Herzog/Kinski #1: "Aguirre, the Wrath of God"

*As always, these articles are filled with SPOILERS. And I usually refer to the actor rather than the character, but I mean the character...but with this movie I think the line between Kinski and Aguirre is blurred a bit.

Kinski-is-a-piece-of-shit disclaimer.

I decided to write about this Werner Herzog / Klaus Kinski boxed set I’ve had for years for two reasons. 1. I rewatched Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans (fun fact: the title in the actual film includes The at the beginning, but nowhere else is that referred to), and Nicolas Cage’s crazed and oddly physical performance reminded me of Kinski. 2. I still haven’t watched all the movies in this set, which is a whole other subset I could write about (my never watched Mel Brooks collection comes to mind).

So I watch Aguirre, the Wrath of God again, and I remember how much I love it, etc. But as I’m doing research, I come across an accusation made by his daughter that he sexually abused her for years. I’ve always considered Kinski to be a crazy asshole, but this is another level of pure evil. I have no reason to believe his daughter would make such a thing up. I believe her. That written, aside from My Best Fiend, which I’ll write about last, I will be writing about these movies based on the performance, and the stories from the set that Herzog tells. Although, there is an element at the end of Aguirre I have to mention in which Aguirre fantasizes about starting an empire with his daughter as his queen. I can’t help but think about the allegations against Kinski, but I also recognize that the line was written by Herzog. Either way, I felt the need to address the issue.

Herzog is like Malick, but so much more enjoyable. And he’s more interested in insanity...

Werner Herzog is as much a documentarian as he is a feature director, and Aguirre is an example of those worlds combining. Many times the camera lingers on the jungle or river for much longer than usual. The entire film is meandering, giving it a documentary feel, which adds a haunting realism to this insane story. Some could easily dismiss this film as boring, but if you’re on board with the technique, then you see that Herzog has made something quite special.

Because of the nature shots interspersed with a narrative, the easy comparison to make is to Terrence Malick. I like Malick, though it took me years to come around to his style (even so, I’ve found his films since The Tree of Life to be almost unwatchable). I don’t compare Herzog to Malick to make any kind of claim about Herzog influencing him or anything. I make it because it’s a good way to draw a distinction about Herzog’s films. Where Malick’s narratives are disjointed poetry interspersed with nature, Herzog still tells an interesting, straightforward story.

This isn’t to say that Herzog’s films are simpler or better; I just find them more interesting and entertaining. It also helps that Herzog is more interested in insane ambition, following characters like Aguirre and Fitzcarraldo as they go on their absurd quests. With Malick, he seems more interested in the people that get dragged along the quest, like soldiers in WWII or Jamestown settlers. Both are interesting, but Herzog goes with the bolder subject matter, and his films are more dynamic because of it. Of course, it helps to have Klaus Kinski in the film. I’m not sure what Malick would’ve done with Kinski...

Cage and Kinski.

My recent obsession with Nicolas Cage led me back to Herzog / Kinski. I was watching Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, and I had forgotten how weird Cage’s performance gets. Of course, there’s the usual stuff: screaming, odd line reading, psychotic staring, etc. But in the second half of the film, apparently due to his character’s back pain and drug use, he begins walking and talking differently. He walks like a zombie through most scenes, and he seems to be doing a kind of Jimmy Stewart impression when he talks. It’s great. And it reminded me of Kinski’s odd physical performance in Aguirre.

I am more of a fan of Herzog than Kinski, but it’s undeniable that these two combined brought out the best in each other on film while bringing out the worst behind the scenes. For this film, according to Herzog, Kinski wanted to play Aguirre like an unhinged, raving madman. Herzog wanted him to play a more quietly menacing figure, so he let Kinski do multiple takes at full energy until he tired out. Then the scenes done when he is exhausted are the ones Herzog used. And it’s the right decision. Sure, Kinski still has his freak out moments (yelling at a horse and nearly killing a cast member with a sword come to mind), but the best moments are when he’s quiet.

Kinski can be intimidating when he’s freaking out, but he’s truly creepy when he’s silently staring. It’s like the shark in Jaws: what you imagine Kinski can do is more unsettling than what he actually does. Both types of his performance make the film interesting. Without Kinski’s dual performance, this film can be quite boring. But I can take all the nature shots in the world as long as I also get to see Kinski crab-walk over to an about-to-explode barrel and give it the strangest toss I’ve ever seen. He’s a terrible man, but his performance carries this film.

