There are some true stories that are so incredibly definitive of the idea that reality tends to be stranger than fiction that only two of the most deranged filmmakers could actually attempt to bring them to life on screen. This was the case for Mark Yavorsky, a seemingly mild-mannered young man (although in hindsight many who knew him have claimed that he did exhibit signs of psychopathy from time to time) who was so enraptured by the classical Greek tragedy contained in  Orestes that he recreated it, killing his mother with an antique sword in a state of quiet psychosis in the late 1970s, which became quite a scandal, not only in the sense that it was a son killing his mother in cold blood, but also the extent to which his obsession with an artistic work led to his brutal actions. Werner Herzog, along with co-writer Herbert Golder, uses Yarvosky’s story as the foundation for My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done, in which they take inspiration from his actions and use it in the construction of their own unique retelling. The film is set in the present day, and the main character is known as Brad McCullam, a quiet individual who would much rather spend time tending to his flamingoes (which he refers to as his “eagles in drag”) than adhering to the status quo. His mother is affectionate but slightly overbearing, which has an impact on his budding relationship with Ingrid, his gentle fiancée, with whom he is trying to build a life. The film alternates between the days leading up to the murder of his mother (told from McCullam’s perspective) and the aftermath, in which veteran detective Hank Havenhurst and rookie Vargas investigate the crime, complicated by McCullam locking himself in his home with two hostages. It is not surprising that the concept caught the attention of Herzog’s longtime friend and co-admirer David Lynch, who helped finance the project, serving as its producer and inadvertently one of its key artistic voices. The result of this collaboration is an unorthodox, offbeat blend of dark comedy, psychological thriller and film noir, the kind of collision of genres that is only capable when such a story is placed into the tender, loving care of two of the most unhinged visionaries in the history of the medium.

My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done is the kind of film where pinpointing a few key elements in terms of thematic content is possible, but futile. This is not something that requires so much interpretation as it does understanding a couple of central ideas and surrendering to the madness that surrounds the story. Fortunately, it is a film made by one of the great artists of his generation, someone whose approach has never been conventional, but who nonetheless instils in us a sense of genuine comfort, knowing that what we are about to witness, while peculiar, is going to be well worth our time. The implications of the story take some time to understand, but we can interpret them in our own way – the primary theme is that of matricide, particularly how someone can be led down a path of such malice that they would murder their own mother, especially under circumstances that could never be considered self-defence or even impulsive, done in the heat of the moment. Herzog has stated his intentions were not to replicate the story of Yarkovsky through recreating his actions, but rather crafting a fictionalised version in which they are attempting to understand what draws someone to commit such a heinous act of murder. The obsession around true crime stories is well-documented as a bit of a cultural phenomenon, and it seems like My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done is intending to be the ultimate test of the assertions many make that they’re interested in the psychology of murder, rather than the reality, which is that we are intrigued by grisly stories built around violent acts, a natural human curiosity that certainly doesn’t imply that everyone yearns to be a murderer, but rather that the concept fascinates us. This film offers insights into the mind of a man, both before and after the act of killing, showing the gradual journey he took in determining the ideal way to commit the crime, and the frenzy that ensues in the hours following achieving his goal. It’s very harsh and cynical in its ideas, but Herzog is not someone who ever intends to make his works easy to understand, choosing instead to look at the act of murder as something that involves many psychological processes, some of them more harrowing than others.

