Addressing History Through Art: Wim Wenders' portrait of Anselm Kiefer
We unpack Wim Wenders' latest 3D documentary focusing on the German artist...
By
Adam Wells
December 13, 2023
Throughout his career, German director Wim Wenders has had a preoccupation with lonerism, particularly in the face of philosophical or moral crises; from the mute figure of Harry Dean Stanton walking across the desert in the wake of abandoning his child in Paris, Texas (1984) to the weary angels above the streets of Berlin longing for a life of moral abstinence in Wings of Desire (1987), the image of the lone figure in a vast, uncaring landscape is one that Wenders has returned to time and time again.
It is understandable, then, why the 87-year-old filmmaker chose Anselm Kiefer for the subject of his latest film, a documentary exploring the life and works of the legendary artist. Throughout his career, Kiefer has grappled with the legacy of German history through provocative artworks, frequently just as uncomfortable as they are vital. “The German nation,” intones an early talking-head interview, “has trouble dealing with an artist who wants to grapple with the past of Germany”. This reception to his work is explored by Wenders in detail, cataloguing contemporary accusations of provocation - and even fascism - simply for acknowledging the actions of his home country in the early Twentieth Century.
Generally, however, Wenders is more interested in ‘Anselm Kiefer the man’, rather than crafting a standard biography of ‘Anselm Kiefer the artist’; give or take accounts of a meeting with Joseph Beuys and participation in the Venice Biennale, the film instead allows the works to speak for themselves, interspersed only with near-wordless dramatisations of the artist’s childhood. Similar to his earlier documentary Pina (2011), Wenders presents Kiefer’s works in 3D, perfectly utilising what could be viewed as something of a gimmick to facilitate the sense of tactility necessary for appreciating the pieces.
Canvases creak under the weight of thick layers of paint, and the sheer size of the colossal sculptures is made as clear as possible on the huge, illuminated screen. By far the most effective use of the technology, however, is its depiction of the artist as he wanders, cycles, and meditates around the enormous series of warehouses in which his works are stored. A two-hundred-acre art installation, Kiefer’s studio-cum-storage facility dwarfs the artist wherever he goes, as if representing his place alongside the unfathomable acts of evil he has spent his life attempting to depict.
This portrait of Anselm Kiefer as a man determined to remember history in order to avoid repeating it is heightened by the film’s refusal to hide his age. The recreated childhood sequences, along with personal reminiscences (including, most chillingly, a description of his father’s Nazi uniform) remind us that these events are still within living memory - though they soon won’t be. The film makes the case for art - even, or perhaps especially the kind of uncomfortable, difficult art produced by Kiefer - as an essential cultural record for future generations.
Of course, presenting the artist as a tiny figure going up against the enormity of a historical tragedy could - and in some cases does - easily fall into the patriarchal reading of the lone ‘great man’ of art history. There is, after all, a certain narrative appeal to the sight of Kiefer as the lone holdout surrounded by a culture of apathy, wilful ignorance, or even denial, particularly given how well it would fit into Wenders’ canon of work. Ultimately, however - and also like Wenders’ other films - Anselm hides a warmth beneath its surface. The presence of various assistants and collaborators in later scenes surrounds Kiefer’s contemporary work with a sense of collectivism, far from his shouldering of the combined guilt of an entire nation in the Sixties.
The presentation of these works, along with that of the space in which they're contained is undeniably a spectacle (particularly in 3D on the big screen), but it would be an oversimplification to describe Anselm Kiefer as an artist who creates beauty out of tragedy; rather, he creates beauty despite tragedy, doing his best to salvage it from the jaws of history’s most unequivocally evil actions. Where contemporary critics saw fascism in his early works depicting figures from German legend and folklore co-opted by the Nazis, Wenders sees a desire to reclaim a cultural heritage from those who would twist it to their own horrific ends; Kiefer’s work has always been hopeful, the film suggests, it’s just taken the rest of the world a few decades to catch up.
Throughout his career, German director Wim Wenders has had a preoccupation with lonerism, particularly in the face of philosophical or moral crises; from the mute figure of Harry Dean Stanton walking across the desert in the wake of abandoning his child in Paris, Texas (1984) to the weary angels above the streets of Berlin longing for a life of moral abstinence in Wings of Desire (1987), the image of the lone figure in a vast, uncaring landscape is one that Wenders has returned to time and time again.
It is understandable, then, why the 87-year-old filmmaker chose Anselm Kiefer for the subject of his latest film, a documentary exploring the life and works of the legendary artist. Throughout his career, Kiefer has grappled with the legacy of German history through provocative artworks, frequently just as uncomfortable as they are vital. “The German nation,” intones an early talking-head interview, “has trouble dealing with an artist who wants to grapple with the past of Germany”. This reception to his work is explored by Wenders in detail, cataloguing contemporary accusations of provocation - and even fascism - simply for acknowledging the actions of his home country in the early Twentieth Century.
