Werner Herzog Offers 24 Pieces of Filmmaking and Life Advice

Image by Erinc Salor via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

There are few film­mak­ers alive today who have the mys­tique of Wern­er Her­zog. His fea­ture films and his doc­u­men­taries are bril­liant and messy, depict­ing both the ecstasies and the ago­nies of life in a chaot­ic and fun­da­men­tal­ly hos­tile uni­verse. And his movies seem very much to reflect his per­son­al­i­ty – uncom­pro­mis­ing, enig­mat­ic and quite pos­si­bly crazy. How else can you explain his will­ing­ness to risk life and limb to shoot in such for­bid­ding places as the Ama­zon­ian rain for­est or Antarc­ti­ca?

In per­haps his great­est film, Fitz­car­ral­do — which is about a dream­er who hatch­es a scheme to drag a river­boat over a moun­tain — Her­zog decides, for the pur­pos­es of real­ism, to actu­al­ly drag a boat over a moun­tain. No spe­cial effects. No stu­dios. In the mid­dle of the Peru­vian jun­gle.

The pro­duc­tion, per­haps the most mis­er­able in the his­to­ry of film, is the sub­ject of the doc­u­men­tary The Bur­den of Dreams. After six pun­ish­ing months, a weary-look­ing Her­zog described his sur­round­ings:

I see it more full of obscen­i­ty. It’s just — Nature here is vile and base. I would­n’t see any­thing erot­i­cal here. I would see for­ni­ca­tion and asphyx­i­a­tion and chok­ing and fight­ing for sur­vival and… grow­ing and… just rot­ting away. Of course, there’s a lot of mis­ery. But it is the same mis­ery that is all around us. The trees here are in mis­ery, and the birds are in mis­ery. I don’t think they — they sing. They just screech in pain. […] But when I say this, I say this all full of admi­ra­tion for the jun­gle. It is not that I hate it, I love it. I love it very much. But I love it against my bet­ter judg­ment.

His world­view brims with a hero­ic pes­simism that is pulled straight out of the Ger­man Roman­tic poets. Nature is not some har­mo­nious anthro­po­mor­phized play­ground. It is instead noth­ing but “chaos, hos­til­i­ty and mur­der.” For those sick of the cyn­i­cal dis­hon­esty of Hollywood’s cur­rent crop of Award-ready fare (hel­lo, The Imi­ta­tion Game), Her­zog comes as a brac­ing ton­ic. An icon of what inde­pen­dent cin­e­ma should be rather than what it has large­ly become.

Below is Herzog’s list of advice for film­mak­ers, found on the back of his lat­est book Wern­er Her­zog – A Guide for the Per­plexed. (Hat tip goes to Jason Kot­tke for bring­ing it to our atten­tion.) Some max­ims are pret­ty spe­cif­ic to the world of moviemak­ing – “That roll of unex­posed cel­lu­loid you have in your hand might be the last in exis­tence, so do some­thing impres­sive with it.” Oth­er points are just plain good lessons for life — “Always take the ini­tia­tive,” “Learn to live with your mis­takes.” Read along and you can almost hear Herzog’s malev­o­lent Teu­ton­ic lilt.

1. Always take the ini­tia­tive.
2. There is noth­ing wrong with spend­ing a night in jail if it means get­ting the shot you need.
3. Send out all your dogs and one might return with prey.
4. Nev­er wal­low in your trou­bles; despair must be kept pri­vate and brief.
5. Learn to live with your mis­takes.
6. Expand your knowl­edge and under­stand­ing of music and lit­er­a­ture, old and mod­ern.
7. That roll of unex­posed cel­lu­loid you have in your hand might be the last in exis­tence, so do some­thing impres­sive with it.
8. There is nev­er an excuse not to fin­ish a film.
9. Car­ry bolt cut­ters every­where.
10. Thwart insti­tu­tion­al cow­ardice.
11. Ask for for­give­ness, not per­mis­sion.
12. Take your fate into your own hands.
13. Learn to read the inner essence of a land­scape.
14. Ignite the fire with­in and explore unknown ter­ri­to­ry.
15. Walk straight ahead, nev­er detour.
16. Manoeu­vre and mis­lead, but always deliv­er.
17. Don’t be fear­ful of rejec­tion.
18. Devel­op your own voice.
19. Day one is the point of no return.
20. A badge of hon­or is to fail a film the­o­ry class.
21. Chance is the lifeblood of cin­e­ma.
22. Guer­ril­la tac­tics are best.
23. Take revenge if need be.
24. Get used to the bear behind you.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in Jan­u­ary 2015.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Por­trait Wern­er Her­zog: The Director’s Auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal Short Film from 1986

