extracted from "Totally Shuffled-A Year of Listening to Music on a broken iPod"
Popol Vuh-
Aguirre II-Aguirre OST
I have watched Werner Herzog’s film, “Aguirre,
Wrath of God” twice and listened to the soundtrack a lot more. I suppose that‘s
not strictly true; I went to the cinema to see Aguirre back sometime in the mid
1980’s and subsequently watched it on television once.
On the strength of that, it may be
thought that I have viewed the film twice, but my first experience of what was
recognised as a masterpiece never actually got off the ground. And it was all
my fault. I did go to the cinema one evening to watch it with the best of
intentions. I was looking forward to seeing it, having read a lot of glowing
reviews and fully prepared for a mind-blowing performance. It was being shown
at an art cinema where I probably went at least once a week, so the idea of a
foreign language film didn’t put me off.
This was before the rise of the
multiplexes in the U.K. and therefore the only choice cinema-wise was either to
go to your local run down Odeon (usually outdated, falling to pieces, shabby
and expensive and comprising at most of three screens. The biggest one was
always one that was a throwback from the 50’s and had enough seating to be able
to comprise of stalls and circles. They never sold out and the whole experience
was dreadful, from the sound quality, to scratched films, dreadful local
adverts promoting awful restaurants “just around the corner”, seating that
hadn’t been clean or changed in twenty years or so and litter all over the
floor. If there were any other screens in the cinema, then these generally had
been made by slicing off the side of the main theatre with bits of plasterboard
and making separate entrances. These other, smaller screens tended only to show
either kids films or really, truly terrible British “comedies”. The main
theatre was reserved for whatever blockbuster was doing the rounds. There was
no choice at all-up and down the country the same films would be playing in
identical shit-holes week in and week out. As there wasn’t at that time
multi-channels on the TV or the ready availability of videos, then the only
choice, if you were at all interested in film, which was in any way out of the
mainstream, was to find a film society or the like in your local town that
showed something different.
I was blessed by the fact that based in the
centre of Liverpool was Merseyside Film Society. This was a brilliant oasis of
cinematic culture, situated within a local art gallery, which screened
different films twice a night and most days of the week. They’d screen a whole
mix of films-from 1940’s classics to more recent art films; from foreign
language films to Hollywood classics. Some of the best films I have seen are
ones that I saw there; Casablanca, Last Tango in Paris, Sans Soleil, all of
Truffaut’s Doinel’s series, a shed- load of Goddard, Taxi Driver, Singing in
the Rain and so on. It wasn’t the best cinema itself; the seats were worn and
had come from a disused cinema chain. The sound comprised of one big speaker at
the base of the screen. I think that it seated about 100 or so in the audience
and it was always cold-being situated in a basement. But it was cheap-tickets
were at least half the price you’d pay for at the Odeon-and they showed great
films. Being a member of the Society as
well allowed you to know what was coming up in advance-they’d send a programme
out quarterly so you could plan ahead. But, like all good things, it came to an
end. The Bluecoat was “developed”, multiplexes swarmed the land, and although
an independent cinema did open in Liverpool, it was skewed towards national art
releases and not “old” films that aren’t just the same when you see them on
television).
Back to the story of Aguirre though. I
had my ticket for the 8.15 showing-they always showed films at 6.00 pm or 8.15
pm. It was winter and I was full of cold. I’d been awake most of the previous
night, coughing and sneezing. My eyes were streaming and my throat felt as if
I’d been gargling for hours with broken glass. I’d been in work all day and was
knackered. The lights went down, I settled in my seat, the opening credits rolled
and fell fast asleep.
I woke up two hours later, to the sound
of seats lifting and people trying to squeeze past me, as the end credits
rolled. I’d missed the whole of the mad Herzog experience and one that I didn’t
recapture until years later when it came up on Channel 4 one evening. Now I’m
waiting for it to be shown again so I can save it in the TiVo. Maybe I should
just try to get it on DVD.
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