Generally, however, Wenders is more interested in ‘Anselm Kiefer the man’, rather than crafting a standard biography of ‘Anselm Kiefer the artist’; give or take accounts of a meeting with Joseph Beuys and participation in the Venice Biennale, the film instead allows the works to speak for themselves, interspersed only with near-wordless dramatisations of the artist’s childhood. Similar to his earlier documentary Pina (2011), Wenders presents Kiefer’s works in 3D, perfectly utilising what could be viewed as something of a gimmick to facilitate the sense of tactility necessary for appreciating the pieces.
Canvases creak under the weight of thick layers of paint, and the sheer size of the colossal sculptures is made as clear as possible on the huge, illuminated screen. By far the most effective use of the technology, however, is its depiction of the artist as he wanders, cycles, and meditates around the enormous series of warehouses in which his works are stored. A two-hundred-acre art installation, Kiefer’s studio-cum-storage facility dwarfs the artist wherever he goes, as if representing his place alongside the unfathomable acts of evil he has spent his life attempting to depict.
This portrait of Anselm Kiefer as a man determined to remember history in order to avoid repeating it is heightened by the film’s refusal to hide his age. The recreated childhood sequences, along with personal reminiscences (including, most chillingly, a description of his father’s Nazi uniform) remind us that these events are still within living memory - though they soon won’t be. The film makes the case for art - even, or perhaps especially the kind of uncomfortable, difficult art produced by Kiefer - as an essential cultural record for future generations.
Of course, presenting the artist as a tiny figure going up against the enormity of a historical tragedy could - and in some cases does - easily fall into the patriarchal reading of the lone ‘great man’ of art history. There is, after all, a certain narrative appeal to the sight of Kiefer as the lone holdout surrounded by a culture of apathy, wilful ignorance, or even denial, particularly given how well it would fit into Wenders’ canon of work. Ultimately, however - and also like Wenders’ other films - Anselm hides a warmth beneath its surface. The presence of various assistants and collaborators in later scenes surrounds Kiefer’s contemporary work with a sense of collectivism, far from his shouldering of the combined guilt of an entire nation in the Sixties.
The presentation of these works, along with that of the space in which they're contained is undeniably a spectacle (particularly in 3D on the big screen), but it would be an oversimplification to describe Anselm Kiefer as an artist who creates beauty out of tragedy; rather, he creates beauty despite tragedy, doing his best to salvage it from the jaws of history’s most unequivocally evil actions. Where contemporary critics saw fascism in his early works depicting figures from German legend and folklore co-opted by the Nazis, Wenders sees a desire to reclaim a cultural heritage from those who would twist it to their own horrific ends; Kiefer’s work has always been hopeful, the film suggests, it’s just taken the rest of the world a few decades to catch up.
Throughout his career, German director Wim Wenders has had a preoccupation with lonerism, particularly in the face of philosophical or moral crises; from the mute figure of Harry Dean Stanton walking across the desert in the wake of abandoning his child in Paris, Texas (1984) to the weary angels above the streets of Berlin longing for a life of moral abstinence in Wings of Desire (1987), the image of the lone figure in a vast, uncaring landscape is one that Wenders has returned to time and time again.
It is understandable, then, why the 87-year-old filmmaker chose Anselm Kiefer for the subject of his latest film, a documentary exploring the life and works of the legendary artist. Throughout his career, Kiefer has grappled with the legacy of German history through provocative artworks, frequently just as uncomfortable as they are vital. “The German nation,” intones an early talking-head interview, “has trouble dealing with an artist who wants to grapple with the past of Germany”. This reception to his work is explored by Wenders in detail, cataloguing contemporary accusations of provocation - and even fascism - simply for acknowledging the actions of his home country in the early Twentieth Century.
Generally, however, Wenders is more interested in ‘Anselm Kiefer the man’, rather than crafting a standard biography of ‘Anselm Kiefer the artist’; give or take accounts of a meeting with Joseph Beuys and participation in the Venice Biennale, the film instead allows the works to speak for themselves, interspersed only with near-wordless dramatisations of the artist’s childhood. Similar to his earlier documentary Pina (2011), Wenders presents Kiefer’s works in 3D, perfectly utilising what could be viewed as something of a gimmick to facilitate the sense of tactility necessary for appreciating the pieces.
Canvases creak under the weight of thick layers of paint, and the sheer size of the colossal sculptures is made as clear as possible on the huge, illuminated screen. By far the most effective use of the technology, however, is its depiction of the artist as he wanders, cycles, and meditates around the enormous series of warehouses in which his works are stored. A two-hundred-acre art installation, Kiefer’s studio-cum-storage facility dwarfs the artist wherever he goes, as if representing his place alongside the unfathomable acts of evil he has spent his life attempting to depict.
This portrait of Anselm Kiefer as a man determined to remember history in order to avoid repeating it is heightened by the film’s refusal to hide his age. The recreated childhood sequences, along with personal reminiscences (including, most chillingly, a description of his father’s Nazi uniform) remind us that these events are still within living memory - though they soon won’t be. The film makes the case for art - even, or perhaps especially the kind of uncomfortable, difficult art produced by Kiefer - as an essential cultural record for future generations.