I have a weird love for jungle movies, which is strange because traveling for days down a river in a jungle seems like the worst thing in the world to do.

My love of films like Apocalypse Now drew me to Aguirre. I loved this film immediately. Movies that not only take place but are also shot in the jungle fascinate me (The Lost City of Z was one of my favorites last year). From a narrative standpoint, there’s always the element of ambition/insanity. But just as importantly, there’s an element of ambition/insanity in attempting to film in the jungle. What’s happening onscreen in Aguirre is fascinating, but equally fascinating is imaging what things were like behind the scenes. I don’t just mean the Kinski/Herzog shenanigans (Kinski firing a gun, Herzog threatening to kill him); I mean the logistics of filming a movie that primarily takes place on raft in the Peruvian jungle.

Auch ambition is admirable, but both narratively and cinematically it says something about the drive of humanity. This is why I find Aguirre darkly comical. The delusions these men so quickly delved into once they decided to go along with Aguirre’s plan of breaking of from Spain. They travel through this inhospitable land, claiming acreage as they go, hoping to come across a city of gold at any moment. Perhaps it’s hindsight to dismiss them as stupid, but it’s certainly accurate to declare them, and the conquistadors in general, as ignorant profiteers who thought they controlled the world. The jungle is the great equalizer.

From a filmmaking standpoint, trying to film in a jungle is slightly delusional, as well. Nothing about it seems natural. But the challenge yields better results than what the characters for in the end, of course. When Herzog finished his journey in the jungle, he was left with a great film. The followers of Aguirre found only insanity and death.

The insanity with Herzog is not that he filmed in the jungle (or that he returned there again with Fitzcarraldo), it’s that he continued to work with Klaus Kinski after this. These two men had some strange connection that most people would avoid, but Herzog embraced. I’m glad he did, but in doing so he seems insane to me. Why keep venturing into that jungle? As I work through the rest of the collection, I’ll continue to revisit that question.  

Random Thoughts

English or German? This was filmed in English, but the DVD prefers German as it’s the only audio in Dolby. I just want to hear Kinski’s actual voice, but he didn’t do his own German dub. I always end up watching the English version even though the difference between the dialogue and subtitles drives me crazy.

The most German-looking man in history playing a conquistador…this would definitely count as white-washing. But I would argue that Kinski is playing a crazy man before he’s playing a Spanish man. And we know he’s over-qualified to play insane.

Really wish that dude knew more than one flute song…I’m fairly certain that the repetition of that song drove many of them insane.

The movie has very little planning. Let's go to the jungle and make a conquistador movie. We'll figure out the shots and whatnot when we get there. What a Werner Herzog thing to do. On the commentary he claims he has never made a stroyboard.

The full aspect ratio threw me off the first time I watched this. I was a stickler for widescreen back in the days of VHS and DVD, when films would be pan and scan. I always assumed all films were meant to be in widescreen. This was one of the first movies that made me realize filmmakers make a choice when it comes to the size of the screen.

Don Fernando is just as crazy as Aguirre, but for him it's mainly due to stupidity. Carvajal is blinded by religion. This film is filled with insanity.

No way you'd be able to treat a horse like that today...or actors, for that matter.

A great film of quiet insanity.

It turns out the boat in the tree was part of a cut sequence, but Herzog left it in and used as a possible hallucination. It’s that kind of loose planning that I love about his work.

I could watch Kinski limp around chasing monkeys for an entire film. Okay, not really,  but I could watch five to ten minutes of it.

Commentary: “Did you do a lot of research?” Herzog: “No. Not at all.” This is what I love about Herzog’s films. He just does whatever he feels like. He doesn’t feel bound by historical fact or narrative sense.

Herzog seems to need the interviewer for the commentary, but it's a bit of a letdown as his narration of his documentaries is so great.

Next up: Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht, one of the two films in the collection I never got around to watching when I bought it.

"40 Days and 40 Nights" - Apparently My Sense of Humor Has Changed a Bit Since High School

*Reminder: I write these articles under the assumption that you’ve seen this movie. So if you need a summary, go check IMDb.

I Do Have Movies in My Collection that I Am Ashamed of...but I Won’t Sell Them.

