Word has probably gotten around to the furthest corners of the world that actors have different customs than business people or professors. The bourgeoisie has always stood before the libertarian laws of the industry with a mixture of admiration and complexes – although the scale has a huge range: There are craftsmen on stage and in front of the camera who are looking for the kick, the only Applause guaranteed, but they leave nothing to be desired when it comes to education. But that’s the minority.
The job is much more permeated by divas and egomaniacs who enjoy whistling as audibly as possible in any manner. And no matter how you assess your skills in front of the camera: If you look at Germany, Klaus Kinski was and remains the undisputed master of all classes in this discipline.
Whether he blasted Saturday night shows by drooling with his tongue more than speaking, whether he yelled on stage that his audience was made up of “rabble” who needed the whip, whether he stood foaming at the mouth in front of directors or chefs on set threatened beatings for the “pig food” – whoever got involved with Kinski always got the full drone.
The director Werner Herzog was one of those who found it difficult to get enough of this peculiar choleric character. The two had known each other for decades, and only after “Cobra Verde”, which was released in German cinemas on December 3, 1987, was it over; at least if you don’t count Herzog’s documentary My Dearest Enemy, but that wasn’t released until 1999, eight years after Kinski’s death.
The special relationship started early: when he was young, the director praised the actor, who had escaped the war, over dinner after a small theater role: he was very good. Which inspired Kinski to yell at his counterpart that he wasn’t very good but monumental and throw hot potatoes in his face.
Anyone who sees Kinski in his film roles from the 1960s can imagine the scene only too well. Whether in the German Edgar Wallace film adaptations or a production like “Top Job – Diamantenraub in Rio”: He never just plays a villain, there is always something ticking inside him, so that he alone can turn the situation around in fractions of a moment . The mime himself once commented on this with the words: “My violence is the violence of the free who refuses to submit. Creation is violent. My violence is the violence of life.”
On November 20, 1971, visitors to the Deutschlandhalle in West Berlin quickly realized that there were better ideas than coming into contact with this type of violence. Under the title “Jesus Christ Redeemer” Kinski tried his hand at reciting Jesus. But if he thought that the audience would end up thinking of him as some kind of guru, he was wrong. Dissatisfied with the choice of biblical passages and the pathetic presentation, the audience quickly intervened, came onto the stage themselves and drove Kinski into choleric delirium; one has the impression that he would have actually liked to at least beat some of the guests up to hospital.
The tour was of course canceled, but now it started with Werner Herzog. He wanted to hire the actor for his film “Aguirre, the Wrath of God”. Kinski had also previously celebrated successes abroad – of course not without extensively complaining about the stupid system there. Now he feared that if he returned to Germany, it could be interpreted as an “admission of his failure”. However, the self-declared genius was in financial difficulties, which reduced his fears somewhat. He took the lead role.
The duo went on to do four more films together: Nosferatu (1978), Woyzeck (1979), Fitzcarraldo (1981) and Cobra Verde. What all these strips have in common is that if you want to have a relaxing evening and then fall asleep blissfully, it’s better not to watch them.
Whether it’s vampires, thralls or bandits and slave traders – even the subjects don’t make you want popcorn. And when there is someone in front of the camera whose masterpiece consists of portraying their character in a highly professional manner from the first emotional crack to the collapse, then it can also start to sizzle in the spectator’s psyche.
“Cobra Verde” revolved around the slave trade between Africa and Brazil, starring Kinski as a lunatic slave driver who ends up going under. But despite all the professionalism that the actor, according to Herzog, repeatedly drove the team to, he was already too busy in his head with his project “Kinski Paganini”, his last work.
The last joint production caused a divided response. Hellmuth Karasek called the strip in the “Spiegel” a “dirty piece of male fantasy, a rickety master humanity, ridden on the mare Kinski”. The German film and media rating FBW in Wiesbaden, on the other hand, awarded the film the rating “particularly valuable”.
Klaus Kinski died on November 23, 1991 in Lagunitas, California. According to the doctors, he had several scars on his heart – an indication of undetected heart attacks. It should not be forgotten here that his two daughters Nastassja and Pola have extremely bad memories of their father. Nastassja sees him as a tyrant who terrorized the whole family, and Pola even accuses him of sexual abuse.
It’s about “creating real intensity,” Kinski once said in an interview. A sentence that sounds nakedly cynical against this background. The fans that Kinski still has today shouldn’t be surprised that apart from them there is hardly anyone who seriously mourns the actor’s loss.
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