Of course, presenting the artist as a tiny figure going up against the enormity of a historical tragedy could - and in some cases does - easily fall into the patriarchal reading of the lone ‘great man’ of art history. There is, after all, a certain narrative appeal to the sight of Kiefer as the lone holdout surrounded by a culture of apathy, wilful ignorance, or even denial, particularly given how well it would fit into Wenders’ canon of work. Ultimately, however - and also like Wenders’ other films - Anselm hides a warmth beneath its surface. The presence of various assistants and collaborators in later scenes surrounds Kiefer’s contemporary work with a sense of collectivism, far from his shouldering of the combined guilt of an entire nation in the Sixties.
The presentation of these works, along with that of the space in which they're contained is undeniably a spectacle (particularly in 3D on the big screen), but it would be an oversimplification to describe Anselm Kiefer as an artist who creates beauty out of tragedy; rather, he creates beauty despite tragedy, doing his best to salvage it from the jaws of history’s most unequivocally evil actions. Where contemporary critics saw fascism in his early works depicting figures from German legend and folklore co-opted by the Nazis, Wenders sees a desire to reclaim a cultural heritage from those who would twist it to their own horrific ends; Kiefer’s work has always been hopeful, the film suggests, it’s just taken the rest of the world a few decades to catch up.
Throughout his career, German director Wim Wenders has had a preoccupation with lonerism, particularly in the face of philosophical or moral crises; from the mute figure of Harry Dean Stanton walking across the desert in the wake of abandoning his child in Paris, Texas (1984) to the weary angels above the streets of Berlin longing for a life of moral abstinence in Wings of Desire (1987), the image of the lone figure in a vast, uncaring landscape is one that Wenders has returned to time and time again.
It is understandable, then, why the 87-year-old filmmaker chose Anselm Kiefer for the subject of his latest film, a documentary exploring the life and works of the legendary artist. Throughout his career, Kiefer has grappled with the legacy of German history through provocative artworks, frequently just as uncomfortable as they are vital. “The German nation,” intones an early talking-head interview, “has trouble dealing with an artist who wants to grapple with the past of Germany”. This reception to his work is explored by Wenders in detail, cataloguing contemporary accusations of provocation - and even fascism - simply for acknowledging the actions of his home country in the early Twentieth Century.
Generally, however, Wenders is more interested in ‘Anselm Kiefer the man’, rather than crafting a standard biography of ‘Anselm Kiefer the artist’; give or take accounts of a meeting with Joseph Beuys and participation in the Venice Biennale, the film instead allows the works to speak for themselves, interspersed only with near-wordless dramatisations of the artist’s childhood. Similar to his earlier documentary Pina (2011), Wenders presents Kiefer’s works in 3D, perfectly utilising what could be viewed as something of a gimmick to facilitate the sense of tactility necessary for appreciating the pieces.
Canvases creak under the weight of thick layers of paint, and the sheer size of the colossal sculptures is made as clear as possible on the huge, illuminated screen. By far the most effective use of the technology, however, is its depiction of the artist as he wanders, cycles, and meditates around the enormous series of warehouses in which his works are stored. A two-hundred-acre art installation, Kiefer’s studio-cum-storage facility dwarfs the artist wherever he goes, as if representing his place alongside the unfathomable acts of evil he has spent his life attempting to depict.
This portrait of Anselm Kiefer as a man determined to remember history in order to avoid repeating it is heightened by the film’s refusal to hide his age. The recreated childhood sequences, along with personal reminiscences (including, most chillingly, a description of his father’s Nazi uniform) remind us that these events are still within living memory - though they soon won’t be. The film makes the case for art - even, or perhaps especially the kind of uncomfortable, difficult art produced by Kiefer - as an essential cultural record for future generations.
Of course, presenting the artist as a tiny figure going up against the enormity of a historical tragedy could - and in some cases does - easily fall into the patriarchal reading of the lone ‘great man’ of art history. There is, after all, a certain narrative appeal to the sight of Kiefer as the lone holdout surrounded by a culture of apathy, wilful ignorance, or even denial, particularly given how well it would fit into Wenders’ canon of work. Ultimately, however - and also like Wenders’ other films - Anselm hides a warmth beneath its surface. The presence of various assistants and collaborators in later scenes surrounds Kiefer’s contemporary work with a sense of collectivism, far from his shouldering of the combined guilt of an entire nation in the Sixties.
The presentation of these works, along with that of the space in which they're contained is undeniably a spectacle (particularly in 3D on the big screen), but it would be an oversimplification to describe Anselm Kiefer as an artist who creates beauty out of tragedy; rather, he creates beauty despite tragedy, doing his best to salvage it from the jaws of history’s most unequivocally evil actions. Where contemporary critics saw fascism in his early works depicting figures from German legend and folklore co-opted by the Nazis, Wenders sees a desire to reclaim a cultural heritage from those who would twist it to their own horrific ends; Kiefer’s work has always been hopeful, the film suggests, it’s just taken the rest of the world a few decades to catch up.
Throughout his career, German director Wim Wenders has had a preoccupation with lonerism, particularly in the face of philosophical or moral crises; from the mute figure of Harry Dean Stanton walking across the desert in the wake of abandoning his child in Paris, Texas (1984) to the weary angels above the streets of Berlin longing for a life of moral abstinence in Wings of Desire (1987), the image of the lone figure in a vast, uncaring landscape is one that Wenders has returned to time and time again.