Wern­er Her­zog Picks His 5 Top Films

Wern­er Her­zog and Cor­mac McCarthy Talk Sci­ence and Cul­ture

Wern­er Herzog’s Eye-Open­ing New Film Reveals the Dan­gers of Tex­ting While Dri­ving

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of bad­gers and even more pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

Chill Out to 70 Hours of Oceanscape Nature Videos Filmed by BBC Earth

Those who har­bor a deep-seat­ed fear of the water may want to look for oth­er meth­ods of stress relief than BBC Earth’s relax­ing 10-hour video loops, but every­one else is encour­aged to take a dip in these stun­ning nat­ur­al worlds, pre­sent­ed with­out com­men­tary or back­ground music.

All sev­en 10-hour playlists are salt-water based: coral reefscoast­linesdeep oceanopen ocean, frozen seasocean sur­faces, and sea forests.

As in most com­pelling nature doc­u­men­taries, non-human crea­tures loom large, but unlike such BBC Earth offer­ings as Creepi­est Insect Moments or Ants Attack Ter­mite Mounds, there’s a benign, live-and-let-live vibe to the pro­ceed­ings.

Unsur­pris­ing­ly, the pho­tog­ra­phy is breath­tak­ing, and the uses of these marathon-length por­traits are man­i­fold: med­i­ta­tion tool, sleep aid, child soother, social media decom­pres­sor, trav­el­ogue, and—less calmingly—call to action.

Sci­ence tells us that many of these life forms, and the ocean in which they dwell, are in seri­ous dan­ger, thanks to decades of human dis­re­gard for the envi­ron­ment. This is an oppor­tu­ni­ty to immerse our­selves in what we stand to lose while it’s still pos­si­ble to do some­thing about it.

If that thought seems too depress­ing, there’s also strong sci­en­tif­ic evi­dence that nature doc­u­men­taries such as these pro­mote increased feel­ings of well­be­ing

What are you wait­ing for?

Click here to trav­el the oceans with polar bears, jel­ly­fish, dol­phins, sea­hors­es, bright­ly col­ored trop­i­cal fish and oth­er crea­tures of the deep, com­pli­ments of BBC’s Earth’s Ocean­scapes playlists.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch­ing Nature Doc­u­men­taries Can Pro­duce “Real Hap­pi­ness,” Finds a Study from the BBC and UC-Berke­ley

Bob Odenkirk & Errol Mor­ris Cre­ate Comedic Shorts to Help You Take Action Against Glob­al Warm­ing: Watch Them Online

Do Octopi Dream? An Aston­ish­ing Nature Doc­u­men­tary Sug­gests They Do

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Novem­ber 4 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain cel­e­brates Louise Jor­dan Miln’s “Woo­ings and Wed­dings in Many Climes (1900). Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Yo-Yo Ma Performs the First Classical Piece He Ever Learned: Take a 12-Minute Mental Health Break and Watch His Moving “Tiny Desk” Concert

For those who feel their enjoy­ment of J.S. Bach’s gor­geous Pre­lude from Cel­lo Suite No. 1 in G major has been under­cut rather than enhanced by its fre­quent TV and film appear­ancesYo-Yo Ma’s 2018 NPR Music Tiny Desk Con­cert is a ton­ic.

As he explains above, the pre­lude was the first piece he learned as a begin­ning four-year-old cel­list, adding one mea­sure per day, an incre­men­tal approach he rec­om­mends.

He and the 300-some-year-old com­po­si­tion have done well by each oth­er through­out a rela­tion­ship span­ning near­ly six decades.