As I’ve gotten into a weekly groove with my new format for this sight, I may have forgotten a part of the point of this new theme: writing about movies I’m embarrassed to own. The last couple months I’ve only written about movies that I am proud to own, and I end up liking most of them even more after re-visiting them. This week, however, I came across a comedy I thought I still liked and ended up kind of hating it.

Typically, I don’t like writing about comedies (I will not write a traditional review of a comedy), because sense of humor is completely subjective. But I wanted to write about 40 Days and 40 Nights because it showed me that my sense of humor has changed more than I thought over the last fifteen years.

This might be obvious, as most movies we love as children we acknowledge, as adults, are actually quite bad. But we tend to still love them because of nostalgia. For instance, I can admit that Batman Forever is a lesser, even a bad, Batman movie. But I will always love that movie because I was obsessed with it as a kid. The same goes for most comedies. Sticking with Jim Carrey, I know that Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls is a crappy sequel to an already stupid comedy. But I still find it funny. Perhaps it depends on the type of comedy, but more on that later.

So I don’t like 40 Days and 40 Nights, but there’s no way I’m getting rid of the DVD. First off, physical media is becoming a little less common as most people would rather just stream everything they watch. Second, a new copy of the film is a little over six bucks on Amazon right now, and a used copy is going for just over a dollar. It’s not worth trying to sell, not to mention, who the fuck is buying a used copy of this movie? Finally, I refuse to go through the embarrassment of a secondhand store turning me down again. Years ago, it made sense for me to take a dozen or so DVDs to a video/CD/videogame place and sell them. It would basically be beer money for the weekend (I was in college). I didn’t care if I only got fifty cents for some of them; I just wanted them gone. And then I put the Planet of the Apes remake on the counter. “We’re not taking this one,” the cashier told me. “Nothing. Really?” I asked. “Yup,” he responded as he slid it back to me. I left, ashamed, and I still have that DVD in my collection. After that, selling them just didn’t make sense anymore. Perhaps one day someone will put on a yard sale, and I’ll put fifty or so in a box and ask for ten bucks for the whole thing or something. But, for now, selling any of my collection, especially individually, is not worth the trouble. So 40 Days and 40 Nights is safe. Hey, maybe I’ll come back around and like it again in fifteen years.

Even Don Draper would not have gotten away with this.

I’ve Outgrown Sex Comedies.

The only way I can explain why I like some comedies from my youth, but now hate this one is the subject matter. In this case, it’s basically a teen sex comedy placed in a sort of adult world. I haven’t revisited many sex comedies that I liked when I was younger, so I’m not sure if it’s just this one or not. Maybe I need to watch American Pie again and see what’s up (but I don’t own that one…). With 40 Days sex is treated like it’s a drug everyone is addicted to. It basically takes the line “Sex is a drug” and makes it literal. So when Josh Hartnett gives up all manner of ejaculation, he starts acting like a twitchy drug addict. I guess I found that funny when this first came out (and I was in high school), but not it just seems stupid. Yes, everyone likes sex and ejaculating, and perhaps people can get a bit antsy or angry when they go without it, but to turn into a quivering meth addict seemed stupid to me, not funny.

Sex comedies also always suffer from the passage of time, mainly because the culture changes. But this is why most sex comedies take place in high school, a moment in life when most people don’t feel the need to follow society’s rules. This is why 40 Days is unique. Hartnett works for an internet ad agency (this movie came out in 2002, the era when all movies featured young people working for internet businesses); he’s not a high school student. If his co-workers didn’t factor into his vow of abstinence, this wouldn’t be a big deal. But when you introduce high school sex stuff into an adult workplace (in 2002, no less), it’s impossible to ignore how inappropriate, not to mention illegal, it all is.

First off, the entire office, boss included, get way too involved in Hartnett’s sex, or lack of sex, life. There’s the gambling, which happens in offices all the time, but not usually at a co-worker’s expense. Second, no way would it be accepted for an entire office to talk to a co-worker about sex. It’s one thing for work buddies to bring it up, but eventually the females in the office start conspiring, with one offering to straight up have sex with Hartnett to win the money (but it’s for charity, so it’s okay?), and two of them agreeing to a 3-way with him. The treatment of women in the film is problematic enough, but propositioning a guy to win a bet is just wrong. Finally, Griffin Dunn plays the one of the most inappropriate bosses in movie history. He thinks doing the abstinence thing will make his wife want to have sex with him. She doesn’t, and he turns in a sexual harassment monster at work. He fingers fruit slices because they look like vaginas. He looks up an employee’s skirt. He masturbates at work while the entire office waits outside the bathroom door. And there are no repercussions for any of this behavior. Every single person in that office should have been fired.

