Klaus Kinski is not the easiest actor to talk about. On one hand, he is one of the most brilliant actors to ever work in the medium of film, spending several decades turning in magnificent performances fueled by a combination of his incredible talents and unhinged madness that made him one of the most celebrated actors of his generation. However, he was also a controversial individual, someone whose volatility and refusal to adhere to any known ethical standards made him an actor very few people wanted to be around, let alone work with. As a truly enigmatic figure, many people have been trying to decode Kinski in an attempt to understand not only what drove him to the point of such extreme eccentricity, but also the root of his compulsively strange behaviour behind the scenes, with the stories of the production of many of his films being just as riveting as the projects themselves. Perhaps the person that understood him the most, or at least came closest to it, was Werner Herzog, with whom Kinski worked on five separate occasions, the pair of them establishing a strong partnership that saw them collaborating on some of the finest films ever made. Their sixth collaboration is slightly unorthodox, being made nearly a decade after Kinski’s death, with Herzog compiling archival footage from their films together, as well as new interviews and conversations about Kinski, forming them into My Best Fiend (German: Mein liebster Feind), which is undeniably one of the most exquisite films to ever be made on the subject of acting and art. The director tells the story of his personal and professional friendship with the actor, whose life is placed at the centre of the film, and carefully curated into a thrilling and often hilarious account of Kinski’s life, told from the perspective of someone who experienced it all first-hand, being a direct witness to his bizarre but fascinating behaviour. 

Despite being individual artists that created memorable work on both sides of their collaborations (which saw them both rising to the very top of their respective fields), it’s difficult to imagine Herzog without Kinski, and vice versa, since they have always seemed so intrinsically connected. Neither one was defined by the other, but rather contributed to the progression of their individual careers in significant ways – Kinski was the dedicated leading man Herzog craved, while the director gave the actor roles that would normally be given to people who were more financially bankable and psychologically stable. This serves as the foundation for My Best Fiend, which is the rare kind of showbusiness documentary that is more personal than it is scintillating – and Herzog never allows a single moment to pass where he isn’t pointing directly to their contentious relationship. One of the most memorable images of this film is that of a photograph that depicts both Herzog and Kinski on the set of Cobra Verde – the actor is apoplectic with his well-documented rage, his hands grasped tightly around a large knife, placed gingerly against the neck of the director, who smiles politely, safe in the knowledge that this is just another one of his friend’s tantrums that will soon abate before they go back to filming what would unfortunately be their very last collaboration. This image is simple but sets the tone of the film – it establishes the contentious relationship that would be the basis of the story, while offering us a brief and humorous insight into the kind of imagery we’d expect as Herzog ventures into the past to revisit his decades-long personal and professional friendship with a man whose entire career was built on both a lack of professionalism, and a complete disregard for personal connections, leading to what is undeniably one of the more unconventional pairings between an actor and a director.

However, don’t be fooled by the supposed seriousness of the project – Herzog may be looking back at his collaborations with Kinski through rose-tinted glasses, but this certainly doesn’t mean that My Best Fiend is anything less than entertaining. The main propellant of the film is based around the fact that Herzog and Kinski were essentially two peas in a pod, both of them possessing a peculiar kind of madness that only manifested in different ways. They were drawn to each other through their shared respect and interest in the art of filmmaking, but what kept them together was that they were the only two people who seemed to understand and appreciate the other. The director does not dare to neglect the inherent humour present in these situations – Kinski may have been erratic and violent (to the point where some indigenous actors from Fitzcarraldo even offered to have him killed as a favour to Herzog, who politely declined this admirable offer), but his eccentricities carry an unconventional humour, which the director ensures is present throughout the film, creating what is essentially a proto-absurdist comedy from the fragments of their collaboration. My Best Fiend is an unexpectedly hilarious film, and most of that comes through in how Herzog frames certain situations, either using Kinski’s own words in a way that seems both hilarious and jarring, or simply relaying his own fond memories of their collaborations, which he does with a genuine joy that would confuse any logical person, since what we are essentially witnessing throughout this film is a perverse game of cat-and-mouse between a fragile and mentally-unstable actor, and a director who is far more level-headed, but has a penchant for the bizarre, so much that he not only worked with Kinski on numerous occasions, but ultimately produced one of the most endearing love letters to an actor ever committed to film.

At first, viewers may look at My Best Fiend and wonder what drove these two men to work together multiple times. The hostility wasn’t even a matter of cumulative frustrations – from their first film together (the fascinating Aguirre: the Wrath of God), there was a sense of danger, as shown in both the footage and the director’s own testimony. The most compelling stories are not drawn from moments where the pair got along (although Herzog does not elide these situations either – there is an abundance of tenderness underpinning this film), but rather from those in which they clashed, and they most certainly did clash beautifully. However, the intention of this film was obviously not to just showcase what a psychopathic misanthrope Kinski was, but rather a way of demonstrating that, beneath that madness, there was an exceptionally gifted actor who was capable of turning in absolutely stunning performances, granted he took a long enough break from terrorizing anyone who came into his path. As a result, My Best Fiend is not only a wonderful portrait of Kinski as a man, but also a vibrant demonstration of his life as an artist – Herzog’s stories and the archival footage paint a vivid picture of his process, and what drove him to create. He had a prolific career, but yet his most iconic work was undeniably nurtured by Herzog, who constantly saw potential in this actor, finding nuance in the volatility that he successfully translated to the screen. As much as My Best Fiend is about Kinski, it is also focused on the director’s own journey to understanding this man, going from a young admirer to both his greatest friend and most evenly-matched foe, all of which is explored so wonderfully throughout this film.

Going into this film, the viewer is likely to ask a few questions, namely whether or not Herzog actually enjoyed working with Kinski. The answer may seem like it is obvious, especially since the vast majority of this film is spent showcasing what a difficult individual the actor was – yet, by the time it ends, there is very little doubt that these two men not only deeply respected each other, but also had a deep love for one another, a kind of fraternal bond that united them and kept them working today. Their relationship with filled with obstacles, and nearly ended in cold-blooded murder in many instances – but yet, incredible art was produced in the process, and more importantly they grew to have a friendship that clearly made all the challenges they encountered seem like minor diversions. This film documents it, and while Kinski had died several years before and was therefore not available to provide his side of the story, Herzog inserts fragments from the past that make it clear that, regardless of how hostile their collaborations could be, there was an undying respect that propelled them to constantly push boundaries and challenge the way stories are told. As a work of non-fiction filmmaking, My Best Fiend is a tremendous achievement – intimate, personal and blisteringly funny, it is a wildly entertaining portrait of two exceptional artists, told in a way that is endearing and often quite earnest, which is not a quality we often find in more glossy, by-the-numbers documentaries that tend to be about entertainers. It carries itself with a strong and fervent dedication to exploring the roots of their friendship and professional partnership, and ends up being not only a love letter to their relationship, but a firmly captivating portrait of the tenacity required to be an artist in the modern world.