"Aguirre, Father of the Year?"

By Kelsey Cannon

[1] Werner Herzog’s depiction of the formidable historical character Aguirre in his film Aguirre The Wrath of God stays primarily true to the accounts of Aguirre’s brutality and disregard for human life—or does it? Of course we see the bloody killings, the pathological distance in Kinski’s face as he stares down his adversaries (i.e. everyone else), and the abandon with which the character tears down the Amazon in search of fame and power, but, if perceived closely, we can also see the minute softer sides of the hard-faced conquistador. The interactions in which Aguirre appears, perhaps not soft but instead less brutal, are those which he has with his daughter, particularly in one of the final scenes in which he is holding her as she dies.

[2] We can raise the questions of practicality. What was his daughter doing on such an expedition? Why didn’t he make more of an effort to protect her? And we can also raise the point of inaccuracy—Herzog’s depiction of her death by ownerless arrow is not cohesive with the historical account (Bollaert 227). From what is known about him, Aguirre planned to kill his daughter so she would not live after his death as the daughter of a traitor to Spain and a murderer. He assumed, given his unpopular reputation, that she would not have a home to return to in Spain and she would become a victim of his opposition and likely brutalized or sexually violated as a result. Though he planned to murder his own daughter, if we, as academic investigators, can get past the social stigma that would so obviously accompany killing a family member to analyze Aguirre’s intent, we might see it as an unconventional manifestation of love. He would rather his daughter die than be tortured and/or raped, which illustrates that he cares for her wellbeing to a certain extent—perhaps killing her is the only way that his maniacal mind could conceive of keeping her from harm.

[3] The historical account, though it differs from Herzog’s artistic license, supports the way in which the film depicts the relationship between Aguirre and his daughter. Estranged at best, the two characters keep distance from each other for most of the movie, but occasionally we see Aguirre comfort her—for example, when the men must push the horse off the raft, he assures her that the horse will be ok—in an arguable attempt to be a father figure. His daughter remains distant, often giving blank and vacant stares, conveying the already clear sentiment that the two do not share a typical bond of father and daughter, but she does not resist his comfort. She does not give in to it; however, she does not seem to fear him or harbor disdain for him. If she did, it’s not likely that she would tolerate his proximity to her when he reassures her over the unceremonious upheaval of the horse.

[4] We do, however, see them connect in her final scene when she is shot by the unidentified arrow. The viewer does not know she has been hit along with the other men on the raft because she does not cry out or draw attention to herself; instead, she remains on the “bow” of the raft looking towards the land they run onto. Aguirre travels to her and catches her as she weakens from her wound. Again, she does not react in either way, positively or negatively, as he tries to comfort her, but she allows his proximity. She allows herself to be injured, vulnerable, and cradled in his arms as he brushes the hair away from her face, and in one instance she even blinks and rolls her head in towards his chest, signifying some level of comfort and bond. The scene is unconventional in that neither of them appear distraught in a situation that would cause many immense grief and emotional turmoil, but we can infer that turbulence exists under the calm surface of exhaustion.

[5] However, Aguirre, in one moment looks away from his daughter into the greater landscape, allowing his emotions to play across his typically stone-featured face. Again, though he doesn’t seem upset in the way a viewer might expect and anticipate, it is clear that he experiences some sort of distress in the context of his daughter’s death and the coincidence of his failed expedition. It is perhaps, the passing of his daughter (though we are not sure if she actually does die by the end of the movie, since she is still alive in his arms) that signifies, for him, the end of his reign of power. Perhaps, in this fleeting humanizing moment, the weight of his situation falls upon him, and he assesses the damage he caused. It is also possible that he only feels the weight of his own failure, rather than the additional effects of remorse over his treatment of others, but why would Herzog pair this telling look with the death or dying of his daughter if he did not intend to call up a feeling of grief and remorse. Does Aguirre regret his actions—even if only in the selfish context of losing his daughter (and ignoring the lives of the other men and women he’s expensed)? It is not clear exactly what the character thinks, but it is clear that he is not well because, shortly after, he snaps.

[6] After sharing a tender moment—“tender,” of course, being defined by relativity—with his daughter, we see the humanized Aguirre vanish as quickly as we perceived such a trait in the first place as he fumbles about the raft mumbling to himself. The raft, overrun with monkeys now, is half under water and mostly destroyed; yet, Aguirre goes on about the dynasty he will create—the “purest” dynasty there ever was—through procreation with his daughter. He says he will marry her in order to form a dynasty and rise to power, signifying that the power-hungry and manipulative Aguirre has not lost his thirst to rule in South America as he has planned all along. He is having a mental breakdown, speaking of an Oedipal future with his daughter who likely won’t live through sundown; concurrently, his tirade illustrates a more one-sided relationship between the father and daughter.

[7] Before his speech of grandiosity, Herzog chose to show a softer side of Aguirre—the father side. However, through the monologue Aguirre’s character has, Herzog sheds light on the potentially “twisted” quality of his relationship with his daughter, leading the viewer to perceive the prior events differently. The daughter’s silence and stony quality can now be attributed to a fear of her father, but not in the conventional sense in which others fear him. She is not afraid of his murderous qualities, but rather what he achieves through his struggles of power—she is a pawn in his game, unable to fight him as a subservient daughter, but also unwilling to participate. Aguirre’s sadness at her injury and potential death can now be explained by his anguish and realization that the last element of his plan for power is no longer viable. The weight that the viewers observe, and originally perceive as his grief and even possibly his remorse, is still Aguirre’s realization of the weight and reality of his situation, but it has an alternative twist.

[8] Herzog uses Aguirre’s daughter to allow the reader a reprieve from the tyrant’s brutal behavior and reputation, if only for a fleeting moment, by humanizing his character; however, with the turn of events brought on by Aguirre’s claims of marrying his daughter to achieve power in the very last scene, Herzog rips away the moment of comfort and human quality in favor of the sadistic qualities for which Aguirre is best known.