It is understandable, then, why the 87-year-old filmmaker chose Anselm Kiefer for the subject of his latest film, a documentary exploring the life and works of the legendary artist. Throughout his career, Kiefer has grappled with the legacy of German history through provocative artworks, frequently just as uncomfortable as they are vital. “The German nation,” intones an early talking-head interview, “has trouble dealing with an artist who wants to grapple with the past of Germany”. This reception to his work is explored by Wenders in detail, cataloguing contemporary accusations of provocation - and even fascism - simply for acknowledging the actions of his home country in the early Twentieth Century.
Generally, however, Wenders is more interested in ‘Anselm Kiefer the man’, rather than crafting a standard biography of ‘Anselm Kiefer the artist’; give or take accounts of a meeting with Joseph Beuys and participation in the Venice Biennale, the film instead allows the works to speak for themselves, interspersed only with near-wordless dramatisations of the artist’s childhood. Similar to his earlier documentary Pina (2011), Wenders presents Kiefer’s works in 3D, perfectly utilising what could be viewed as something of a gimmick to facilitate the sense of tactility necessary for appreciating the pieces.
Canvases creak under the weight of thick layers of paint, and the sheer size of the colossal sculptures is made as clear as possible on the huge, illuminated screen. By far the most effective use of the technology, however, is its depiction of the artist as he wanders, cycles, and meditates around the enormous series of warehouses in which his works are stored. A two-hundred-acre art installation, Kiefer’s studio-cum-storage facility dwarfs the artist wherever he goes, as if representing his place alongside the unfathomable acts of evil he has spent his life attempting to depict.
This portrait of Anselm Kiefer as a man determined to remember history in order to avoid repeating it is heightened by the film’s refusal to hide his age. The recreated childhood sequences, along with personal reminiscences (including, most chillingly, a description of his father’s Nazi uniform) remind us that these events are still within living memory - though they soon won’t be. The film makes the case for art - even, or perhaps especially the kind of uncomfortable, difficult art produced by Kiefer - as an essential cultural record for future generations.
Of course, presenting the artist as a tiny figure going up against the enormity of a historical tragedy could - and in some cases does - easily fall into the patriarchal reading of the lone ‘great man’ of art history. There is, after all, a certain narrative appeal to the sight of Kiefer as the lone holdout surrounded by a culture of apathy, wilful ignorance, or even denial, particularly given how well it would fit into Wenders’ canon of work. Ultimately, however - and also like Wenders’ other films - Anselm hides a warmth beneath its surface. The presence of various assistants and collaborators in later scenes surrounds Kiefer’s contemporary work with a sense of collectivism, far from his shouldering of the combined guilt of an entire nation in the Sixties.
The presentation of these works, along with that of the space in which they're contained is undeniably a spectacle (particularly in 3D on the big screen), but it would be an oversimplification to describe Anselm Kiefer as an artist who creates beauty out of tragedy; rather, he creates beauty despite tragedy, doing his best to salvage it from the jaws of history’s most unequivocally evil actions. Where contemporary critics saw fascism in his early works depicting figures from German legend and folklore co-opted by the Nazis, Wenders sees a desire to reclaim a cultural heritage from those who would twist it to their own horrific ends; Kiefer’s work has always been hopeful, the film suggests, it’s just taken the rest of the world a few decades to catch up.
Throughout his career, German director Wim Wenders has had a preoccupation with lonerism, particularly in the face of philosophical or moral crises; from the mute figure of Harry Dean Stanton walking across the desert in the wake of abandoning his child in Paris, Texas (1984) to the weary angels above the streets of Berlin longing for a life of moral abstinence in Wings of Desire (1987), the image of the lone figure in a vast, uncaring landscape is one that Wenders has returned to time and time again.
It is understandable, then, why the 87-year-old filmmaker chose Anselm Kiefer for the subject of his latest film, a documentary exploring the life and works of the legendary artist. Throughout his career, Kiefer has grappled with the legacy of German history through provocative artworks, frequently just as uncomfortable as they are vital. “The German nation,” intones an early talking-head interview, “has trouble dealing with an artist who wants to grapple with the past of Germany”. This reception to his work is explored by Wenders in detail, cataloguing contemporary accusations of provocation - and even fascism - simply for acknowledging the actions of his home country in the early Twentieth Century.
Generally, however, Wenders is more interested in ‘Anselm Kiefer the man’, rather than crafting a standard biography of ‘Anselm Kiefer the artist’; give or take accounts of a meeting with Joseph Beuys and participation in the Venice Biennale, the film instead allows the works to speak for themselves, interspersed only with near-wordless dramatisations of the artist’s childhood. Similar to his earlier documentary Pina (2011), Wenders presents Kiefer’s works in 3D, perfectly utilising what could be viewed as something of a gimmick to facilitate the sense of tactility necessary for appreciating the pieces.