His first record­ing of the Suites, in 1983, result­ed in his first Gram­my.

Cur­rent­ly, he’s wrap­ping up the Bach Project, play­ing the Suites in 36 icon­ic loca­tions around the world, believ­ing that Bach has a unique abil­i­ty to unite humans and inspire col­lab­o­ra­tion, espe­cial­ly in “a time when our civic con­ver­sa­tion is so often focused on divi­sion.”

The leg­endary cellist’s unas­sum­ing, friend­ly demeanor is also a uni­fi­er, well suit­ed to the infor­mal­i­ty of the Tiny Desk Con­certs.

(Pro­duc­er Tom Huizen­ga—a non-cellist—recounts how Ma passed him his bow, along with a 1712 Stradi­var­ius, encour­ag­ing him to “play some­thing.”)

Music is a clear­ly a major part of Ma’s DNA, and also the way in which he expe­ri­ences the cir­cle of life. He intro­duces the Sara­bande as the heart of the suite, telling how he played it at two friends’ wed­dings and then again at their memo­r­i­al ser­vices, illus­trat­ing the ways in which music is a cumu­la­tive emo­tion­al propo­si­tion.

As he told NPR’s Mary Louise Kel­ly imme­di­ate­ly fol­low­ing his per­for­mance:

You try and tran­scend tech­nique to get to what you think is there. Instead of say­ing, “Here are these notes and this is dif­fi­cult and I’m going to try and nail it,” you try to express it.

With the sand quick­ly slip­ping through the hour­glass of his 12-minute per­for­mance, he treats his audi­ence to Bach’s tiny, pop­ulist Gigue.

Set List:

J.S. Bach: “Pre­lude (from Suite No. 1 for Solo Cel­lo)”

J.S. Bach: “Sara­bande (from Suite No. 6 for Solo Cel­lo)”

J.S. Bach: “Gigue (from Suite No. 3 for Solo Cel­lo)”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Leonard Bern­stein Intro­duces 7‑Year-Old Yo-Yo Ma: Watch the Young­ster Per­form for John F. Kennedy (1962)

Watch 450 NPR Tiny Desk Con­certs: Inti­mate Per­for­mances from The Pix­ies, Adele, Wilco, Yo-Yo Ma & Many More

Yo-Yo Ma & The Goat Rodeo Ses­sions

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Novem­ber 4 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain cel­e­brates Louise Jor­dan Miln’s “Woo­ings and Wed­dings in Many Climes (1900). Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Free: Download the Sublime Sights & Sounds of Yellowstone National Park

Moments before writ­ing these words I was feel­ing a lit­tle stressed—a not uncom­mon expe­ri­ence for most every­one these days. Then I watched the 25-sec­ond video of a bighorn sheep, above, and some­thing hap­pened. Not an epiphany or moment of Zen. Just a momen­tary sus­pen­sion of human woe as the ani­mal silent­ly munched, a crea­ture so unlike myself and yet so moti­vat­ed by the same basic needs.

How much bet­ter to observe the sheep first­hand, in its home at Yel­low­stone Nation­al Park? But per­haps we can, through our com­put­ers, touch into a lit­tle of the rem­e­dy Oliv­er Sacks sug­gest­ed for our mod­ern trau­mas. Nature gives us “sense of deep time,” the neu­rol­o­gist wrote, which “brings a deep peace with it, a detach­ment from the timescale, the urgen­cies of dai­ly life… a pro­found sense of being at home, a sort of com­pan­ion­ship with the earth.”

Research has found that watch­ing nature doc­u­men­taries can bring on real con­tent­ment, con­firm­ing what mil­lions of Nation­al Geo­graph­ic devo­tees already know. Now, at the Nation­al Park Service’s site, you can immerse your­self in vir­tu­al vis­its with not only our silent bighorn sheep friend, but the song of a moun­tain blue­bird, or cho­rus­es of howl­ing wolves. The audio library con­tains dozens more such melo­di­ous and haunt­ing sounds from Yellowstone’s bio­pho­ny.