One of Herzog’s most under-praised skills is his ability to consistently think outside of the box when it comes to casting, but ultimately always choosing people who may not be the logical choices at first, but prove to be undeniably perfect once we see their work in practice. My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done is a film that consists of a blend – some actors are perfectly suited to their roles, others entirely detached, but who grow into the parts splendidly. There’s no casting from this era more perfect than Michael Shannon as Brad, since this film came about right at the peak of his ascent into one of the quintessential screen eccentrics, someone who consistently peddled in playing these offbeat, unhinged characters who were nothing if not entirely strange. His performance is everything we’d expect – complex, deranged and often very funny, and Herzog plays off Shannon’s ability to occupy that strange, ambiguous space between salt-of-the-earth grit and otherworldly eccentricity, this being one of the best demonstrations of these skills. While most of the character’s brilliance lies in how it was written, it was Shannon who truly tied all the loose ends together, creating an absolutely unforgettable character, the kind of person who we are both fascinated and repulsed by, which is exactly what this film required. He’s joined by a solid supporting cast, including Lynch regular Grace Zabriskie, who does some of her very best work as Brad’s overbearing but good-natured mother, as well as Chloë Sevigny as his fiancée and, in shockingly only the second of two collaborations (since they both emerged from Germany at the same time and seemed to have very similar artistic perspectives) Udo Kier, whose casting as Shannon’s de facto mentor reflects Kier’s own status as someone who also built his career from playing characters who are slightly left-of-centre. This doesn’t even begin to bring up the wonderful co-lead performance by Willem Dafoe, who exists in an ensemble that is so peculiar, he seems entirely subtle by comparison, since his positioning as the film’s primary voice of reason is essential, albeit in a quieter, more sincere way. It’s a tremendous ensemble, and Herzog takes full advantage of all of their skills in turning My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done into an unforgettable experience.

Without any ambiguity, Herzog is credited as the sole director on the project, but it would be foolish to just imagine that he was the sole authorial voice on My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done, which bears so many traits of Lynch’s style that we begin to wonder how much of the film was designed to pay tribute to him, and to what extent he played in crafting the unforgettable style and structure of the film. Visually, the film is quite conventional – it is shot digitally, and with very simple means, being a relatively subdued production in comparison to some of the director’s other works. It’s a brilliant companion piece to Lynch’s own Inland Empire, since they’re both crudely made psychological thrillers about someone in mental free-fall, attempting to make sense of the world that surrounds them. Much like that film, My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done finds most of its impact being developed in the editing room, with Herzog’s approach to putting the film together being his most clear statement of purpose. Oscillating between the events leading to the murder and those immediately afterwards, the film has ample opportunity to take on many different forms, and it doesn’t squander any of them. This is a case of an artwork being more about the experience than the final product, and while it may not look visually unique, there are several elements – such as the footage shot through guerrilla methods in Peru and China – that give the film a feeling of the uncanny, ultimately contributing to the overall atmosphere, which propels the majority of the story. The tone is equally as strange – it moves between surreal and sombre, often finding ways to blend them, creating a work that is not only tonally very unique, but also subversive in how it reworks common genre elements into something deeply engaging and unconventional. It’s a masterful example of a film that intends to rework traditions of film noir and psychological thriller into an entirely different form, and it seems only logical that Herzog and Lynch would ultimately make a film that exists as an absurdist curio all about the trials and tribulations of a man on the precipice (and in the aftermath) of committing a heinous crime.

By all accounts, My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done occupies a strange place in Herzog’s body of work – it’s certainly not considered one of his masterpieces, since that is an elite category that is occupied by half a dozen generation-defining classics that remain untouchable. However, it is also not seen as a minor work either, since it has developed something of a cult following (even if it is often remembered mostly for its unforgettable title more than anything contained within the film itself), and has only grown in estimation over the past few years. Squarely situated in the middle, the film is nonetheless an intriguing achievement, a deeply captivating offering from a director who has never been afraid to take some risks. It’s not quite a late career work (since it was made at a time when Herzog was doing some of his most experimental films, which becomes particularly clear when we look at it in conjunction with Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, which Herzog released almost simultaneously and which has proven to be an intriguing companion piece, thematically and structurally), but it has some very captivating qualities that draw us in and make us appreciate the pure ambition that went into the construction of the film. It’s a strong film with compelling ideas, and even if we just want to view it as an attempted collaboration between two longtime friends who had admired each other for decades and chose to use their shared resources to tell a fascinating story, it has some sincere value, especially in terms of how it challenges and provokes without being too overly dense, which is an important distinction. It isn’t saying anything revolutionary, nor is it going in search of something unique, but instead it has a quiet complexity that we can appreciate in terms of sheer ambition, even when it is not saying anything particularly revelatory. Herzog once again proves to be one of our most innovative and unique visionaries, and with My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done, he shows his skills can extend into subjects that would be hopelessly trite for any director who didn’t possess his deranged perspective, unquestionable curiosity and forthright appreciation for artistic chaos.