Canvases creak under the weight of thick layers of paint, and the sheer size of the colossal sculptures is made as clear as possible on the huge, illuminated screen. By far the most effective use of the technology, however, is its depiction of the artist as he wanders, cycles, and meditates around the enormous series of warehouses in which his works are stored. A two-hundred-acre art installation, Kiefer’s studio-cum-storage facility dwarfs the artist wherever he goes, as if representing his place alongside the unfathomable acts of evil he has spent his life attempting to depict.
This portrait of Anselm Kiefer as a man determined to remember history in order to avoid repeating it is heightened by the film’s refusal to hide his age. The recreated childhood sequences, along with personal reminiscences (including, most chillingly, a description of his father’s Nazi uniform) remind us that these events are still within living memory - though they soon won’t be. The film makes the case for art - even, or perhaps especially the kind of uncomfortable, difficult art produced by Kiefer - as an essential cultural record for future generations.
Of course, presenting the artist as a tiny figure going up against the enormity of a historical tragedy could - and in some cases does - easily fall into the patriarchal reading of the lone ‘great man’ of art history. There is, after all, a certain narrative appeal to the sight of Kiefer as the lone holdout surrounded by a culture of apathy, wilful ignorance, or even denial, particularly given how well it would fit into Wenders’ canon of work. Ultimately, however - and also like Wenders’ other films - Anselm hides a warmth beneath its surface. The presence of various assistants and collaborators in later scenes surrounds Kiefer’s contemporary work with a sense of collectivism, far from his shouldering of the combined guilt of an entire nation in the Sixties.
The presentation of these works, along with that of the space in which they're contained is undeniably a spectacle (particularly in 3D on the big screen), but it would be an oversimplification to describe Anselm Kiefer as an artist who creates beauty out of tragedy; rather, he creates beauty despite tragedy, doing his best to salvage it from the jaws of history’s most unequivocally evil actions. Where contemporary critics saw fascism in his early works depicting figures from German legend and folklore co-opted by the Nazis, Wenders sees a desire to reclaim a cultural heritage from those who would twist it to their own horrific ends; Kiefer’s work has always been hopeful, the film suggests, it’s just taken the rest of the world a few decades to catch up.
Throughout his career, German director Wim Wenders has had a preoccupation with lonerism, particularly in the face of philosophical or moral crises; from the mute figure of Harry Dean Stanton walking across the desert in the wake of abandoning his child in Paris, Texas (1984) to the weary angels above the streets of Berlin longing for a life of moral abstinence in Wings of Desire (1987), the image of the lone figure in a vast, uncaring landscape is one that Wenders has returned to time and time again.
It is understandable, then, why the 87-year-old filmmaker chose Anselm Kiefer for the subject of his latest film, a documentary exploring the life and works of the legendary artist. Throughout his career, Kiefer has grappled with the legacy of German history through provocative artworks, frequently just as uncomfortable as they are vital. “The German nation,” intones an early talking-head interview, “has trouble dealing with an artist who wants to grapple with the past of Germany”. This reception to his work is explored by Wenders in detail, cataloguing contemporary accusations of provocation - and even fascism - simply for acknowledging the actions of his home country in the early Twentieth Century.
Generally, however, Wenders is more interested in ‘Anselm Kiefer the man’, rather than crafting a standard biography of ‘Anselm Kiefer the artist’; give or take accounts of a meeting with Joseph Beuys and participation in the Venice Biennale, the film instead allows the works to speak for themselves, interspersed only with near-wordless dramatisations of the artist’s childhood. Similar to his earlier documentary Pina (2011), Wenders presents Kiefer’s works in 3D, perfectly utilising what could be viewed as something of a gimmick to facilitate the sense of tactility necessary for appreciating the pieces.
Canvases creak under the weight of thick layers of paint, and the sheer size of the colossal sculptures is made as clear as possible on the huge, illuminated screen. By far the most effective use of the technology, however, is its depiction of the artist as he wanders, cycles, and meditates around the enormous series of warehouses in which his works are stored. A two-hundred-acre art installation, Kiefer’s studio-cum-storage facility dwarfs the artist wherever he goes, as if representing his place alongside the unfathomable acts of evil he has spent his life attempting to depict.
This portrait of Anselm Kiefer as a man determined to remember history in order to avoid repeating it is heightened by the film’s refusal to hide his age. The recreated childhood sequences, along with personal reminiscences (including, most chillingly, a description of his father’s Nazi uniform) remind us that these events are still within living memory - though they soon won’t be. The film makes the case for art - even, or perhaps especially the kind of uncomfortable, difficult art produced by Kiefer - as an essential cultural record for future generations.
Of course, presenting the artist as a tiny figure going up against the enormity of a historical tragedy could - and in some cases does - easily fall into the patriarchal reading of the lone ‘great man’ of art history. There is, after all, a certain narrative appeal to the sight of Kiefer as the lone holdout surrounded by a culture of apathy, wilful ignorance, or even denial, particularly given how well it would fit into Wenders’ canon of work. Ultimately, however - and also like Wenders’ other films - Anselm hides a warmth beneath its surface. The presence of various assistants and collaborators in later scenes surrounds Kiefer’s contemporary work with a sense of collectivism, far from his shouldering of the combined guilt of an entire nation in the Sixties.