The video library is replete with not only short clips of ani­mals doing what ani­mals do, but also video tours like that above, in which we learn how park rangers cap­ture and han­dle bison in their con­ser­va­tion efforts at the park. Then there are stun­ning land­scape videos like that below of Low­er Falls viewed from Look­out Point in the spring of 2017, with sooth­ing nat­ur­al white noise from the rush­ing water and blow­ing wind.

All of this con­tent is avail­able for down­load and free for any­one to use. Remix the sounds of falling snow, gey­sers, and moun­tain lions; make as many nature gifs as you desire. As you do, bear in mind that while humans might great­ly benefit—both psy­cho­log­i­cal­ly and culturally—from the dig­i­tal preser­va­tion of the nat­ur­al world, the true pur­pose may be to help us under­stand why we need to step back and pre­serve the real thing.

Just above see a (non­down­load­able) video from Yel­low­stone on the impor­tance of lis­ten­ing to and con­serv­ing the land’s nat­ur­al soundscapes—a fea­ture of the world that best thrives in the near absence of human involve­ment.

Enter the sound library here, and the video library here.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Japan­ese Prac­tice of “For­est Bathing”—Or Just Hang­ing Out in the Woods—Can Low­er Stress Lev­els and Fight Dis­ease

Watch 50 Hours of Nature Sound­scapes from the BBC: Sci­en­tif­i­cal­ly Proven to Ease Stress and Pro­mote Hap­pi­ness & Awe

The British Library’s “Sounds” Archive Presents 80,000 Free Audio Record­ings: World & Clas­si­cal Music, Inter­views, Nature Sounds & More

10 Hours of Ambi­ent Arc­tic Sounds Will Help You Relax, Med­i­tate, Study & Sleep

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness.

Patti Smith Sings “People Have the Power” with a Choir of 250 Fellow Singers

…peo­ple have the pow­er

To redeem the work of fools

—Pat­ti Smith

As protest songs go, “Peo­ple Have the Pow­er” by God­moth­er of Punk Pat­ti Smith and her late hus­band Fred Son­ic Smith is a true upper.

The goal was to recap­ture some of the ener­gy they’d felt as youth activists, com­ing togeth­er to protest the Viet­nam War. As Pat­ti declared in an NME Song Sto­ries seg­ment:

… what we want­ed to do was remind the lis­ten­er of their indi­vid­ual pow­er but also of the col­lec­tive pow­er of the peo­ple, how we can do any­thing. That’s why at the end it goes, “I believe every­thing we dream can come to pass, through our union we can turn the world around, we can turn the earth’s rev­o­lu­tion.” We wrote it con­scious­ly togeth­er to inspire peo­ple, to inspire peo­ple to come togeth­er.

Sad­ly, Fred Smith, who died in 1994, nev­er saw it per­formed live. But his wid­ow has car­ried it around the world, and wit­nessed its joy­ful trans­for­ma­tive pow­er.

Wit­ness the glow­ing faces of 250 vol­un­teer singers who gath­ered in New York City’s Pub­lic The­ater lob­by to per­form the song as part of the Onas­sis Fes­ti­val 2019: Democ­ra­cy Is Com­ing last spring.

The event was staged by Choir! Choir! Choir!, a Cana­di­an orga­ni­za­tion whose com­mit­ment to com­mu­ni­ty build­ing vis-Ă -vis week­ly drop-in singing ses­sions at a Toron­to tav­ern has grown to include some star­ry names and world-renowned venues, rais­ing major char­i­ta­ble funds along the way.

As per Choir! Choir! Choir!’s oper­at­ing instruc­tions, there were no audi­tions. The singers didn’t need to know how to read music, or even sing par­tic­u­lar­ly well, as par­tic­i­pant Elyse Orec­chio described in a blog post:

The man behind me exu­ber­ant­ly deliv­ered his off-pitch notes loud­ly into my ear. But to whine about that sort of thing goes against the spir­it of the night. This was a democ­ra­cy: the people’s cho­rus.

