H. Paul's Review of My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done
Hilarious. So almost all of Herzog's disciples took the bait.
For the rest of the sentient universe, movies have just a few more things on their laundry lists than simply "being different."
Werner Herzog is an occasionally great documentary filmmaker: "Cave of Forgotten Dreams," with an Ernst Reijseger score that actually works (unlike the gooey EZ listening ambience here), is wonderful. Herzog's narrative work, especially the two most recent examples that also include his unauthorized insult to Abel Ferrara in New Orleans, generally qualify as trainwrecks. Indeed, the opening shot of this film -- just a simple stationary shot of a train going by -- should have just ended with a symbolic crash, without proceeding to kill these 1-1/2 hours of our lives that we'll never get back.
The Werner Apostles who are already in the bag will roll their eyes (and sigh), on cue, at any technical critique, but really, if you can pay major actors like these to show up on a set, you can hire competent people to light up scenes too, without making your audience strain around poor color grading and crushed shadows to see what's actually happening in the shot. You can also find decent camera gear (not just still cameras in video mode), without this amateurish aliasing and moire (unless you're too cool for skool).