The presentation of these works, along with that of the space in which they're contained is undeniably a spectacle (particularly in 3D on the big screen), but it would be an oversimplification to describe Anselm Kiefer as an artist who creates beauty out of tragedy; rather, he creates beauty despite tragedy, doing his best to salvage it from the jaws of history’s most unequivocally evil actions. Where contemporary critics saw fascism in his early works depicting figures from German legend and folklore co-opted by the Nazis, Wenders sees a desire to reclaim a cultural heritage from those who would twist it to their own horrific ends; Kiefer’s work has always been hopeful, the film suggests, it’s just taken the rest of the world a few decades to catch up.
Throughout his career, German director Wim Wenders has had a preoccupation with lonerism, particularly in the face of philosophical or moral crises; from the mute figure of Harry Dean Stanton walking across the desert in the wake of abandoning his child in Paris, Texas (1984) to the weary angels above the streets of Berlin longing for a life of moral abstinence in Wings of Desire (1987), the image of the lone figure in a vast, uncaring landscape is one that Wenders has returned to time and time again.
It is understandable, then, why the 87-year-old filmmaker chose Anselm Kiefer for the subject of his latest film, a documentary exploring the life and works of the legendary artist. Throughout his career, Kiefer has grappled with the legacy of German history through provocative artworks, frequently just as uncomfortable as they are vital. “The German nation,” intones an early talking-head interview, “has trouble dealing with an artist who wants to grapple with the past of Germany”. This reception to his work is explored by Wenders in detail, cataloguing contemporary accusations of provocation - and even fascism - simply for acknowledging the actions of his home country in the early Twentieth Century.
Generally, however, Wenders is more interested in ‘Anselm Kiefer the man’, rather than crafting a standard biography of ‘Anselm Kiefer the artist’; give or take accounts of a meeting with Joseph Beuys and participation in the Venice Biennale, the film instead allows the works to speak for themselves, interspersed only with near-wordless dramatisations of the artist’s childhood. Similar to his earlier documentary Pina (2011), Wenders presents Kiefer’s works in 3D, perfectly utilising what could be viewed as something of a gimmick to facilitate the sense of tactility necessary for appreciating the pieces.
Canvases creak under the weight of thick layers of paint, and the sheer size of the colossal sculptures is made as clear as possible on the huge, illuminated screen. By far the most effective use of the technology, however, is its depiction of the artist as he wanders, cycles, and meditates around the enormous series of warehouses in which his works are stored. A two-hundred-acre art installation, Kiefer’s studio-cum-storage facility dwarfs the artist wherever he goes, as if representing his place alongside the unfathomable acts of evil he has spent his life attempting to depict.
This portrait of Anselm Kiefer as a man determined to remember history in order to avoid repeating it is heightened by the film’s refusal to hide his age. The recreated childhood sequences, along with personal reminiscences (including, most chillingly, a description of his father’s Nazi uniform) remind us that these events are still within living memory - though they soon won’t be. The film makes the case for art - even, or perhaps especially the kind of uncomfortable, difficult art produced by Kiefer - as an essential cultural record for future generations.
Of course, presenting the artist as a tiny figure going up against the enormity of a historical tragedy could - and in some cases does - easily fall into the patriarchal reading of the lone ‘great man’ of art history. There is, after all, a certain narrative appeal to the sight of Kiefer as the lone holdout surrounded by a culture of apathy, wilful ignorance, or even denial, particularly given how well it would fit into Wenders’ canon of work. Ultimately, however - and also like Wenders’ other films - Anselm hides a warmth beneath its surface. The presence of various assistants and collaborators in later scenes surrounds Kiefer’s contemporary work with a sense of collectivism, far from his shouldering of the combined guilt of an entire nation in the Sixties.
The presentation of these works, along with that of the space in which they're contained is undeniably a spectacle (particularly in 3D on the big screen), but it would be an oversimplification to describe Anselm Kiefer as an artist who creates beauty out of tragedy; rather, he creates beauty despite tragedy, doing his best to salvage it from the jaws of history’s most unequivocally evil actions. Where contemporary critics saw fascism in his early works depicting figures from German legend and folklore co-opted by the Nazis, Wenders sees a desire to reclaim a cultural heritage from those who would twist it to their own horrific ends; Kiefer’s work has always been hopeful, the film suggests, it’s just taken the rest of the world a few decades to catch up.
Throughout his career, German director Wim Wenders has had a preoccupation with lonerism, particularly in the face of philosophical or moral crises; from the mute figure of Harry Dean Stanton walking across the desert in the wake of abandoning his child in Paris, Texas (1984) to the weary angels above the streets of Berlin longing for a life of moral abstinence in Wings of Desire (1987), the image of the lone figure in a vast, uncaring landscape is one that Wenders has returned to time and time again.
It is understandable, then, why the 87-year-old filmmaker chose Anselm Kiefer for the subject of his latest film, a documentary exploring the life and works of the legendary artist. Throughout his career, Kiefer has grappled with the legacy of German history through provocative artworks, frequently just as uncomfortable as they are vital. “The German nation,” intones an early talking-head interview, “has trouble dealing with an artist who wants to grapple with the past of Germany”. This reception to his work is explored by Wenders in detail, cataloguing contemporary accusations of provocation - and even fascism - simply for acknowledging the actions of his home country in the early Twentieth Century.