Direc­tor Sarah Hugh­es had been hav­ing “one of those the­ater nerd Sat­ur­days,” and was grab­bing a post-Pub­lic-mati­nee sal­ad pri­or to an evening show uptown, when she bumped into friends who asked if she want­ed to sing with Pat­ti Smith and a com­mu­ni­ty choir:

I’m work­ing on play­wright Chana Porter and com­pos­er Deepali Gupta’s Dear­ly Beloved, a med­i­ta­tion on pro­duc­tive despair for com­mu­ni­ty choir, and have been hav­ing beau­ti­ful, enlight­en­ing expe­ri­ences mak­ing music with large groups of non-singers, so I was curi­ous about what this might be like. 

And it was love­ly. Just singing at all is always very great, even though I am not “good at it.” Singing along with all the oth­er peo­ple in the room felt espe­cial­ly good. 

The Choir! Choir! Choir! lead­ers were gen­er­ous, had a sense of humor, and weren’t afraid to tell us when we sound­ed ter­ri­ble, which was refresh­ing. 

We learned our parts and then I ate my sal­ad stand­ing in the Pub­lic lob­by while we wait­ed for Pat­ti. She took a longer time to arrive than they’d planned for, I think, but it was because she was at a cli­mate cri­sis ral­ly so we weren’t mad. And she was just very ful­ly her­self. 

I’m not like a die-hard Pat­ti Smith fan, but I sort of fell in love with her after read­ing her beau­ti­ful recount­ing of mess­ing up while singing â€śA Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall” at Dylan’s Nobel Prize cer­e­mo­ny. This expe­ri­ence made me appre­ci­ate her even more—her human­i­ty, her vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty, the strange­ness of being famous or rec­og­nized or hero­ic to many many peo­ple. And she real­ly did lead us, in this very spe­cial, sim­ple, real way. It remind­ed me of how lit­tle we real­ly need in the way of mon­ey or pro­duc­tion val­ues or even tal­ent for a per­for­mance or pub­lic event to feel worth our time.

The film reflects that sense of the extra­or­di­nary co-exist­ing glo­ri­ous­ly with the ordi­nary:

An unim­pressed lit­tle girl eats a peach.

Two young staffers in Pub­lic The­ater t‑shirts seem both sheep­ish and thrilled when the film crew zeroes in on them singing along.

Gui­tarist and Choir! Choir! Choir! co-founder Dav­eed Gold­man near­ly bonks Pat­ti in the head with the neck of his instru­ment.

Also? That’s the Police’s Stew­art Copeland play­ing the fry­ing pan.

Next up on Choir! Choir! Choir!’s agen­da is an Octo­ber 13th con­cert at California’s Board­er Field State Park, with some 300 peo­ple on the Tijua­na side and 500 on the San Diego side rais­ing their voic­es togeth­er on Lennon and McCartney’s “With a Lit­tle Help from My Friends.” More infor­ma­tion on that, and oth­er stops on their fall tour, here.

Sign up to be noti­fied next time Choir! Choir! Choir! is look­ing for singers in your area here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pat­ti Smith, The God­moth­er of Punk, Is Now Putting Her Pic­tures on Insta­gram

Hear a 4 Hour Playlist of Great Protest Songs: Bob Dylan, Nina Simone, Bob Mar­ley, Pub­lic Ene­my, Bil­ly Bragg & More

Pat­ti Smith’s 40 Favorite Books

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inkyzine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Octo­ber 7 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domaincel­e­brates the art of Aubrey Beard­s­ley. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

19th-Century Skeleton Alarm Clock Reminded People Daily of the Shortness of Life: An Introduction to the Memento Mori

Vic­to­ri­an cul­ture can seem grim and even ghoul­ish to us youth-obsessed, death-deny­ing 21st cen­tu­ry mod­erns. The tra­di­tion of death pho­tog­ra­phy, for exam­ple, both fas­ci­nates and repels us, espe­cial­ly por­trai­ture of deceased chil­dren. But the prac­tice “became increas­ing­ly pop­u­lar,” notes the BBC, as “Vic­to­ri­an nurs­eries were plagued by measles, diph­the­ria, scar­let fever, rubella—all of which could be,” and too often were, “fatal.”

