Beyond Herzog’s sentimental schmoozing is an incredible portrait. I can’t get over how contrived it all is, and how every person involved reacts to the camera, some sickeningly self-aware, others modest. Personally I think the film would be much more impactful without any narration. Fascinating look at contrivance, eroticism of camera, contrarian nature (or pure, immature stubbornness), and, in my opinion, the possibility that TImothy staged his death.