Generally, however, Wenders is more interested in ‘Anselm Kiefer the man’, rather than crafting a standard biography of ‘Anselm Kiefer the artist’; give or take accounts of a meeting with Joseph Beuys and participation in the Venice Biennale, the film instead allows the works to speak for themselves, interspersed only with near-wordless dramatisations of the artist’s childhood. Similar to his earlier documentary Pina (2011), Wenders presents Kiefer’s works in 3D, perfectly utilising what could be viewed as something of a gimmick to facilitate the sense of tactility necessary for appreciating the pieces.
Canvases creak under the weight of thick layers of paint, and the sheer size of the colossal sculptures is made as clear as possible on the huge, illuminated screen. By far the most effective use of the technology, however, is its depiction of the artist as he wanders, cycles, and meditates around the enormous series of warehouses in which his works are stored. A two-hundred-acre art installation, Kiefer’s studio-cum-storage facility dwarfs the artist wherever he goes, as if representing his place alongside the unfathomable acts of evil he has spent his life attempting to depict.
This portrait of Anselm Kiefer as a man determined to remember history in order to avoid repeating it is heightened by the film’s refusal to hide his age. The recreated childhood sequences, along with personal reminiscences (including, most chillingly, a description of his father’s Nazi uniform) remind us that these events are still within living memory - though they soon won’t be. The film makes the case for art - even, or perhaps especially the kind of uncomfortable, difficult art produced by Kiefer - as an essential cultural record for future generations.
Of course, presenting the artist as a tiny figure going up against the enormity of a historical tragedy could - and in some cases does - easily fall into the patriarchal reading of the lone ‘great man’ of art history. There is, after all, a certain narrative appeal to the sight of Kiefer as the lone holdout surrounded by a culture of apathy, wilful ignorance, or even denial, particularly given how well it would fit into Wenders’ canon of work. Ultimately, however - and also like Wenders’ other films - Anselm hides a warmth beneath its surface. The presence of various assistants and collaborators in later scenes surrounds Kiefer’s contemporary work with a sense of collectivism, far from his shouldering of the combined guilt of an entire nation in the Sixties.
The presentation of these works, along with that of the space in which they're contained is undeniably a spectacle (particularly in 3D on the big screen), but it would be an oversimplification to describe Anselm Kiefer as an artist who creates beauty out of tragedy; rather, he creates beauty despite tragedy, doing his best to salvage it from the jaws of history’s most unequivocally evil actions. Where contemporary critics saw fascism in his early works depicting figures from German legend and folklore co-opted by the Nazis, Wenders sees a desire to reclaim a cultural heritage from those who would twist it to their own horrific ends; Kiefer’s work has always been hopeful, the film suggests, it’s just taken the rest of the world a few decades to catch up.
Throughout his career, German director Wim Wenders has had a preoccupation with lonerism, particularly in the face of philosophical or moral crises; from the mute figure of Harry Dean Stanton walking across the desert in the wake of abandoning his child in Paris, Texas (1984) to the weary angels above the streets of Berlin longing for a life of moral abstinence in Wings of Desire (1987), the image of the lone figure in a vast, uncaring landscape is one that Wenders has returned to time and time again.
It is understandable, then, why the 87-year-old filmmaker chose Anselm Kiefer for the subject of his latest film, a documentary exploring the life and works of the legendary artist. Throughout his career, Kiefer has grappled with the legacy of German history through provocative artworks, frequently just as uncomfortable as they are vital. “The German nation,” intones an early talking-head interview, “has trouble dealing with an artist who wants to grapple with the past of Germany”. This reception to his work is explored by Wenders in detail, cataloguing contemporary accusations of provocation - and even fascism - simply for acknowledging the actions of his home country in the early Twentieth Century.
Generally, however, Wenders is more interested in ‘Anselm Kiefer the man’, rather than crafting a standard biography of ‘Anselm Kiefer the artist’; give or take accounts of a meeting with Joseph Beuys and participation in the Venice Biennale, the film instead allows the works to speak for themselves, interspersed only with near-wordless dramatisations of the artist’s childhood. Similar to his earlier documentary Pina (2011), Wenders presents Kiefer’s works in 3D, perfectly utilising what could be viewed as something of a gimmick to facilitate the sense of tactility necessary for appreciating the pieces.
Canvases creak under the weight of thick layers of paint, and the sheer size of the colossal sculptures is made as clear as possible on the huge, illuminated screen. By far the most effective use of the technology, however, is its depiction of the artist as he wanders, cycles, and meditates around the enormous series of warehouses in which his works are stored. A two-hundred-acre art installation, Kiefer’s studio-cum-storage facility dwarfs the artist wherever he goes, as if representing his place alongside the unfathomable acts of evil he has spent his life attempting to depict.
This portrait of Anselm Kiefer as a man determined to remember history in order to avoid repeating it is heightened by the film’s refusal to hide his age. The recreated childhood sequences, along with personal reminiscences (including, most chillingly, a description of his father’s Nazi uniform) remind us that these events are still within living memory - though they soon won’t be. The film makes the case for art - even, or perhaps especially the kind of uncomfortable, difficult art produced by Kiefer - as an essential cultural record for future generations.