Adults did not fare much bet­ter when it came to the epi­dem­ic spread of killer dis­eases. Sur­round­ed inescapably by death, Vic­to­ri­ans coped by invest­ing their world with totemic sym­bols, cul­tur­al arti­facts known as memen­to mori, mean­ing “remem­ber, you must die.” Tuber­cu­lo­sis, cholera, influen­za… at any moment, one might take ill and waste away, and there would like­ly be lit­tle med­ical sci­ence could do about it.

Per­haps the best approach, then, was an accep­tance of death while in the bloom of health, in order to not waste the moment and to learn to pay atten­tion to what mat­tered while one could. Memen­to mori draw­ings, paint­ings, jew­el­ry, pho­tographs, and trin­kets have pop­u­lat­ed Euro­pean cul­tur­al his­to­ry for cen­turies; death as an ever-present com­pan­ion, not to be hid­den away and feared but solemn­ly, respect­ful­ly giv­en its due.

Or maybe not so respect­ful­ly, as the case may be. Some of these nov­el­ties, like the skele­ton alarm clock at the top, look more like they belong at the bot­tom of a fish tank than a prop­er par­lor man­tle. “Pre­sum­ably when the alarm went off,” writes Alli­son Meier at Hyper­al­ler­gic, “the skele­ton would shake its bones.” Wake up, life is short, you could die at any time. “Part of the col­lec­tions of Sci­ence Muse­um, Lon­don, it’s believed to be of Eng­lish ori­gin and date between 1840 and 1900.”

The Tim Bur­ton-esque tchotchke appeared in a 2014 British Library exhib­it called Ter­ror and Won­der: The Goth­ic Imag­i­na­tion, with many oth­er such objects of vary­ing degrees of artistry: “200 objects from a span of 250 years, all cen­tered on the Goth­ic tra­di­tion in art, lit­er­a­ture, music, fash­ion, and most recent­ly film.” Memen­to mori arti­facts offer vis­cer­al reminders that real, dai­ly con­fronta­tions with dis­ease and death were “at the base of much of Goth­ic lit­er­a­ture and art.”

Where we now tend to read the Goth­ic as pri­mar­i­ly reflec­tive of social, cul­tur­al, and reli­gious anx­i­eties, the preva­lence of memen­to mori in Euro­pean homes both low and high (such as Mary Queen of Scots’ skull watch, in an 1896 illus­tra­tion above) shows us just how much the gloomy strain of think­ing that became the mod­ern hor­ror genre derives from a desire to con­front mor­tal­i­ty head on, so to speak, and find­ing that look­ing death in the face brings on ancient uncan­ny dread as much as healthy gal­lows humor and sto­ic, stiff-upper-lip reck­on­ing with the ulti­mate fact of life.

via Lind­sey Fitzhar­ris

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Artist Cro­chets a Life-Size, Anatom­i­cal­ly-Cor­rect Skele­ton, Com­plete with Organs

Cel­e­brate The Day of the Dead with The Clas­sic Skele­ton Art of José Guadalupe Posa­da

Old Books Bound in Human Skin Found in Har­vard Libraries (and Else­where in Boston)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

How Bicycles Can Revolutionize Our Lives: Case Studies from the United States, Netherlands, China & Britain

A two- (and three- and one-) wheeled rev­o­lu­tion is upon us. Dubbed “micro-mobil­i­ty” by start-up mar­keters and influ­encers, the trend incor­po­rates all sorts of per­son­al means of trans­port. While the buzz may hov­er around elec­tric scoot­ers and skate­boards, the faith­ful bicy­cle still leads the pack, as it has for over a hun­dred years. And advocates—who bike as their pri­ma­ry means of exer­cise, com­mut­ing, and run­ning dai­ly errands—are chal­leng­ing the ortho­dox­ies of car cul­ture.

As an avid cyclist myself, who bikes as often as I can for gro­ceries and oth­er errands, I will admit to a strong bias in their favor. But even I’ve been chal­lenged and sur­prised by what I’ve learned from bik­ing advo­cates like Liz Can­ning, pro­duc­er and nar­ra­tor of a new doc­u­men­tary film, Moth­er­load, a por­trait of the many peo­ple who have cho­sen to use car­go bikes instead of cars for near­ly every­thing.