But it’s a comedy, right? Sure, but sexual harassment has become painfully unfunny. What’s crazy is that this movie doesn’t take place in the 60s when this sort of behavior might have been slightly plausible. It takes place in 2002. Things were different then, but sexual harassment was not tolerated to this degree. But what do I know? I never worked for an internet company in the early days of web businesses. Maybe it truly was a sexual free-for-all in all these offices. But I doubt it.

Oh, and I almost forgot: Josh Hartnett gets raped by his ex-girlfriend in this movie because she wants to exert power over him...and win the money. The only consequence of this is that Hartnett’s love interest wants nothing to do with him afterward. Shouldn’t the cops have been called? It’s not like he got drunk and had sex with her. He was handcuffed to a bed, sleeping. How is this okay? And why is his new girlfriend so pissed? Yes, he had sex with his ex, but he clearly had no choice in the matter. She saw that he was handcuffed. Shouldn’t she have been more pissed off with his ex? You know, the rapist? Also, imagine if the gender roles were swapped. Something tells me there would have been outrage when this was released. But since it’s a woman, what’s the big deal, right? This is the same kind of double standard that makes it seem like it’s okay for female teachers to have sex with their students. That whole plot point near the end just confirmed to me that this movie is bad, and I should have noticed that, even as a high schooler.

"Does my baggy, long-sleeved undershirt look stupid?"
"Only if you think that newsie hat I wore in the previous scene looked stupid."

This Movie Made Me Pay Attention to the Wardrobe, and That’s Not a Good Thing.

I remember wondering what was going on with the wardrobe back when I first watched this movie, and I just chalked it up to my ignorance of fashion or what’s cool. I’ve always been a T-shirt and jeans guy, occasionally dabbling with a button-up shirt from time to time. So when I saw Hartnett rocking a long-sleeved undershirt for his Lacoste shirt multiple times, I just assumed that was a thing. And when I saw an office dude wearing a turtleneck, I just assumed that was normal in offices? And when I saw the bagel guy dressed like stoner prospector, I assumed that was how “drug” people in cities dressed. And when Shannyn Sossamon dressed like an 80s Communist chimney sweep poet, I just assumed ladies dressed differently in the internet business world.

As far as I can tell, looking back, none of these were things. As much as we like to apply a theme to certain time periods (everyone dressed like hippies in the 60s, or everyone dressed like they were in a music video in the 80s, etc.), there really aren’t distinctive clothing themes for time periods anymore. Sure, there are changing fashion trends, but thanks to the internet (which is ironically present throughout the film), embarrassing clothing choices are identified much faster now and don’t get a chance to take hold. (Remember when everyone thought male rompers were becoming a thing last year? They did exist, but I imagine 90% of sales were the result of people buying them as a joke. Perhaps without the internet, the male romper could have been like Hammer pants in the 90s.)

I don’t hate this movie because of the wardrobe or anything, but I just couldn’t understand so many of the choices when I rewatched it. I just wonder if this wardrobe person just thought they were going to start some trends with this movie or something. Thankfully, they failed.

Random Thoughts

The DVD cover is one of those gloriously lazy romantic comedy covers. This movie could be about anything, literally anything. Do these two rob a bank and go on a killing spree? Do they switch bodies? Are they undercover cops trying to expose the rampant sexual harassment going on in local offices? And the title doesn’t help explain it. Any of those things could occur over the course of forty days. At least the actual poster made it clear that sex was a part of the plot.

This is at 38% on Rotten Tomatoes, which is pretty high, in my opinion. Did some critics simply like that it was a teen sex comedy set in an adult world? Even if the adults acted like high school students?

Speaking of which, Ebert liked it. But since I once liked this movie, I’m counting this one.

I hate these people. All of them.

I somehow almost forgot that this movie features a literal sea of breasts and a washing machine bursting open and spraying semen out. I don't really have anything to say about that, but I felt the need to acknowledge that those things are in the movie.