Of course, presenting the artist as a tiny figure going up against the enormity of a historical tragedy could - and in some cases does - easily fall into the patriarchal reading of the lone ‘great man’ of art history. There is, after all, a certain narrative appeal to the sight of Kiefer as the lone holdout surrounded by a culture of apathy, wilful ignorance, or even denial, particularly given how well it would fit into Wenders’ canon of work. Ultimately, however - and also like Wenders’ other films - Anselm hides a warmth beneath its surface. The presence of various assistants and collaborators in later scenes surrounds Kiefer’s contemporary work with a sense of collectivism, far from his shouldering of the combined guilt of an entire nation in the Sixties.
The presentation of these works, along with that of the space in which they're contained is undeniably a spectacle (particularly in 3D on the big screen), but it would be an oversimplification to describe Anselm Kiefer as an artist who creates beauty out of tragedy; rather, he creates beauty despite tragedy, doing his best to salvage it from the jaws of history’s most unequivocally evil actions. Where contemporary critics saw fascism in his early works depicting figures from German legend and folklore co-opted by the Nazis, Wenders sees a desire to reclaim a cultural heritage from those who would twist it to their own horrific ends; Kiefer’s work has always been hopeful, the film suggests, it’s just taken the rest of the world a few decades to catch up.
Throughout his career, German director Wim Wenders has had a preoccupation with lonerism, particularly in the face of philosophical or moral crises; from the mute figure of Harry Dean Stanton walking across the desert in the wake of abandoning his child in Paris, Texas (1984) to the weary angels above the streets of Berlin longing for a life of moral abstinence in Wings of Desire (1987), the image of the lone figure in a vast, uncaring landscape is one that Wenders has returned to time and time again.
It is understandable, then, why the 87-year-old filmmaker chose Anselm Kiefer for the subject of his latest film, a documentary exploring the life and works of the legendary artist. Throughout his career, Kiefer has grappled with the legacy of German history through provocative artworks, frequently just as uncomfortable as they are vital. “The German nation,” intones an early talking-head interview, “has trouble dealing with an artist who wants to grapple with the past of Germany”. This reception to his work is explored by Wenders in detail, cataloguing contemporary accusations of provocation - and even fascism - simply for acknowledging the actions of his home country in the early Twentieth Century.
Generally, however, Wenders is more interested in ‘Anselm Kiefer the man’, rather than crafting a standard biography of ‘Anselm Kiefer the artist’; give or take accounts of a meeting with Joseph Beuys and participation in the Venice Biennale, the film instead allows the works to speak for themselves, interspersed only with near-wordless dramatisations of the artist’s childhood. Similar to his earlier documentary Pina (2011), Wenders presents Kiefer’s works in 3D, perfectly utilising what could be viewed as something of a gimmick to facilitate the sense of tactility necessary for appreciating the pieces.
Canvases creak under the weight of thick layers of paint, and the sheer size of the colossal sculptures is made as clear as possible on the huge, illuminated screen. By far the most effective use of the technology, however, is its depiction of the artist as he wanders, cycles, and meditates around the enormous series of warehouses in which his works are stored. A two-hundred-acre art installation, Kiefer’s studio-cum-storage facility dwarfs the artist wherever he goes, as if representing his place alongside the unfathomable acts of evil he has spent his life attempting to depict.
This portrait of Anselm Kiefer as a man determined to remember history in order to avoid repeating it is heightened by the film’s refusal to hide his age. The recreated childhood sequences, along with personal reminiscences (including, most chillingly, a description of his father’s Nazi uniform) remind us that these events are still within living memory - though they soon won’t be. The film makes the case for art - even, or perhaps especially the kind of uncomfortable, difficult art produced by Kiefer - as an essential cultural record for future generations.
Of course, presenting the artist as a tiny figure going up against the enormity of a historical tragedy could - and in some cases does - easily fall into the patriarchal reading of the lone ‘great man’ of art history. There is, after all, a certain narrative appeal to the sight of Kiefer as the lone holdout surrounded by a culture of apathy, wilful ignorance, or even denial, particularly given how well it would fit into Wenders’ canon of work. Ultimately, however - and also like Wenders’ other films - Anselm hides a warmth beneath its surface. The presence of various assistants and collaborators in later scenes surrounds Kiefer’s contemporary work with a sense of collectivism, far from his shouldering of the combined guilt of an entire nation in the Sixties.
The presentation of these works, along with that of the space in which they're contained is undeniably a spectacle (particularly in 3D on the big screen), but it would be an oversimplification to describe Anselm Kiefer as an artist who creates beauty out of tragedy; rather, he creates beauty despite tragedy, doing his best to salvage it from the jaws of history’s most unequivocally evil actions. Where contemporary critics saw fascism in his early works depicting figures from German legend and folklore co-opted by the Nazis, Wenders sees a desire to reclaim a cultural heritage from those who would twist it to their own horrific ends; Kiefer’s work has always been hopeful, the film suggests, it’s just taken the rest of the world a few decades to catch up.