The film is remark­able for the ordi­nar­i­ness of its sub­jects. As one car­go cyclist, Brent Pat­ter­son of Buf­fa­lo, New York, says, “I’m not an ath­lete. I’m not super­hu­man. I’m just a com­plete­ly nor­mal per­son like you.” The Pat­ter­son fam­i­ly “sold its car,” notes Out­side mag­a­zine, “and trav­els by car­go bike year-round, even in snow­storms.” Anoth­er car­go cyclist in the film, Emi­ly Finch, “carts all six of her kid­dos around on two wheels.” We see car­go cyclists around the world, using bikes as emer­gency trans­port haulers and dai­ly gro­cery-get­ters.

Most of the Amer­i­cans pro­filed live in bike-friend­ly com­mu­ni­ties like Marin Coun­ty, Cal­i­for­nia or Port­land, Ore­gon. But oth­ers, like the Pat­ter­sons, do not, “and not all are as com­fort­ably off as Can­ning,” who retired as a com­mer­cial film­mak­er to raise her kids in bike-friend­ly Fair­fax, CA. “Some had to sell their car or take out a no-inter­est loan in order to afford a car­go bike.” No one seems to have regret­ted the deci­sion.

Read­ers who hail from, or have lived in, places in the world where bike-reliance is the norm may scoff at the pre­sumed nov­el­ty of the idea in Canning’s film. But at one time, even the Netherlands—home of the ubiq­ui­tous Bak­fi­ets—was almost as car-cen­tric as most of the U.S., as Amer­i­can Dan Kois writes in a New York­er essay about how he learned to become bike com­muter in the Nether­lands.

I had assumed that Dutch people’s adept­ness at bik­ing was the result of gen­er­a­tions of inces­sant cycling. In fact, after the Sec­ond World War, the Nether­lands had, like the U.S., become dom­i­nat­ed by cars. Cycling paths were over­tak­en by roads, and neigh­bor­hoods in Ams­ter­dam were razed to make room for high­ways. Between 1950 and 1970, the num­ber of cars in the coun­try explod­ed from about a hun­dred thou­sand to near­ly two and a half mil­lion. Dur­ing that same peri­od, bike use plum­met­ed; in Ams­ter­dam, the per­cent­age of trips made by bike fell from eighty to twen­ty.

That all changed when young activists and par­ents, espe­cial­ly mothers—like the bik­ing moth­ers in Moth­er­load—began protest­ing high num­bers of traf­fic deaths. They took to the streets on their bikes, block­ing traf­fic, run­ning for office, and pres­sur­ing city offi­cials to make infra­struc­ture and pub­lic space safe and accom­mo­dat­ing for bikes. Now, there are more bikes than peo­ple in the Nether­lands, and cars co-exist on roads full of cyclists of all ages and class­es, on their way to work, school, and every­where else.

Dutch dri­vers “look out for cyclists,” writes Kois. “After all, near­ly all of those dri­vers are cyclists them­selves,” using the car for a brief, nec­es­sary out­ing before they get back on their bikes for most every­thing else. Next to Kois’ first-per­son account of his few-months-long sojourn through Delft, we have the glob­al tes­ti­mo­ny of the Bicy­cle Archi­tec­ture Bien­nale, a “show­case of cut­ting edge and high pro­file build­ing designs that are facil­i­tat­ing bicy­cle trav­el and trans­form­ing com­mu­ni­ties around the world.” The exhibits, writes Karen Wong at David Byrne’s Rea­sons to Be Cheer­ful, “point the way to a two-wheeled utopia.”

BYCS, the group respon­si­ble for this well-curat­ed exhi­bi­tion, come from Ams­ter­dam. The projects they fea­ture, how­ev­er, are in Lon­don and Chong­min and Cheng­du, Chi­na. The car­go cyclists in Moth­er­load, and the fero­cious activism of cyclists in places like New York City, despite tremen­dous “bike­lash,” may show Amer­i­cans they don’t need to look abroad to see how bikes could slow­ly dis­place cars as Amer­i­cans’ vehi­cles of choice in some parts of the coun­try. But learn­ing from how oth­er places have reimag­ined their infra­struc­ture could prove nec­es­sary for last­ing change.