Remember when Josh Hartnett was a thing? I never really understood it. I like him as an actor, but as a heartthrob or whatever, I never got it.

Why did they cast an office dude that looks so much like Paulo Costanzo. Isn’t one Paulo Costanzo-lookin’ dude enough for this movie?

According to Rotten Tomatoes, this is semi-autobiographical. Was it written after this dude was fired from his day job amid three dozen separate sexual harassment investigations?

Looking back, I guess I just can’t get on board with the premise. I can’t imagine people getting this worked up over a dude abstaining from all forms of sex for Lent.

At the very least, I learned from looking up the cast that the dude from Pete and Pete (bagel guy) is now primarily an electrician for movies.

Oh, and Hartnett does still act, but nothing high profile in years. But I think that’s self-imposed.

Slightly (Sort of) Underrated Scorsese: "Shutter Island"

*This is not a traditional review, so don’t expect much in the way of summary (I hate summary in any reviews, really, because it makes them seem like junior high book reports). My articles are meant for people who have seen the movie and have a decent memory of it.

**Also, I typically don’t refer to character names. So when I write “DiCaprio” I’m really referring to the character he played.

A Master Playing in the Sewer

Shutter Island was a critical (68% on Rotten Tomatoes) and commercial success (at the time, it was Scorsese’s biggest hit), so how can I refer to it as even slightly underrated? Well, because of the first note I typed when re-watching it: “It’s great when such a cast and crew decide to make a genre film.” What a bullshit, backhanded thing to write about an interesting, beautiful, and effective film. And I’m not alone.

The consensus on Rotten Tomatoes states that it “may not rank with Scorsese’s best work, but…” Is that how we judge films? I’m a firm believer in judging a movie on its own. It’s okay to make comparisons to other films, especially if there is a connection. But being made by the same director isn’t a good enough connection. I’m guilty of this, by the way. I’m sure if I go through my Paul Thomas Anderson reviews, I’ll find something along the lines of, “It’s no There Will Be Blood, but…” It’s simply an unfair way to judge movies. How can I compare Shutter Island to Goodfellas or Taxi Driver? The reason why those three films would be discussed within the same article is Scorsese. It wouldn’t have anything to do with style or themes. And if it did, it would be a bit of a stretch.

So Shutter Island is underrated, because even those who praised it typically did so with a caveat. Scorsese is taking a break from ambitious movies to have fun with a genre film, e.g. And then there’s the twist, revealing that the whole film was an exercise for DiCaprio to face what he had done or end up getting lobotomized. Critics either thought it was a good twist, or they claim it wasn’t a good enough pay off. I never thought the twist was the point. If we’re going to focus on such a master dwelling in the sewer of a genre film, then shouldn’t we revel in the filmmaking and not the twist. That’s what I did in my original review, and watching it again, the little elements are what kept me interested.

Can You Judge a Twist if You Know It’s Coming Before You Watch the Film?

I’m one of those annoying people who read the book a movie is based on then claim that the book is better. While that is still the case for the most part, there have been exceptions, Shutter Island being one of them. Liking the book more isn’t the point here, however. Since I read the book, I knew what the twist was when I first watched the movie. Therefore it’s impossible for me to really judge how good the twist is. To me, it’s painfully obvious fairly early, but I was looking for it. That said, this movie takes place at a mental institution and any show or movie that takes place in such a location usually ends up being a movie in which things are not as they seem.

For that reason, I kind of hate mental institution movies. They can be exhausting, and they seem to be the same: person visits asylum, ends up stuck there, uncovers vast conspiracy/corruption, is accused of being crazy, saves the day and/or destroys the asylum. Shutter Island doesn’t follow this exactly, but it’s close. But I still love it, and it’s because I already knew the twist.

The film ends up being different for me because I wasn’t trying to figure out who to trust or whatever the whole time. Instead, I was looking for the clues Scorsese included and his filmmaking technique in general to create a paranoid mood.

The use of music at the beginning is the most obvious clue, in my opinion. As they approach, dread-inducing music plays very loudly. Sure, it could just be setting up bad stuff ahead, but I believe it’s in DiCaprio’s subconscious because he knows he’s actually a patient there. I comment on the music quite a bit in my original review, and my thoughts remain the same: it’s a great score that is effective and noticeable without being overbearing.

