The Washington Post, January 26th, 2001
WE ARE in the 16th century, somewhere on the Amazon. Don Lope de Aguirre (Klaus Kinski), a demented, hunchbacked conquistador walks gingerly from beam to beam on a flimsy raft. Men lie dead or dying around him, felled by arrows from unseen assailants in the dense underbrush. The raft is crawling with squeaking marmosets. Aguirre is very much at the end of the line. His great mission to reap the gold of El Dorado has failed. And Aguirre has retreated into the cool, grim solitude of madness. "We will endure," declares Aguirre, holding up a marmoset to his face. "I am the wrath of God. Who else i...
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