Many Amer­i­cans can­not imag­ine life with­out their cars, even if they also have garages full of bikes. Some lash out at cyclists as a threat to their way of life. The coun­try is enor­mous (though we do most dri­ving local­ly); cars serve as modes of transport—for human, plant, ani­mal, and every­thing else—and also as escape pods and sta­tus sym­bols. Canning’s film shows us ordi­nary Amer­i­can men and women get­ting the gump­tion to trade some com­fort and secu­ri­ty for lives of minor adven­ture and eco­log­i­cal sim­plic­i­ty. (And a good many of them still have cars if they need them.)

We also see, in exhi­bi­tions like that pre­viewed in the video above how design prin­ci­ples and pol­i­cy can help make such choic­es eas­i­er and safer for every­one to make. Can­ning point­ed­ly frames her argu­ment in Moth­er­load around cycling’s rad­i­cal his­to­ry. “100 years before the bicy­cle saved me,” she says in the film’s offi­cial trail­er at the top, “it lib­er­at­ed the poor, empow­ered the suf­fragettes, and trans­formed soci­ety faster than any inven­tion in human his­to­ry. It could hap­pen again.”

via Out­side

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The First 100 Years of the Bicy­cle: A 1915 Doc­u­men­tary Shows How the Bike Went from Its Clunky Birth in 1818, to Its Endur­ing Design in 1890

The Art & Sci­ence of Bike Design: A 5‑Part Intro­duc­tion from the Open Uni­ver­si­ty

How Leo Tol­stoy Learned to Ride a Bike at 67, and Oth­er Tales of Life­long Learn­ing

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Coddling of the American Mind: Malcolm Gladwell Leads a Conversation with Jonathan Haidt, Greg Lukianoff & Lenore Skenazy

From the 92nd Street Y in New York City comes a wide-rang­ing con­ver­sa­tion fea­tur­ing Mal­colm Glad­well, Jonathan Haidt (NYU), Greg Lukianoff (Foun­da­tion for Indi­vid­ual Rights in Edu­ca­tion), and Lenore Ske­nazy (founder of the Free-Range Kids move­ment). Here’s a quick sum­ma­ry of the ground they cov­er:

Civ­il dis­course is in decline, with poten­tial­ly dire results for Amer­i­can democ­ra­cy.

On col­lege cam­pus­es across Amer­i­ca, vis­it­ing speak­ers are dis­in­vit­ed, or even shout­ed down, while pro­fes­sors, stu­dents, and admin­is­tra­tors are afraid to talk open­ly, for fear that some­one will take offense. Polit­i­cal dis­cus­sion on social media and tele­vi­sion has devolved into a wave of hyper-par­ti­san noise. A gen­er­a­tion of over­pro­tec­tive par­ents are reluc­tant to let their chil­dren play out­side with­out super­vi­sion. How did we get here? And how can we change the way that we engage with one anoth­er?

Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt’s The Cod­dling of the Amer­i­can Mind sounds the depths of this gen­er­a­tional cri­sis. Join us for a live­ly dis­cus­sion with the authors, pres­i­dent of the non-prof­it Let Grow and founder of the Free-Range Kids move­ment Lenore Ske­nazy, and #1 New York Times best­seller Mal­colm Glad­well on how we as cit­i­zens can engage with one anoth­er across the polit­i­cal spec­trum.

If it’s not already clear, the con­ver­sa­tion is based on Lukianoff and Haidt’s book The Cod­dling of the Amer­i­can Mind: How Good Inten­tions and Bad Ideas Are Set­ting Up a Gen­er­a­tion for Fail­ure. Ske­nazy is the author of Free-Range Kids, How to Raise Safe, Self-Reliant Chil­dren (With­out Going Nuts with Wor­ry). If you sign up for a free tri­al with Audi­ble, you can down­load copies of both books.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

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Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.