billy Wilder's Buddy Buddy.

For now, I'll just wait for the sequel . . . Herzog's doc about Bruno S., the criminally insane star of Kaspar Hauser and Stroszeck.