Camera techniques are used to create a sense of paranoia, as well. Specifically, whip pans are employed throughout. It’s a disorienting technique, and it almost makes it seem like things appear out of nowhere, which must be a bit like DiCaprio’s state of mind. Along with the camerawork, the editing in general is similar, with quick cuts to images from DiCaprio’s mind throughout.

Finally, Scorsese’s use of continuity errors is particularly interesting. Scorsese, or his editor Thelma Schoonmaker, I should say, is no stranger to continuity errors. I’m always reminded of a shot in The Departed showing Nicholson walking, his back to the camera, obviously smoking. When the shot switches to the front, he is no longer smoking. That kind of thing is pretty normal for Scorsese’s more chaotic films. Referring specifically to The Wolf of Wall Street, but applying to any of Scorsese’s less restrained films, Schoonmaker said, “continuity in a movie like this really doesn’t matter.” It has become kind of a trademark for Scorsese films, which makes Shutter Island an interesting example.

With Shutter Island, many of the continuity errors are intentional, the most notable of which being the scene when a patient being interviewed requests a glass of water. A full glass of water is handed to her, but when she brings it up to drink her hand is clearly empty, then she sets down an empty glass. There are more, but that one sticks out to me, and it’s a great example of using, or misusing, continuity to create a sense of things being off. It’s also convenient for the filmmaker, since every error can be claimed to be intentional now.

I know all this continuity stuff can be boring, but when you watch a lot of movies, you tend to notice this stuff. And when you’re watching a Scorsese movie featuring a mentally unstable main character, noticing this stuff is the reward of a close viewing. Here’s a video going into more detail about the glass of water scene, which focuses on the use of fire and water in the film, which is something I did not pick up on nearly as much as the creator of the video, but I completely agree with.

Shutter Island is a great example of a twist ending not being the most important part of the movie. And when you look back at all the clues, it doesn’t seem like much a twist at all, because the movie is told from DiCaprio’s perspective. He may not notice these clues, but the viewer might, which makes Shutter Island an interesting, entertaining watch, regardless of whether you knew the twist or not.

PTSD, again.

Most of my articles from the last few months are about movies with characters suffering from PTSD. Aside from the William Friedkin article, this is not intentional, but here we are again with DiCaprio’s multiple flashbacks to his experiences liberating a concentration camp in WWII.

First off, I’m going to try to take a break from movies featuring this subject, since it’s almost becoming my trademark or something. But since it’s there, I can’t ignore it, especially since I think it plays a bigger factor than many give it credit for.

Since the focus of DiCaprio’s problems is on his wife and their children, his experience in the war is cast aside. I agree that his wife is the primary issue here, but his WWII experience, I believe, leads him to make the decision he makes at the end.

DiCaprio basically agrees to be lobotomized because the treatment worked, and he remembered what had happened with his wife and children. He feels responsible for all of it. So he asks Ruffalo if it’s better “to live as a monster or die a good man.” He makes this choice partially because of his WWII experience. He has seen monsters, and he cannot be one himself.

Random Thoughts

I love the aesthetic experience of the film. The imagery, camerawork, and music are all on point.

The WWII in particular stuck with me. The Nazi slowly dying from a “botched” suicide attempt, the flying papers, the music, etc. It was all very eerie. But that tracking shot of the execution of the guards always bothered me. Unless the guards only started shooting one right after the other rather than en masse, then the shot makes no sense. The way it is presented, the shooting starts with DiCaprio’s section, then as the camera makes its way down the line the other soldiers begin shooting, which means that last soldier stood there while shooting was happening and waited about a half minute to start shooting. It just doesn’t make sense. But as I wrote about the continuity stuff, something occurred to me: this isn’t necessarily how things happened. This is how DiCaprio remembers it happening. If that’s the case, then the camera moving is DiCaprio reliving the shooting, so it happens the way his brain creates it.

Ebert liked it!

Watching in the theater was great, mainly for the sound. I remember that score just blasting through the speakers as they approached the asylum.

Ted Levine! But he’s barely in it.

The movie is a conspiracy theorist’s dream. Everything keeps adding up, but it’s because DiCaprio wants it to. It’s actually an indictment of conspiracy theories. You would have to be crazy to make everything fit your own story to justify your existence.